Paul received an automobile from his brother as a Christmas present.On Christmas Eve when Paul came out of his office, a street urchin was walking around the shiny new car, admiring it. "Is this your car, Mister?" he asked
Paul nodded. "My brother gave it to me for Christmas."
The boy was astounded. "You mean your brother gave it to you and it didn't cost you nothing? Boy, I wish..." He hesitated. Of course Paul knew what he was going to wish for. He was going to wish he had a brother like that. But what the lad said jarred Paul all the way down to his heels.
"I wish," the boy went on, "that I could be a brother like that."
Paul looked at the boy in astonishment, then impulsively he added, "Would you like to take a ride in my automobile?"
"Oh yes, I'd love that."
After a short ride, the boy turned and with his eyes aglow, said, "Mister, would you mind driving in front of my house?" Paul smiled a little. He thought he knew what the lad wanted. He wanted to show his neighbors that he could ride home in a big automobile. But Paul was wrong again
"Will you stop where those two steps are?" the boy asked. He ran up the steps. Then in a little while Paul heard him coming back, but he was not coming fast. He was carrying his little crippled brother. He sat him down on the bottom step, then sort of squeezed up against him and pointed to the car.
"There she is, Buddy, just like I told you upstairs. His brother gave it to him for Christmas and it didn't cost him a cent. And someday I'm gonna give you one just like it...then you can see for yourself all the pretty things in the Christmas windows that I've been trying to tell you about,"
Paul got out and lifted the lad to the front seat of his car. The shining-eyed older brother climbed in beside him and the three of them began a memorable holiday ride.
Author Unkown
Showing posts with label christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label christmas. Show all posts
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
The Mom Before Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas, when all thru the abode
Only one creature was stirring and she was cleaning the commode.
The children were finally sleeping all snug in their beds,
While visions of Nintendo and Barbie flipped through their heads.
The dad was snoring in front of the TV,
With a half-constructed bicycle propped on his knee.
So only the mom heard the reindeer hooves clatter,
Which made her sigh, “Now what is the matter?”
With toilet bowl brush still clutched in her hand,
She descended the stairs and saw the old man.
He was covered with ashes and soot, which fell with a shrug,
“Oh great,” muttered the mom, “Now I have to clean the rug.”
“Ho Ho Ho!” cried Santa, “I’m glad you’re awake.
Your gift was especially difficult to make.”
“Thanks, Santa, but all I want is some time alone.”
“Exactly!” he chuckled, “So, I’ve made you a clone.”
“A clone?” she muttered, “What good is that?
Run along, Santa, I’ve no time for chit chat.”
Then out walked the clone – the mother’s twin,
Same hair, same eyes, same double chin.
“She’ll cook, she’ll dust, she’ll mop every mess.
You’ll relax, take it easy, watch The Young and The Restless.”
“Fantastic!” the mom cheered. “My dream has come true!
I’ll shop, I’ll read, I’ll sleep a night through!”
From the room above, the youngest did fret.
“Mommy! Come quickly, I’m scared and I’m wet.”
The clone replied, “I’m coming, sweetheart.”
“Hey,” the mom smiled, “She sure knows her part.”
The clone changed the small one and hummed her a tune,
As she bundled the child in a blanket cocoon.
“You’re the best mommy ever. I really love you.”
The clone smiled and sighed, “And I love you, too.”
The mom frowned and said, “Sorry, Santa, no deal.”
That’s my child’s love she is trying to steal.”
Smiling wisely Santa said, “To me it is clear,
Only one loving mother is needed here.”
The mom kissed her child and tucked her in bed.
‘Thank You, Santa, for clearing my head.
I sometimes forget, it won’t be very long,
When they’ll be too old for my cradle and song.”
The clock on the mantle began to chime.
Santa whispered to the clone, “It works every time.”
With the clone by his side Santa said, “Goodnight.
Merry Christmas, dear Mom, you’ll be all right.”
Only one creature was stirring and she was cleaning the commode.
The children were finally sleeping all snug in their beds,
While visions of Nintendo and Barbie flipped through their heads.
The dad was snoring in front of the TV,
With a half-constructed bicycle propped on his knee.
So only the mom heard the reindeer hooves clatter,
Which made her sigh, “Now what is the matter?”
With toilet bowl brush still clutched in her hand,
She descended the stairs and saw the old man.
He was covered with ashes and soot, which fell with a shrug,
“Oh great,” muttered the mom, “Now I have to clean the rug.”
“Ho Ho Ho!” cried Santa, “I’m glad you’re awake.
Your gift was especially difficult to make.”
“Thanks, Santa, but all I want is some time alone.”
