I just realized that I need to tell everyone about a story we experienced over Christmas. I think it is something important to share, especially because we received so many tender mercies throughout the whole season.
Brent and I have been very tight financially for the last few months, as you know. Experiencing the ups and downs of being entreprenuers! I think everyone can understand those moments. This season we talked about whether or not to do 12 Days of Christmas for a family because we were having a hard time just keeping the lights on. But we felt very strongly we needed to still provide service... most especially for us because if we stop serving then it is easy to become more and more self centered and we knew that was the last thing we needed.
So we did 12 Days for a family of a single mom in our ward who has 5 kids. Something that Brent could relate to very well! there were so many ways we were provided to be able to give them gifts, it is hard to fit it all in the email. But the story that I need to tell everyone is about the last gift. it was just a few days before Christmas and we didn't have any money left. We used what we had left to pay utilities and get a few groceries then we had no more money in our bank account and didn't know when we were going to get some more. We were just distraught trying to figure out how we were going to take care of the last few days for our 12 Days family.
Then, of course, the bishop rang our doorbell. He told us that he felt that we needed some help and gave us an envelope with $50 in it. What a miracle! We had enough so we could take care of our family. We discussed what we wanted to get them for the final gift. Brent said we needed to get them the 'Reflections of Christ' book (you have seen it right?? Beautiful! If you haven't, go check it out... the pictures in there are amazing). So we went to Wal Mart, got the book and then some stuff for breakfast to put in the final gift basket all together. It was so nice to be able to get them such a nice gift and what a tender mercy that the Bishop came just in time so we could get it for them. Well, Christmas came and went.
The Sunday after New Years our Relief Society President called me after church. She said, "Andrea, I have to tell you something that happened today. Sharon (the mom of the family we did 12 days for) came up to me and asked me if I knew everything that went on in the ward for Christmas time. I said that I knew some things, but probably didn't know everything. She then told me "Brenda, I had such a miracle happen that I have to tell you about. I went into Deseret Book a few days before Christmas and saw 'Reflections of Christ' book and wanted it so badly. But it was too much money and I couldn't afford it. I was heartbroken, but I wanted to save all the money I could for my kids. Well, someone did 12 Days of Christmas for us and guess what? The last gift was the Reflections of Christ' book. I couldn't believe it. I just started crying when I saw it on the door step."' Isn't that wonderful!!
When she called and told me that and I told Brent he just started to cry. I love how Heavenly Father answers prayers. The Bishop knew we needed something, then we knew what Sandy needed! Anyway, I just wanted you all to know that story. We missed you during the holidays and love you all so much.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Story #42 - The Pageant
My husband and I had been happily married (most of the time) for five years but hadn't been blessed with a baby. I decided to do some serious praying and promised God that if he would give us a child,I would be a perfect mother,love it with all my heartand raise it with His word as my guide.God answered my prayersand blessed us with a son.The next year God blessed us with another son.The following year,He blessed us with yet another son. The year after that wewere blessed with a daughter.My husband thought we'dbeen blessed right into poverty.We now had four children,and the oldest was onlyfour years old.I learned never to ask God for anything unless I meant itAs a minister once told me,"If you pray for rain,make sure you carry an umbrella."I began reading a few versesof the Bible to the children each day as they lay in their cribs. I was off to a good start.God had entrusted mewith four children andI didn't want to disappoint Him.I tried to be patient the daythe children smashedtwo dozen eggs onthe kitchen floor searching for baby chicks.I tried to be understanding...when they started a hotel forhomeless frogs in the spare bedroom, although it took me nearly two hoursto catch all twenty-three frogs.When my daughter pouredketchup all over herself and rolled up in a blanket to seehow it felt to be a hot dog,I tried to see the humorrather than the mess. In spite of changing overtwenty-five thousand diapers,never eating a hot meal and never sleeping for morethan thirty minutes at a time,I still thank God daily for my children.While I couldn't keep my promise to be a perfect mother -I didn't even come close...I did keep my promiseto raise them in the Word of God. I knew I was missing the markjust a little when I toldmy daughter we were going to church to worship God,and she wanted to bringa bar of soap along to"wash up" Jesus, too.Something was lostin the translation whenI explained thatGod gave us everlasting life, and my son thought it wasgenerous of God to giveus his "last wife."My proudest moment cameduring the children'sChristmas pageant.My daughter was playing Mary,two of my sons were shepherds and my youngest son was a wise man.This was their moment to shine.My five-year-old shepherdhad practiced his line,"We found the babe wrappedin swaddling clothes." But he was nervous and said, "The baby was wrappedin wrinkled clothes." My four-year-old "Mary" said,"That's not 'wrinkled clothes,' silly.That's dirty, rotten clothes."A wrestling match broke outbetween Mary and the shepherdand was stopped by an angel,who bent her halo and lost her left wing. I slouched a little lowerin my seat when Marydropped the doll representingBaby Jesus, and it bounceddown the aisle crying, "Mama-mama." Mary grabbed the doll,wrapped it back upand held it tightly asthe wise men arrived.My other son stepped forwardwearing a bathrobe and a paper crown,knelt at the manger and announced,"We are the three wise men,and we are bringing giftsof gold, common sense and fur."The congregationdissolved into laughter,and the pageantgot a standing ovation. "I've never enjoyed a Christmas program as much as this one,"laughed the pastor, wiping tears from his eyes "For the rest of my life,I'll never hear theChristmas story withoutthinking of gold, common sense and fur.""My children are my pride and my joy and my greatestblessing," I said as I dugthrough my purse for an aspirin.Jesus had no servants,yet they called Him Master.Had no degree,yet they called Him Teacher.Had no medicines,yet they called Him Healer.Had no army,yet kings feared Him.He won no military battles,yet He conquered the world.He committed no crime,yet they crucified Him.He was buried in a tomb,yet He lives today.Feel honoredto serve such a Leader who loves us
Story #41 - The Most Beautiful Thing
The sides of the path were covered with rugs of white snow. But, in the center, its whiteness was crushed and churned into a foaming brown by the tramp, tramp of hundreds of hurrying feet. It as the day before Christmas. People rushed up and down the path carrying armloads of bundles. They laughed and called to each other as they pushed their was through the crowds.
