Nearly sixteen years ago (December 2008) I wrote Bless the Poor as a holiday story. It’s historic fiction about a legendary King. It’s not about a particular religion, but about how we should treat our fellow man. It is about how the powerful, and not so powerful, can help those less fortunate.
Bless the Poor, although written a decade and a half ago about a king and a young boy who lived in an ancient world is timely and a reminder for us in 2025 that we can make a difference. As I learned from my mother as a young boy, everyone needs a helping hand from time to time. She was never a world leader but perhaps should have been.
Bless the Poor, again has nothing to do with religion but all to do with how we treat each other around the world.
Now that I’ve read it again, I think it is a good read for any and every month including December.
Bless the Poor
Based on the legend of Good King Wenceslas
A millennium or so ago, a good man who happened to be the king of Bohemia uncharacteristically rose late the day after Christmas. But his Christmas day was like most others in the past, as he often devoted his time to sharing what he could with others.
As was his custom, he gave his servants the day to themselves. One page, however, insisted on spending the day with the king as he marveled at his wisdom.
As the morning began, the king spent his time in deep introspection and prayer. With great promise, the day began with golden rays of the sun sparkling on the newly fallen snow from Christmas night. But with each passing hour, the day grew bleaker, and the sky became gray. More snow fell. His chamber, though, was warm as his page made frequent visits to stoke the fire giving new life to the failing embers.
The good king told his page, all of thirteen years of age, to rest by the fire he cared for.
“Why do you tend to me when I have declared this day a time for rest and renewal?”
“Why Sire, my faithfulness to you gives me comfort,” said the page.
“You are not like the others,” said the good king.
“You are a righteous man–forgive me, a righteous king, and I am where I should be as I am calmed by your spirit. I see what you do.”
“And I see what you do. You’re a good lad,” said the king with a smile.
The hours passed and after many discussions, the young page nodded off. The king closed his eyes and, too, fell asleep.
The winds picked up in a menacing way and its howl was chilling. Coming out of his sleep, the king peered toward the window. The page was still curled in a ball on a bed of hay in front of the meager fire. The room was becoming dark as the beams of a full moon filled the room.
The erratic winds were laced with the sound of crunching snow just outside the walls. The king walked to the window. He first looked to the bright and ominous sky and saw a well-defined illuminated heavenly body that gave light. He then looked down and saw a fellow man.
photo by Leisan
He summoned his page.
“Page, do you know this man? Who might he be?”
“Sire, he is a mere peasant and lives outside the walls of the kingdom. The man comes out at night to gather the fallen twigs and branches to keep his family warm. He is a good man whom I met. He is from my village, and means no harm for his trespasses.”
“Where is his dwelling?” the king asked gently.
“He lives near the foot of the hills near St. Agnes’ fountain. It is a good league from here,” said the page.
The king stroking his beard thought out loud, “That is an hour by foot on a good day.”
Spinning on his heel, he turned, bent down, and looked in the eyes of the page. “Bring me meats and bring me wine. Gather pine logs too. Tonight, you and I will see him dine.” His eyes gleamed, and with a smile on his face, the page heard the king’s charge and began to assemble the gifts.
They both loaded sacks of meats, breads, pine logs and a small gift and strapped them to their backs. They entered into the night’s foul cry. The wind was stiff, and the snow was clad by an icy crust, giving struggle to the most seasoned traveler. The wind tore at the bare-faced page as he pulled his collar up for warmth.
An hour into their journey, the boy called out, “Sire, the moon now hides, and the wind is wicked. I am afraid. My body is paralyzed with cold and can go no further. Continue on your journey and leave me.”
” This is your journey, too my son.”
With love in his heart, his words lifted the boy.
“Mark my footsteps, my good boy, and tread them ever boldly. Step in my footprints and you’ll find that winter’s rage will diminish. With each step you take you will find your soul will warm; there is nothing you cannot do. Remember, son, just where we’re headed.”
Without a hint of question, the page trod where the king’s newly formed steps were made. Heat came from the very prints where the good king had been.
Not long after, they reached the peasant’s home and shared their bounty and their good spirit. They were invited to stay the night which they did. The family offered their beds, but the king, a humble man slept on a bed of hay. The boy curled up under a worn blanket near the fire.
On the journey home the next morning, the king asked the boy, “Did you defeat the cold as we traveled last night because of my nobility and wealth?”
Without thought, the boy spoke up, “I don’t think so.”
“Why then?” The king nodded with delight waiting for the boy’s reply.
“Because I followed you.”
“Oh? Perhaps it is more than that. Think of it this way, we journeyed together with one purpose and one heart. Your generosity of spirit flowed forth. It was all you, my boy, all you.
The boy looked to the king and smiled.
The king said, “Remember, those like you, my good boy, who bless the poor, shall too find blessings.”
December 21, 2008
About E.G. Kardos
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
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