“Exactly!” he chuckled, “So, I’ve made you a clone.”
“A clone?” she muttered, “What good is that?
Run along, Santa, I’ve no time for chit chat.”
Then out walked the clone – the mother’s twin,
Same hair, same eyes, same double chin.
“She’ll cook, she’ll dust, she’ll mop every mess.
You’ll relax, take it easy, watch The Young and The Restless.”
“Fantastic!” the mom cheered. “My dream has come true!
I’ll shop, I’ll read, I’ll sleep a night through!”
From the room above, the youngest did fret.
“Mommy! Come quickly, I’m scared and I’m wet.”
The clone replied, “I’m coming, sweetheart.”
“Hey,” the mom smiled, “She sure knows her part.”
The clone changed the small one and hummed her a tune,
As she bundled the child in a blanket cocoon.
“You’re the best mommy ever. I really love you.”
The clone smiled and sighed, “And I love you, too.”
The mom frowned and said, “Sorry, Santa, no deal.”
That’s my child’s love she is trying to steal.”
Smiling wisely Santa said, “To me it is clear,
Only one loving mother is needed here.”
The mom kissed her child and tucked her in bed.
‘Thank You, Santa, for clearing my head.
I sometimes forget, it won’t be very long,
When they’ll be too old for my cradle and song.”
The clock on the mantle began to chime.
Santa whispered to the clone, “It works every time.”
With the clone by his side Santa said, “Goodnight.
Merry Christmas, dear Mom, you’ll be all right.”
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Mom's Christmas List
Dear Santa,
I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my two children on demand, visited the doctor's office more than my doctor, sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on the school playground and figured out how to attach nine patches onto my daughter's girl scout sash with staples and a glue gun.
I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmases, since I had to write this letter with my son's red crayon, on the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when I'll find anymore free time in the next 18 years...
Here are my Christmas Wishes:
1. A pair of legs that don't ache after a day of chasing kids( no purple ones please )
2. Arms that don't flap in the breeze, but strong enough to carry a toddler.
3. A waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of my last pregnancy.
4. A talking daughter doll that says, " Yes Mommy" to boost my parental confidence.
5. Three pairs of jeans that will zip all the way up without the use of power tools.
6. Declare ketchup a vegetable, to clear my conscience when feeding it to my children.
7. A recording of Tibetan monks chanting " Don't eat in the living room" and "Take your hands off your brother", because my voice seems to be just out of my children's hearing range.
8. Playdough Travel Pack, the hottest stocking stuffer this year for mothers of preschoolers. It comes in three fluorescent colors and is guaranteed to crumble on any carpet making the in-laws house seem just like mine.
If it's too late to find any of these products or services, I'll settle for enough time to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature without it being served in a Styrofoam container. If you don't mind, I could also use a few Christmas Miracles to brighten the holiday season.
Well Santa, The buzzer on the dryer is ringing and my son saw my feet under the laundry room door. I think he wants his crayon back. Have a safe trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the chimney and come in and dry off by the fire so you don't catch cold. Help yourself to cookies on the table but don't eat too many or leave crumbs on the carpet.
Yours Always.....Mom.
P.S. - One more thing...you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my children young enough to believe in Santa Claus.
I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my two children on demand, visited the doctor's office more than my doctor, sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on the school playground and figured out how to attach nine patches onto my daughter's girl scout sash with staples and a glue gun.
I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmases, since I had to write this letter with my son's red crayon, on the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when I'll find anymore free time in the next 18 years...
Here are my Christmas Wishes:
1. A pair of legs that don't ache after a day of chasing kids( no purple ones please )
2. Arms that don't flap in the breeze, but strong enough to carry a toddler.
3. A waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of my last pregnancy.
4. A talking daughter doll that says, " Yes Mommy" to boost my parental confidence.
5. Three pairs of jeans that will zip all the way up without the use of power tools.
6. Declare ketchup a vegetable, to clear my conscience when feeding it to my children.
7. A recording of Tibetan monks chanting " Don't eat in the living room" and "Take your hands off your brother", because my voice seems to be just out of my children's hearing range.
8. Playdough Travel Pack, the hottest stocking stuffer this year for mothers of preschoolers. It comes in three fluorescent colors and is guaranteed to crumble on any carpet making the in-laws house seem just like mine.
If it's too late to find any of these products or services, I'll settle for enough time to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature without it being served in a Styrofoam container. If you don't mind, I could also use a few Christmas Miracles to brighten the holiday season.