Above the path, the long arms of an ancient tree reached upward to the sky. It swayed and moaned as a strong wind grasped its branches, and bent them toward the earth. Down below a haughty laugh sounds, as a lovely fir tree stretches and preens its thick green branches, sending a fine spray of snow shimmering downward to the ground.
"I should think," said the fir, in a high smug voice, "that you'd try a little harder to stand still. Goodness knows you're ugly enough with leaves you've already lost. If you move around any more, you'll soon be quite bare."
"I know," answered the old tree. "Everything has put on its most beautiful clothes for the celebration of the birth of Christ. Even from here I can see the decorations shining from each street corner. And Yesterday some men can and put the brightest, loveliest lights on every tree along the path--except me, of course." He sighed softly, and flake of snow melted in the form of a teardrop and ran down his gnarled trunk.
"Oh, indeed! and did you expect they'd put lights upon you so your ugliness would stand out even more?" smirked the fir.
"I guess you're right," replied the old three in a sad voice. "If there were only somewhere I could hide until after the celebrations are over, but here I stand...the only ugly thing among all this beauty. If they would only come and chop me down," and he sighed sorrowfully.
"Well, I don't wish you any ill will," replied the fir, "but you are an eyesore. Perhaps it would be better for us all if they come and chopped you down." Once again he stretch his lovely thick branches. "You might try to hold onto those three small leaves you still have. At least you wouldn't be completely bare."
"Oh, I've tried so hard," cried the old tree. "Each fall I say to myself, 'this year I won't give up a single leaf, no matter what the cause', but someone always comes along who seems to need them more then I," and he sighed once again.
"I told you not to give away so many to that dirty little paper boy," said the fir. "Why you even lowered your branched a little, so that he could reach them. You can't say I didn't warn you then."
"Yes, you did at that," the old tree replied. "But they made him so happy. I heard him say he would pick some for his invalid mother."
"Oh they all had good causes," mocked the fir. "That young girl, for instance, colored leaves for her party, indeed! They were your leaves!"
"She took a lot, didn't she?" said the old tree, and he seemed to smile.
Just then a cold wind blew down the path and a tiny brown bird fell to the ground at the foot of the old tree and lay there shivering, to cold to lift it wings. The old tree looked down in pity, and then quickly he let go of his last three leaves. The golden leaves fluttered down and settled softly over the shivering little bird, and it lay there quietly under the warmth of them.
"Now you've done it!" shrieked the fir. "You've given away every single leaf! Christmas morning you'll make our path the ugliest sight in the whole city! " The old tree said nothing. Instead, he stretch out his branches to gather what snowflakes he could that they might not fall on the tiny bird.
The young fir turned away in anger, and it was then he noticed a painter sitting quietly a few feet from the path, intent upon his long brushes and his canvas. His clothes were old and tattered, his face wore a sad expression. He was thinking of his loved ones and the empty, cheerless Christmas morning they would face, for he had sold not a single painting in the last few months.
But the little tree didn't see this. Instead, he turned back to the old tree and said in a haughty voice, a least keep those bare branches as far away from me as possible. I'm being painted and your hideousness will mar the background.
"I'll try," replied the old tree. And he raised his branches as high as possible. It was almost dark when the painter picked up his easel and left. And the little fir was tired and cross from all his preening and posing. Christmas morning he awoke late, and as he proudly shook away the snow from his lovely branches, he was amazed to see a huge crowd of people surrounding the old tree, ah-ing and oh-ing as they stood back and gazed upward. And even those hurrying along the path had to stop from a moment to sigh before they went on. "Whatever could it be?" thought the haughty fir, and he too looked up to see if perhaps the top of the old tree had been broken off dunng the night.
Just then a paper blew away from the hands of an enraptured newsboy and sailed straight into the young fir. The fir gasped in amazement, for there on the front page was a picture of the painter holding his painting of a great white tree whose leafless branches, laden with snow, stretch upward into the sky. While below lay a tiny brown bird almost covered by three golden leaves. And beneath the picture were the words, "The Most Beautiful Thing Is That Which Hath Given All." The young fir quietly bowed its head beneath the great beauty of the humble old tree.
Above the path, the long arms of an ancient tree reached upward to the sky. It swayed and moaned as a strong wind grasped its branches, and bent them toward the earth. Down below a haughty laugh sounds, as a lovely fir tree stretches and preens its thick green branches, sending a fine spray of snow shimmering downward to the ground.
"I should think," said the fir, in a high smug voice, "that you'd try a little harder to stand still. Goodness knows you're ugly enough with leaves you've already lost. If you move around any more, you'll soon be quite bare."