Well Santa, The buzzer on the dryer is ringing and my son saw my feet under the laundry room door. I think he wants his crayon back. Have a safe trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the chimney and come in and dry off by the fire so you don't catch cold. Help yourself to cookies on the table but don't eat too many or leave crumbs on the carpet.
Yours Always.....Mom.
P.S. - One more thing...you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my children young enough to believe in Santa Claus.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
A Christmas Dress for Ellen
That December her heart was so full of sorrow and concern for her six small children that she felt it would surely break. On Christmas Eve, all her children, except the oldest, Ellen, 10, were dancing around, excited to hang their stockings for Santa to come. Mary helped each one of her children hang a little darned and mended stocking, but she couldn't persuade Ellen to participate. Of all the children, Ellen alone knew there was nothing with which to fill the stockings.
Then the young mother sat by the fire, thinking of her plight. Spring had come very late and winter had come very early for the last two years, causing the crops to freeze and fail.
In October Mary had received a letter from her sisters living in Idaho who, despite their own setbacks, had asked what they could send her family for Christmas.
In November, in desperation, Mary had written.
Mary had requested only necessities. She told them how desperately the family needed food, especially wheat, yeast, flour and some cornmeal. She also asked for some old, used quilts and for some worn-out pants to cut up and use to patch her sons' clothes, and mentioned the family's desperate need for socks, shoes, gloves, hats and coats.
Then finally, Mary asked if someone might have a dress she had outgrown to send to Ellen, who only had one dress that was patched and faded. Mary felt she could fix up such a dress and thus bring some joy to Ellen, who had too much to worry about for a 10-year-old.
The week before Christmas Mary's husband, Leland, made a daily three-hour round trip into the town of Cardston to check at the train station and the post office for a package from Idaho. Nothing came.
Then at 3:30 on Christmas morning, while her husband and children slept, Mary heard a knock at the door. It was the mailman, a member of the Church from Cardston, telling Mary 10 large crates from the States had arrived for the Jeppson family. He knew they had been waiting for the packages and that there would be no Christmas without them. With horse and sleigh, he set out from his home Christmas Eve and traveled eight hours in a severe snowstorm to deliver the crates to the Jeppsons' isolated farm house.
Mary had thanked him all she could, but she always said that there just were not words enough to express her thanks. After all, how do you thank a miracle, and a Christmas miracle at that?''
Inside the boxes was a note from Mary's sisters. They told her that quilting bees had been held all over the Malad Valley, and from these, six thick, warm beautiful quilts had been made for them. They also told of the many women who had sewn shirts for the boys and dresses for the girls, and of others who had knitted warm gloves and hats.
The donation of socks and shoes had come from people for miles around. The Relief Society had held a bazaar to raise the money to buy the coats, and all of Mary Jeppson's sisters, nieces, cousins, aunts and uncles in Idaho had gotten together to bake the breads and make the candy to send.
There was even a crate half full of beef that had been cured and packed so that it could be shipped along with two or three slabs of bacon and two hams.
The letter closed with these words: “We hope you have a Merry Christmas, and thank you so much for making our Christmas the best one we've ever had!”
Mary's children awoke that morning to bacon, hot muffins and jars of jams and jellies and canned fruit. Every stocking that was hanging was stuffed full of homemade taffy, fudge, divinity and dried fruit of every kind.
The most wonderful miracle, though, occurred when Ellen, the very last to get up . . . looked to where her stocking was supposed to have been hung the night before and saw hanging there a beautiful red Christmas dress, trimmed with white and green satin ribbons. She later said it was the most wonderful Christmas morning ever.
“That morning,'' concluded President Monson, “with the Christmas dress for Ellen, a childhood had been brought back, a childhood of hopes and dreams and Santas and the miracle of Christmas.''
“If there is one common denominator, perhaps it is this: Christmas is love. Christmas is the time when the bonds of family love transcend distance and inconvenience,'' said President Monson. “It is a time when love of neighbor rises above petty day-to-day irritations, and doors swing open to give and receive expressions of appreciation and affection.”
(This is the true story of a young mother, Mary Jeppson, who lived in the remote prairie town of Hillspring, Alberta, and how she celebrated Christmas in 1927 as told by President Thomas S. Monson during the First Presidency Christmas Devotional in the Tabernacle Dec. 7, and reported in the Deseret News, 13 Dec 1997)
Then the young mother sat by the fire, thinking of her plight. Spring had come very late and winter had come very early for the last two years, causing the crops to freeze and fail.
In October Mary had received a letter from her sisters living in Idaho who, despite their own setbacks, had asked what they could send her family for Christmas.
In November, in desperation, Mary had written.