"I know," answered the old tree. "Everything has put on its most beautiful clothes for the celebration of the birth of Christ. Even from here I can see the decorations shining from each street corner. And Yesterday some men can and put the brightest, loveliest lights on every tree along the path--except me, of course." He sighed softly, and flake of snow melted in the form of a teardrop and ran down his gnarled trunk.
"Oh, indeed! and did you expect they'd put lights upon you so your ugliness would stand out even more?" smirked the fir.
"I guess you're right," replied the old three in a sad voice. "If there were only somewhere I could hide until after the celebrations are over, but here I stand...the only ugly thing among all this beauty. If they would only come and chop me down," and he sighed sorrowfully.
"Well, I don't wish you any ill will," replied the fir, "but you are an eyesore. Perhaps it would be better for us all if they come and chopped you down." Once again he stretch his lovely thick branches. "You might try to hold onto those three small leaves you still have. At least you wouldn't be completely bare."
"Oh, I've tried so hard," cried the old tree. "Each fall I say to myself, 'this year I won't give up a single leaf, no matter what the cause', but someone always comes along who seems to need them more then I," and he sighed once again.
"I told you not to give away so many to that dirty little paper boy," said the fir. "Why you even lowered your branched a little, so that he could reach them. You can't say I didn't warn you then."
"Yes, you did at that," the old tree replied. "But they made him so happy. I heard him say he would pick some for his invalid mother."
"Oh they all had good causes," mocked the fir. "That young girl, for instance, colored leaves for her party, indeed! They were your leaves!"
"She took a lot, didn't she?" said the old tree, and he seemed to smile.
Just then a cold wind blew down the path and a tiny brown bird fell to the ground at the foot of the old tree and lay there shivering, to cold to lift it wings. The old tree looked down in pity, and then quickly he let go of his last three leaves. The golden leaves fluttered down and settled softly over the shivering little bird, and it lay there quietly under the warmth of them.
"Now you've done it!" shrieked the fir. "You've given away every single leaf! Christmas morning you'll make our path the ugliest sight in the whole city! " The old tree said nothing. Instead, he stretch out his branches to gather what snowflakes he could that they might not fall on the tiny bird.
The young fir turned away in anger, and it was then he noticed a painter sitting quietly a few feet from the path, intent upon his long brushes and his canvas. His clothes were old and tattered, his face wore a sad expression. He was thinking of his loved ones and the empty, cheerless Christmas morning they would face, for he had sold not a single painting in the last few months.
But the little tree didn't see this. Instead, he turned back to the old tree and said in a haughty voice, a least keep those bare branches as far away from me as possible. I'm being painted and your hideousness will mar the background.
"I'll try," replied the old tree. And he raised his branches as high as possible. It was almost dark when the painter picked up his easel and left. And the little fir was tired and cross from all his preening and posing. Christmas morning he awoke late, and as he proudly shook away the snow from his lovely branches, he was amazed to see a huge crowd of people surrounding the old tree, ah-ing and oh-ing as they stood back and gazed upward. And even those hurrying along the path had to stop from a moment to sigh before they went on. "Whatever could it be?" thought the haughty fir, and he too looked up to see if perhaps the top of the old tree had been broken off dunng the night.
Just then a paper blew away from the hands of an enraptured newsboy and sailed straight into the young fir. The fir gasped in amazement, for there on the front page was a picture of the painter holding his painting of a great white tree whose leafless branches, laden with snow, stretch upward into the sky. While below lay a tiny brown bird almost covered by three golden leaves. And beneath the picture were the words, "The Most Beautiful Thing Is That Which Hath Given All." The young fir quietly bowed its head beneath the great beauty of the humble old tree.
Story #40 - The Legend of the Silver PineCone
There once lived a poor family without enough food to eat or enough wood for their fire. The mother decided to go into the forest to search for pinecones. She was planning to use the pine cones to build a fire for her family, and she was also hoping she could sell some of them to get money to buy food.After walking for hours, the mother finally reached the forest and started gathering pinecones into her basket. Suddenly, she heard a voice say, "Why are you stealing my pinecones?" With that, an elf appeared beside her.She explained her sad story to the elf. With a crooked smile, the elf said, "Go into the next forest. The pine cones there are much better."Hesitantly, the mother set off to the next forest, which was even farther away. When she reached it, she was very tired. She leaned against a tree and sat her basket on the ground.No sooner had she set down her basket, and dozens of pinecones started falling to the ground. Filled with renewed energy, she gathered all the pinecones into her basket and returned home.Exhausted, she returned home and set the basket on her doorstep. When she looked down at the basket of pinecones, they had all turned to silver!!The family would never be poor again.
Silver Pinecones are Very Lucky.According to legend, it is customary to keep one on your dresser and desk. If you have a fireplace, put a basket of them on the mantle.Good fortune will surely come your way!!! see http://pineconelady.com/silvercone.html
Silver Pinecones are Very Lucky.According to legend, it is customary to keep one on your dresser and desk. If you have a fireplace, put a basket of them on the mantle.Good fortune will surely come your way!!! see http://pineconelady.com/silvercone.html
Story #39 - Top Ten Reasons Hurricane Season Is Like Christmas:
Number Ten: Decorating the house (with plywood).Number Nine: Dragging out boxes that haven't been used since last season.Number Eight: Last minute shopping in crowded stores.Number Seven: Regular TV shows pre-empted for 'Specials'.Number Six: Family coming to stay with you.Number Five: Family and friends from out of state calling you.Number Four: Buying food you don't normally buy . . . and in large quantities.Number Three: Days off from work.Number Two: Candles. And the Number One reason Hurricane Season is like Christmas: At some point you're probably going to have a tree in your house!