Mary had requested only necessities. She told them how desperately the family needed food, especially wheat, yeast, flour and some cornmeal. She also asked for some old, used quilts and for some worn-out pants to cut up and use to patch her sons' clothes, and mentioned the family's desperate need for socks, shoes, gloves, hats and coats.
Then finally, Mary asked if someone might have a dress she had outgrown to send to Ellen, who only had one dress that was patched and faded. Mary felt she could fix up such a dress and thus bring some joy to Ellen, who had too much to worry about for a 10-year-old.
The week before Christmas Mary's husband, Leland, made a daily three-hour round trip into the town of Cardston to check at the train station and the post office for a package from Idaho. Nothing came.
Then at 3:30 on Christmas morning, while her husband and children slept, Mary heard a knock at the door. It was the mailman, a member of the Church from Cardston, telling Mary 10 large crates from the States had arrived for the Jeppson family. He knew they had been waiting for the packages and that there would be no Christmas without them. With horse and sleigh, he set out from his home Christmas Eve and traveled eight hours in a severe snowstorm to deliver the crates to the Jeppsons' isolated farm house.
Mary had thanked him all she could, but she always said that there just were not words enough to express her thanks. After all, how do you thank a miracle, and a Christmas miracle at that?''
Inside the boxes was a note from Mary's sisters. They told her that quilting bees had been held all over the Malad Valley, and from these, six thick, warm beautiful quilts had been made for them. They also told of the many women who had sewn shirts for the boys and dresses for the girls, and of others who had knitted warm gloves and hats.
The donation of socks and shoes had come from people for miles around. The Relief Society had held a bazaar to raise the money to buy the coats, and all of Mary Jeppson's sisters, nieces, cousins, aunts and uncles in Idaho had gotten together to bake the breads and make the candy to send.
There was even a crate half full of beef that had been cured and packed so that it could be shipped along with two or three slabs of bacon and two hams.
The letter closed with these words: “We hope you have a Merry Christmas, and thank you so much for making our Christmas the best one we've ever had!”
Mary's children awoke that morning to bacon, hot muffins and jars of jams and jellies and canned fruit. Every stocking that was hanging was stuffed full of homemade taffy, fudge, divinity and dried fruit of every kind.
The most wonderful miracle, though, occurred when Ellen, the very last to get up . . . looked to where her stocking was supposed to have been hung the night before and saw hanging there a beautiful red Christmas dress, trimmed with white and green satin ribbons. She later said it was the most wonderful Christmas morning ever.
“That morning,'' concluded President Monson, “with the Christmas dress for Ellen, a childhood had been brought back, a childhood of hopes and dreams and Santas and the miracle of Christmas.''
“If there is one common denominator, perhaps it is this: Christmas is love. Christmas is the time when the bonds of family love transcend distance and inconvenience,'' said President Monson. “It is a time when love of neighbor rises above petty day-to-day irritations, and doors swing open to give and receive expressions of appreciation and affection.”
(This is the true story of a young mother, Mary Jeppson, who lived in the remote prairie town of Hillspring, Alberta, and how she celebrated Christmas in 1927 as told by President Thomas S. Monson during the First Presidency Christmas Devotional in the Tabernacle Dec. 7, and reported in the Deseret News, 13 Dec 1997)
Monday, December 22, 2008
A Mom's Christmas List
Dear Santa,
I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my children on demand, visited the doctor's office more than my doctor and sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on the school playground.
I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmases, since I had to write this letter with my son's red crayon, on the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when I'll find anymore free time in the next 18 years.
Here are my Christmas wishes:
I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache, and arms that don't flap in the breeze, but are strong enough to pull my screaming child out of the candy aisle in the grocery store.
I'd also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of my last pregnancy.
If you're hauling big ticket items this year I'd like fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult music, a television that doesn't broadcast any programs containing talking animals, and a refrigerator with a secret compartment behind the crisper where I can hide to talk on the phone.
On the practical side, I could use a talking doll that says, 'Yes, Mommy' to boost my parental confidence, along with two kids who don't fight and three pairs of jeans that will zip all the way up without the use of power tools.
I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting 'Don't eat in the living room' and 'Take your hands off your brother,' because my voice seems to be just out of my children's hearing range and can only be heard by the dog.
If it's too late to find any of these products, I'd settle for enough time to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature without it being served in a Styrofoam container.
If you don't mind, I could also use a few Christmas miracles to brighten the holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a vegetable? It will clear my conscience immensely. It would be helpful if you could coerce my children to help around the house without demanding payment as if they were the bosses of an organized crime family.
Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is calling and my son saw my feet under the laundry room door. I think he wants his crayon back. Have a safe trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the door and come in and dry off so you don't catch cold. Help yourself to cookies on the table but don't eat too many or leave crumbs on the carpet.