Story #39 - A Different Kind of Christmas
Martha had tried to ignore the approach of Christmas. She would have kept it almost entirely out of her thoughts if Jed had not come eagerly into the cabin one day, stomping the snow from his cold feet as he said in an excited voice, "Martha, we're going to have a Christmas tree this year, anyway. I spotted a cedar on the rise out south of the wheat field, over near the Nortons place. It's a scrubby thing, but it will do since we can't get a pine. Maybe Christmas will be a little different here, but it will still be the kind of Christmas we used to have."
As she shook her head, Martha noticed that Daniel glanced quickly up from the corner where he was playing, patiently tying together some sticks with bits of string left over from the quilt she had tied a few days earlier. She drew Jed as far away from the boy as possible.
"I don't want a tree," she said. "We won't be celebrating Christmas. Even a tree couldn't make it the kind of Christmas we used to have."
"Martha, we've got to do something for the boy at least. Children set such store by Christmas."
"Don't you think I know? All those years of fixing things for Marybell and Stellie. I know all about kids and Christmas." She stopped and drew a deep breath, glancing over to see that Daniel was occupied and not listening. "But I can't do those things for him. It would be like a knife in the heart, fixing a tree and baking cookies and making things for another woman's child when my own girls are back there on that prairie."
"Martha, Martha," Jed said softly. "It's been almost a year and a half. That's over, and Danny needs you. He needs a Christmas like he remembers."
She turned her back to his pleading face. "I can't," she said.
Jed touched her shoulder gently, "I know how hard it is for you, Martha. But think of the boy." He turned and went back out into the snowy weather.
Think of the boy. Why should she think of him, when her own children, her two blue-eyed, golden-curled daughters, had been left beside the trail back there on that endless, empty prairie? The boy came to her not because she wanted him, but because she couldn't say 'no' to the bishop back in Salt Lake City last April before they came to settle in this valley.
Bishop Clay had brought Daniel to her and Jed one day and said, "I want you to care for this lad. His mother died on the trek last summer, and his Pa passed away last week. He needs a good home."
Jed had gripped the bishop's hand and with tears in his eyes, thanked him, but Martha had turned away from the sight of the thin, ragged, six-year- old boy who stood before them; not fast enough, however, to miss the sudden brief smile he flashed at her. A smile that should have caught her heart and opened it wide. Her heart was closed, though, locked tightly around the memory of her two gentle little girls. She didn't want a noisy, rowdy boy hanging around disturbing those memories, filling the cabin with a boy's loud games.
Yet she had taken him, because she felt she had no choice. Faced with the bishop's request--more of an order, really--and Jed's obvious joy, she couldn't refuse.
He came with them out to the new valley west of Salt Lake settlement and had proved himself a great help to Jed, despite his young age. Sometimes Martha felt pity for him, but she didn't love him. With Jed it was different. He had accepted Daniel immediately as his own son and enjoyed having a boy with him. They had a special relationship.
Daniel mentioned Christmas only once. One day it was too cold and snowy to play outside, and he been humming softly to himself as he played in his corner. Suddenly, he look up at Martha and asked, "Can you sing, Aunt Martha?"
Martha paused and straightened up from the table where she was kneading bread. She used to sing for her girls all the time. "No, I can't Daniel," she said, "not any more."
"My mother used to sing a pretty song at Christmas," he said. "I wish I could remember it."
On the day before Christmas, Jed went through the deep snow to do some chores for Brother Norton, who was ill. Daniel was alone outside most of the day, although he made several rather furtive trips in and out of the cabin. On one trip, he took the sticks he had been tying together.
Toward evening, Martha went out to the stable to milk Rosie, since Jed had not yet returned. As she approached, she saw there was light inside. Opening the door softly, she peered within. Daniel had lit the barn lantern, and within its glow, he knelt in the straw by Rosie's stall. In front of him were the sticks he had tied together, which Martha recognized now as a crude cradle. It held Stellie's rag doll, all wrapped up in the white shawl Martha kept in her trunk.
Her first impulse was to rush in and snatch it, but she stopped, because the scene was strangely beautiful in the soft light from the lantern. Rosie and the two sheep stood close by, watching Daniel. He seemed to be addressing them when he spoke.
"The shepherds came following the star," he was saying, "and they found the baby Jesus who had been born in a stable." He paused for a moment, then went on. "And his mother loved him."
Martha felt suddenly that she couldn't breathe. Another mother, another day, had loved her boy and had told him the beautiful story of the Christ Child with such love that he hadn't forgot it, young as he was; and she, Martha, had failed that mother. In the silence she began to sing.
"Silent night," she sang. "Holy night..."
Daniel didn't move until the song was finished. Then he turned with that quick, heart-melting smile. "That's the one," he whispered. "That's the song my mother used to sing to me."
Martha ran forward and gathered the boy into her arms. He responded immediately, clasping his arms tightly around her.
"Danny," she said, shifting on the edge of Rosie's manger, "let's go in and get the cabin ready for Christmas. Maybe it isn't too late for Jed--Pa to get that tree. It might be a little different kind of Christmas, but it will still be a little like the Christmases we used to know."
"Do you mind it being different?" Danny asked. "I mean with a boy instead of your girls?"
Martha wondered how long it would take her to make up to him for the hurt she had inflicted these many months. "No." she said. "After all, the Baby Jesus was a boy."
"That's right," he said wonderingly.
She set him down on the floor and put her arm around his shoulders. "Merry Christmas." she said. "Merry Christmas, Danny."
He looked up at her with a smile that did not fade quickly away this time, a sweet smile full of the love he had been waiting to give her. "Merry Christmas," he said, and then added softly, "Mother."
As she shook her head, Martha noticed that Daniel glanced quickly up from the corner where he was playing, patiently tying together some sticks with bits of string left over from the quilt she had tied a few days earlier. She drew Jed as far away from the boy as possible.
"I don't want a tree," she said. "We won't be celebrating Christmas. Even a tree couldn't make it the kind of Christmas we used to have."
"Martha, we've got to do something for the boy at least. Children set such store by Christmas."
"Don't you think I know? All those years of fixing things for Marybell and Stellie. I know all about kids and Christmas." She stopped and drew a deep breath, glancing over to see that Daniel was occupied and not listening. "But I can't do those things for him. It would be like a knife in the heart, fixing a tree and baking cookies and making things for another woman's child when my own girls are back there on that prairie."
"Martha, Martha," Jed said softly. "It's been almost a year and a half. That's over, and Danny needs you. He needs a Christmas like he remembers."
She turned her back to his pleading face. "I can't," she said.
Jed touched her shoulder gently, "I know how hard it is for you, Martha. But think of the boy." He turned and went back out into the snowy weather.
Think of the boy. Why should she think of him, when her own children, her two blue-eyed, golden-curled daughters, had been left beside the trail back there on that endless, empty prairie? The boy came to her not because she wanted him, but because she couldn't say 'no' to the bishop back in Salt Lake City last April before they came to settle in this valley.
Bishop Clay had brought Daniel to her and Jed one day and said, "I want you to care for this lad. His mother died on the trek last summer, and his Pa passed away last week. He needs a good home."
Jed had gripped the bishop's hand and with tears in his eyes, thanked him, but Martha had turned away from the sight of the thin, ragged, six-year- old boy who stood before them; not fast enough, however, to miss the sudden brief smile he flashed at her. A smile that should have caught her heart and opened it wide. Her heart was closed, though, locked tightly around the memory of her two gentle little girls. She didn't want a noisy, rowdy boy hanging around disturbing those memories, filling the cabin with a boy's loud games.
Yet she had taken him, because she felt she had no choice. Faced with the bishop's request--more of an order, really--and Jed's obvious joy, she couldn't refuse.
He came with them out to the new valley west of Salt Lake settlement and had proved himself a great help to Jed, despite his young age. Sometimes Martha felt pity for him, but she didn't love him. With Jed it was different. He had accepted Daniel immediately as his own son and enjoyed having a boy with him. They had a special relationship.
Daniel mentioned Christmas only once. One day it was too cold and snowy to play outside, and he been humming softly to himself as he played in his corner. Suddenly, he look up at Martha and asked, "Can you sing, Aunt Martha?"
Martha paused and straightened up from the table where she was kneading bread. She used to sing for her girls all the time. "No, I can't Daniel," she said, "not any more."
"My mother used to sing a pretty song at Christmas," he said. "I wish I could remember it."
On the day before Christmas, Jed went through the deep snow to do some chores for Brother Norton, who was ill. Daniel was alone outside most of the day, although he made several rather furtive trips in and out of the cabin. On one trip, he took the sticks he had been tying together.
Toward evening, Martha went out to the stable to milk Rosie, since Jed had not yet returned. As she approached, she saw there was light inside. Opening the door softly, she peered within. Daniel had lit the barn lantern, and within its glow, he knelt in the straw by Rosie's stall. In front of him were the sticks he had tied together, which Martha recognized now as a crude cradle. It held Stellie's rag doll, all wrapped up in the white shawl Martha kept in her trunk.
Her first impulse was to rush in and snatch it, but she stopped, because the scene was strangely beautiful in the soft light from the lantern. Rosie and the two sheep stood close by, watching Daniel. He seemed to be addressing them when he spoke.
"The shepherds came following the star," he was saying, "and they found the baby Jesus who had been born in a stable." He paused for a moment, then went on. "And his mother loved him."
Martha felt suddenly that she couldn't breathe. Another mother, another day, had loved her boy and had told him the beautiful story of the Christ Child with such love that he hadn't forgot it, young as he was; and she, Martha, had failed that mother. In the silence she began to sing.
"Silent night," she sang. "Holy night..."
Daniel didn't move until the song was finished. Then he turned with that quick, heart-melting smile. "That's the one," he whispered. "That's the song my mother used to sing to me."
Martha ran forward and gathered the boy into her arms. He responded immediately, clasping his arms tightly around her.
"Danny," she said, shifting on the edge of Rosie's manger, "let's go in and get the cabin ready for Christmas. Maybe it isn't too late for Jed--Pa to get that tree. It might be a little different kind of Christmas, but it will still be a little like the Christmases we used to know."
"Do you mind it being different?" Danny asked. "I mean with a boy instead of your girls?"
Martha wondered how long it would take her to make up to him for the hurt she had inflicted these many months. "No." she said. "After all, the Baby Jesus was a boy."
"That's right," he said wonderingly.
She set him down on the floor and put her arm around his shoulders. "Merry Christmas." she said. "Merry Christmas, Danny."