Yours Always,
MOM
P.S. One more thing...you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my children young enough to believe in Santa.
I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my children on demand, visited the doctor's office more than my doctor and sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on the school playground.
I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmases, since I had to write this letter with my son's red crayon, on the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when I'll find anymore free time in the next 18 years.
Here are my Christmas wishes:
I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache, and arms that don't flap in the breeze, but are strong enough to pull my screaming child out of the candy aisle in the grocery store.
I'd also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of my last pregnancy.
If you're hauling big ticket items this year I'd like fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult music, a television that doesn't broadcast any programs containing talking animals, and a refrigerator with a secret compartment behind the crisper where I can hide to talk on the phone.
On the practical side, I could use a talking doll that says, 'Yes, Mommy' to boost my parental confidence, along with two kids who don't fight and three pairs of jeans that will zip all the way up without the use of power tools.
I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting 'Don't eat in the living room' and 'Take your hands off your brother,' because my voice seems to be just out of my children's hearing range and can only be heard by the dog.
If it's too late to find any of these products, I'd settle for enough time to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature without it being served in a Styrofoam container.
If you don't mind, I could also use a few Christmas miracles to brighten the holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a vegetable? It will clear my conscience immensely. It would be helpful if you could coerce my children to help around the house without demanding payment as if they were the bosses of an organized crime family.
Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is calling and my son saw my feet under the laundry room door. I think he wants his crayon back. Have a safe trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the door and come in and dry off so you don't catch cold. Help yourself to cookies on the table but don't eat too many or leave crumbs on the carpet.
Yours Always,
MOM
P.S. One more thing...you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my children young enough to believe in Santa.
No Santa Claus?
I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"
My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true.
Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?" she snorted.... "Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let's go."
"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my Second World-famous cinnamon bun. "Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything.
As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.
I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church. I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class.
Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he didn't have a good coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat! I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.
"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. "Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby." The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.
That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it. Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa's helpers.
Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going." I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and ther e stood Bobby.
Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were, ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.
I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95.
My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true.
Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?" she snorted.... "Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let's go."
"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my Second World-famous cinnamon bun. "Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything.
As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.
I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church. I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class.
Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he didn't have a good coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat! I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.
"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. "Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby." The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.
That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it. Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa's helpers.
Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going." I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and ther e stood Bobby.
Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were, ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.
I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
A Candymaker's Witness
A candy maker in Indiana wanted to make a candy that would be a witness, so he made the Christmas Candy Cane. He incorporated several symbols for the birth, ministry, and death of Jesus Christ.
He began with a stick of pure white hard candy. White to symbolize the Virgin Birth and the sinless nature of Jesus, and hard to symbolize the Solid Rock, the foundation of the Church, and firmness of the promises of God.
The candy maker made the candy in the form of a "J" to represent the precious name of Jesus, who came to earth as our Savior. It could also represent the staff of the "Good Shepherd" with which He reaches down into the ditches of the world to lift out the fallen lambs who, like all sheep, have gone astray.
Thinking that the candy was somewhat plain, the candy maker stained it with red stripes. He used three small stripes to show the stripes of the scourging Jesus received by which we are healed. The large red stripe was for the blood shed by Christ on the Cross so that we could have the promise of eternal life.
Unfortunately, the candy became known as a candy cane—a meaningless decoration seen at Christmas time. But the meaning is still there for those who "have eyes to see and ears to hear."
I pray that this symbol will again be used to witness to the wonder of Jesus and his great love that came down at Christmas and remains the ultimate and dominate force in the universe today.
He began with a stick of pure white hard candy. White to symbolize the Virgin Birth and the sinless nature of Jesus, and hard to symbolize the Solid Rock, the foundation of the Church, and firmness of the promises of God.
The candy maker made the candy in the form of a "J" to represent the precious name of Jesus, who came to earth as our Savior. It could also represent the staff of the "Good Shepherd" with which He reaches down into the ditches of the world to lift out the fallen lambs who, like all sheep, have gone astray.
Thinking that the candy was somewhat plain, the candy maker stained it with red stripes. He used three small stripes to show the stripes of the scourging Jesus received by which we are healed. The large red stripe was for the blood shed by Christ on the Cross so that we could have the promise of eternal life.
Unfortunately, the candy became known as a candy cane—a meaningless decoration seen at Christmas time. But the meaning is still there for those who "have eyes to see and ears to hear."
I pray that this symbol will again be used to witness to the wonder of Jesus and his great love that came down at Christmas and remains the ultimate and dominate force in the universe today.
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