He looked up at her with a smile that did not fade quickly away this time, a sweet smile full of the love he had been waiting to give her. "Merry Christmas," he said, and then added softly, "Mother."
Friday, December 26, 2008
Story #38 - Teddy
As she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children an untruth. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same. However, that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard
Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he did not play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. In addition, Teddy could be unpleasant. It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then putting a big "F" at the top of his papers.
At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child's past records and she put Teddy's off until last. However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.
Teddy's first grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners... he is a joy to be around.."
His second grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is an excellent student, well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle."
His third grade teacher wrote, "His mother's death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best, but his father doesn't show much interest, and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken."
Teddy's fourth grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is withdrawn and doesn't show much interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and he sometimes sleeps in class."
By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy's. His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag. Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was one-quarter full of perfume. But she stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist. Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, "Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to."
After the children left, she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching reading, writing and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children. Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one of her "teacher's pets.."
A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that she was the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.
Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in life.
Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honours. He assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favourite teacher he had ever had in his whole life.
Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favourite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer.... The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, MD.
The story does not end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he had met this girl and was going to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit at the wedding in the place that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom. Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. Moreover, she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together.
They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson's ear, "Thank you Mrs. Thompson for believing in me. Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference."
Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, "Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn't know how to teach until I met you."
(For you that don't know, Teddy Stoddard is the Dr. at Iowa Methodist in Des Moines that has the Stoddard Cancer Wing.)
Warm someone's heart today. . . pass this along. I love this story so very much, I cry every time I read it. Just try to make a difference in someone's life today? tomorrow? just "do it".
Random acts of kindness, I think they call it!
"Believe in Angels, then return the favour"
Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he did not play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. In addition, Teddy could be unpleasant. It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then putting a big "F" at the top of his papers.
At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child's past records and she put Teddy's off until last. However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.
Teddy's first grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners... he is a joy to be around.."
His second grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is an excellent student, well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle."
His third grade teacher wrote, "His mother's death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best, but his father doesn't show much interest, and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken."
Teddy's fourth grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is withdrawn and doesn't show much interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and he sometimes sleeps in class."
By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy's. His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag. Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was one-quarter full of perfume. But she stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist. Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, "Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to."
After the children left, she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching reading, writing and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children. Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one of her "teacher's pets.."
A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that she was the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.
Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in life.
Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honours. He assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favourite teacher he had ever had in his whole life.
Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favourite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer.... The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, MD.
The story does not end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he had met this girl and was going to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit at the wedding in the place that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom. Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. Moreover, she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together.
They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson's ear, "Thank you Mrs. Thompson for believing in me. Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference."
Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, "Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn't know how to teach until I met you."
(For you that don't know, Teddy Stoddard is the Dr. at Iowa Methodist in Des Moines that has the Stoddard Cancer Wing.)
Warm someone's heart today. . . pass this along. I love this story so very much, I cry every time I read it. Just try to make a difference in someone's life today? tomorrow? just "do it".
Random acts of kindness, I think they call it!
"Believe in Angels, then return the favour"
Story #37 - A West Side Christmas
by Pat Sullivan
My husband, Chuck, and my sister, Lee, are partners in a heating company in Chicago. Lee is the buyer, hirer, firer, phone answerer, typist, bookkeeper, and office girl. She will bring hot soup and sandwiches to a crew in an icy basement at three o'clock in the morning, but she is Hard-Hearted Hannah when it comes to spending company money. When she says "No" to an expense account item, or something she thinks is a luxury, her eyes shoot fire ... and Chuck, who is usually a very verbal man, starts to tiptoe around her desk.One day about a week before Christmas, all the phones in the office seemed to start ringing at once. There were more broken boilers, burned-out fire-pots, and stuck stack switches than there had ever been before, and the men were working around the clock. I went into the office to help out on the phones, and it was all I could do just to write down the names and addresses of the people without heat. Worst of all, it seemed that everyone who called either had a new baby, an old grandmother, or had just gotten out of the hospital themselves.One woman called in tears. She lived in a section of Chicago where rioting, looting, and burning had taken place a few months earlier. She had been phoning for several hours, one heating company after another, trying in vain to get a serviceman to work in a black neighborhood. I took the order and promised that a man would be there within the hour. Then she asked if she could pay a little money each week for the service call, and I looked at Lee and repeated the question. She nodded, "Okay," and when I told the customer, Mrs. Jenkins, not to worry, she said, "God bless you, miss," and hung up.Lee turned the call over to Chuck, as all the other men were out. "Bump that other call I gave you; they only have a noisy burner. This one is a no-heat. Better get right on it." Chuck left and was gone for several hours. When he came back, he told Lee, "Forget the billing on that one."She looked at him, "Since when are we in the charity business?"Then Chuck told us that Mrs. Jenkins was a widow with seven little children. Her house was clean and bare with very few furnishings. The children were thin and hungry-eyed, wearing worn and much patched clothes. After Chuck had gotten the heat going, one of the smaller boys had shyly come over to watch him pick up his tools, and Chuck patted him on the head and asked, "What did you tell Santa Claus you wanted for Christmas?"The child looked him right in the eye and answered, "Ain't no more Santa Claus. Mama say he die, no use to ask him for any toys, cause he is dead, and we ain't gonna get nothing anyways.”Lee never said a word, but brusquely handed Chuck another call and told him to get going. We worked, all three of us, most of the night. The next morning Lee called in to tell us that she hadn't heard the alarm and would be in late. Chuck seemed strangely happy to hear this and asked one of the men to watch the phones for a while, then hustled me into my coat. "Can't spend a dime with that woman looking over my shoulder," he grumbled. When we pulled up in front of a large toy store, I knew what he was up to. He hummed and whistled while he loaded the shopping cart with dolls, games, trucks, and space ships. Then we headed to the candy store for filled stockings, striped red-and-white peppermint canes, and sugar figures of pigs, soldiers, and ballerinas. We drove through thick snowflakes, bumper to bumper, all the way to the West Side, unloaded the piles of presents and rang Mrs. Jenkins' doorbell.In we trotted, behind the whooping children, to find a red-cheeked Lee pinning a Christmas Star of Bethlehem on the top of a fragrant pine tree.Nearby was Mrs. Jenkins, smiling through her tears, as she carefully unpacked a Nativity scene and reverently placed the figures of the Holy Family in the middle of her dining-room table."Well, don't just stand there ... get busy!" said Lee, handing a box of tinsel to my open-mouthed husband. "What took you so long?"
My husband, Chuck, and my sister, Lee, are partners in a heating company in Chicago. Lee is the buyer, hirer, firer, phone answerer, typist, bookkeeper, and office girl. She will bring hot soup and sandwiches to a crew in an icy basement at three o'clock in the morning, but she is Hard-Hearted Hannah when it comes to spending company money. When she says "No" to an expense account item, or something she thinks is a luxury, her eyes shoot fire ... and Chuck, who is usually a very verbal man, starts to tiptoe around her desk.One day about a week before Christmas, all the phones in the office seemed to start ringing at once. There were more broken boilers, burned-out fire-pots, and stuck stack switches than there had ever been before, and the men were working around the clock. I went into the office to help out on the phones, and it was all I could do just to write down the names and addresses of the people without heat. Worst of all, it seemed that everyone who called either had a new baby, an old grandmother, or had just gotten out of the hospital themselves.One woman called in tears. She lived in a section of Chicago where rioting, looting, and burning had taken place a few months earlier. She had been phoning for several hours, one heating company after another, trying in vain to get a serviceman to work in a black neighborhood. I took the order and promised that a man would be there within the hour. Then she asked if she could pay a little money each week for the service call, and I looked at Lee and repeated the question. She nodded, "Okay," and when I told the customer, Mrs. Jenkins, not to worry, she said, "God bless you, miss," and hung up.Lee turned the call over to Chuck, as all the other men were out. "Bump that other call I gave you; they only have a noisy burner. This one is a no-heat. Better get right on it." Chuck left and was gone for several hours. When he came back, he told Lee, "Forget the billing on that one."She looked at him, "Since when are we in the charity business?"Then Chuck told us that Mrs. Jenkins was a widow with seven little children. Her house was clean and bare with very few furnishings. The children were thin and hungry-eyed, wearing worn and much patched clothes. After Chuck had gotten the heat going, one of the smaller boys had shyly come over to watch him pick up his tools, and Chuck patted him on the head and asked, "What did you tell Santa Claus you wanted for Christmas?"The child looked him right in the eye and answered, "Ain't no more Santa Claus. Mama say he die, no use to ask him for any toys, cause he is dead, and we ain't gonna get nothing anyways.”Lee never said a word, but brusquely handed Chuck another call and told him to get going. We worked, all three of us, most of the night. The next morning Lee called in to tell us that she hadn't heard the alarm and would be in late. Chuck seemed strangely happy to hear this and asked one of the men to watch the phones for a while, then hustled me into my coat. "Can't spend a dime with that woman looking over my shoulder," he grumbled. When we pulled up in front of a large toy store, I knew what he was up to. He hummed and whistled while he loaded the shopping cart with dolls, games, trucks, and space ships. Then we headed to the candy store for filled stockings, striped red-and-white peppermint canes, and sugar figures of pigs, soldiers, and ballerinas. We drove through thick snowflakes, bumper to bumper, all the way to the West Side, unloaded the piles of presents and rang Mrs. Jenkins' doorbell.In we trotted, behind the whooping children, to find a red-cheeked Lee pinning a Christmas Star of Bethlehem on the top of a fragrant pine tree.Nearby was Mrs. Jenkins, smiling through her tears, as she carefully unpacked a Nativity scene and reverently placed the figures of the Holy Family in the middle of her dining-room table."Well, don't just stand there ... get busy!" said Lee, handing a box of tinsel to my open-mouthed husband. "What took you so long?"
Story #36 - The 12 Days of Christmas
There is one Christmas Carol that has always baffled me. What in the world do leaping lords, French hens, swimming swans, and especially the partridge, who won't come outof the pear tree, have to do with Christmas?
This week, I found out.
From 1558 until 1829, Roman Catholics in England
were not permitted to practice their faith openly.Someone, during that era, wrote this carol as aCatechism song for young Catholics. It has two levels of meaning: the surface meaning plus a hidden meaning known only to members of their church.Each element in the carol has a code word for areligious reality which the children could remember.
-The partridge in a pear tree was Jesus Christ.
-Two turtle doves were the Old and New Testaments.
-Three French hens stood for faith, hope and love.
-The four calling birds were the four gospels ofMatthew, Mark, Luke & John.
-The five golden rings recalled the Torah or Law,the first five books of the Old Testament.
-The six geese a-laying stood for the six days of creation.
-Seven swans a-swimming represented thesevenfold gifts of the Holy Spirit--Prophesy, Serving, Teaching, Exhortation, Contribution, Leadership, and Mercy.
-The eight maids a-milking were the eight beatitudes.
-Nine ladies dancing were the nine fruits of the Holy Spirit--Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness,Faithfulness, Gentleness, and Self Control.
-The ten lords a-leaping were the ten commandments.
-The eleven pipers piping stood for the eleven faithful disciples.
-The twelve drummers drumming symbolized thetwelve points of belief in the Apostles' Creed.
So there is your history for today.
This knowledge was shared with me and I found it interestingand enlightening and now I know how that strange song
became a Christmas Carol...so pass it on if you wish.
This week, I found out.
From 1558 until 1829, Roman Catholics in England
were not permitted to practice their faith openly.Someone, during that era, wrote this carol as aCatechism song for young Catholics. It has two levels of meaning: the surface meaning plus a hidden meaning known only to members of their church.Each element in the carol has a code word for areligious reality which the children could remember.
-The partridge in a pear tree was Jesus Christ.
-Two turtle doves were the Old and New Testaments.
-Three French hens stood for faith, hope and love.
-The four calling birds were the four gospels ofMatthew, Mark, Luke & John.
-The five golden rings recalled the Torah or Law,the first five books of the Old Testament.
-The six geese a-laying stood for the six days of creation.
-Seven swans a-swimming represented thesevenfold gifts of the Holy Spirit--Prophesy, Serving, Teaching, Exhortation, Contribution, Leadership, and Mercy.
-The eight maids a-milking were the eight beatitudes.
-Nine ladies dancing were the nine fruits of the Holy Spirit--Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness,Faithfulness, Gentleness, and Self Control.
-The ten lords a-leaping were the ten commandments.
-The eleven pipers piping stood for the eleven faithful disciples.
-The twelve drummers drumming symbolized thetwelve points of belief in the Apostles' Creed.
So there is your history for today.
This knowledge was shared with me and I found it interestingand enlightening and now I know how that strange song
became a Christmas Carol...so pass it on if you wish.
Story #36 - The Christmas Doll
The Christmas DollAuthor UnknownOn the last day before Christmas, I hurried to go to the store to buy the remaining gifts I didn't manage to buy earlier.When I saw all the people there, I started to complain to myself. It is going to take forever here and I still have so many other places to go... Christmas really is getting more and more annoying every year. How I wish I could just lie down, go to sleep and only wake up after it...Nonetheless, I made my way to the toy section, and there I started to curse the prices, wondering if all kids really play with such expensive toys.While looking in the toy section, I noticed a small boy of about 5 years old, pressing a doll against his chest. He kept on touching the hair of the doll and looked so sad. I wondered who was this doll for. Then the little boy turned to the old woman next to him and said: Granny, are you sure I don't have enough money?The old lady replied: You know that you don't have enough money to buy this doll, my dear. Then she asked him to stay here for 5 minutes while she went to look around. She left quickly.The little boy was still holding the doll in his hand. Finally, I started to walk toward him and I asked him who did he want to give this doll to. It is the doll that my sister loved most and wanted so much for this Christmas. She was so sure that Santa Claus would bring it to her.I replied to him that maybe Santa Claus will bring it to her, after all, and not to worry. But he replied to me sadly. No, Santa Claus cannot bring it to her where she is now. I have to give the doll to my mother so that she can give it to her when she goes there.His eyes were so sad while saying this.My sister has gone to be with God. Daddy said that Mommy will also go to see God very soon, so I thought that she could bring the doll with her to give it to my sister.My heart nearly stopped.The little boy looked up at me and said: I told daddy to tell mommy not to go yet. I asked him to wait until I come back from the store.Then he showed me a very nice photo of him where he was laughing. He then told me: I also want mommy to take this photo with her so that she will not forget me.I love my mommy and I wish she didn't have to leave me but daddy says that she has to go to be with my little sister.Then he looked again at the doll with sad eyes, very quietly.I quickly reached for my wallet and took a few dollars out and said to the boy. What if we checked again, just in case, to see if you have enough money?OK he said. I hope that I have enough.I added some of my money to his without him seeing and we started to count it. There was enough for the doll, and even some spare money.The little boy said: Thank you God for giving me enough money.Then he looked at me and added: I asked yesterday before I slept for God to make sure I have enough money to buy this doll so that mommy can give it to my sister. He heard me.I also wanted to have enough money to buy a white rose for my mommy, but I didn't dare to ask God for too much. but He gave me enough to buy the doll and the white rose. You know, my mommy loves white roses.A few minutes later, the old lady came again and I left.I finished my shopping in a totally different state from when I started. I couldn't get the little boy out of my mind.Then I remembered a local newspaper article 2 days ago, which mentioned of a drunk man in a truck who hit a car where there was one young lady and a little girl.The little girl died right away, and the mother was left in a critical state. The family had to decide whether to pull the plug on the life-assisting machine, because the young lady would not be able to get out of the coma.Was this the family of the little boy?Two days after this encounter with the little boy, I read in the newspaper that the young lady had passed away.I couldn't stop myself and went to buy a bunch of white roses and I went to the mortuary where the body of the young woman was exposed for people to see before burial.She was there, in her coffin, holding a beautiful white rose in her hand with the photo of the little boy and the doll placed over her chest.I left the place crying, feeling that my life had been changed forever.The love that this little boy had for his mother and his sister is still, to this day, hard to imagine.And in a fraction of a second, a drunk man had taken all this away from him.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
