| An exerpt from George Stephenson's 2020 New Year Poem Twas the Night Before New Year’s 2020 Read the rest of the poem here"Now, VIRUS! now, LOCKDOWN! — Originally published in the December 2020 issue of
The Manitoba Teacher (PDF pages 20 and 21)  Thanks For Visiting |
 In the Year of 2020 Covid gave to me ...
12 Cancelled Plans
11 Face Masks 10 Sanitizers 9 Netflix Binges 8 Zoom Calls 7 Curbside Pick-ups 6 Feet Apart 5 Conspiracies 4 Quarantines 3 Cancelled *Holidays 2 Homeschoolin' Parents and a Toilet Paper crisis *Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas 
Thanks For Visiting
|
"A Visit from St. Nicholas," reimagined for the pandemic era. "Not a creature was stirring, because they were in lockdown," Fulwiler quips at the start of her hilarious retelling.
This version sets the scene with hand sanitizer at each chimney for Santa Claus, along with a Christmas celebration on Zoom (mentioning technical difficulties, of course). Jen Fulwiler's "'Twas The Night Before Christmas 2020"
“A very COVID-free Christmas to all, and to all a good night!” Ashley Ondrick is a (mostly) healthy chef, cooking for private parties and weekly ...
|
I’ll be with you for Christmas, In each twinkling light you see. I’ll be the angel of love this year, That tops your Christmas tree. As the snow flakes start to fall, Floating gently to the ground. There I’ll be for you to touch, In each flake I can be found. The voice you hear in your heart, As you sing your carols of cheer, Will be mine joining in with yours, So there’s no reason for tears. The many long miles between us, Will cease to exist Christmas day. I’ll be right there inside your heart, Until I can come home to stay. Stars you see, well I see them too, We’ll share the soft moonlit sky. Soon I’ll hold you once again, You’ll see how time will fly. © Norma Marek ~ 6th December 2003
Thanks For Visiting
|
 In this parody of the much-loved Christmas poem, things get a little anarchic when mom and dad drink a little more than one festive tipple and it is up to Santa Claus to save the day. - Story Exerpts - "T'was the nightcap before Christmas in the cozy front room with the firelight glowing ... Then out comes the Baileys. And mum hits the rum. Hours of merriment and a stocking-clad tango later, they drift off to sleep - the living room in disarray, the presents unwrapped and their careful Christmas preparations in ruins. But come morning it seems a mysterious visitor has saved the day . "Twas the Nightcap Before Christmas" by Katie Blackburn, Sholto Walker (Illustrator) Amazon Download it once and read it on your Kindle device, PC, phones or tablets. or check this book out at BarnesAndNoble Books
Thanks For Visiting
|
Once upon a time a magician made a magic mirror. In this mirror, a kind face became wicked, a look of hate was reflected as a look of love. One day, however, the mirror broke, and if a sliver of glass from the mirror entered someone's eye, that person's soul became evil, if another pierced a heart, that heart grew hard and cold as ice.
In a big town two children, called Karl and Gerda were very close friends, and even the sweet pea that grew on Karl's window sill spread across the street to entwine with Gerda's little rose bush. One evening Karl was watching the snow drift down, when he noticed a white flake slowly turn into a beautiful ice maiden. Karl was startled to hear the ice maiden speak his name, and he was not to know he had set eyes on the Snow Queen. Winter passed, and one spring afternoon, as Karl and Gerda pored over a book, the little boy told her: "I feel a pain in my heart! And something's pricking my eye!"
" Don't worry, said Gerda comfortingly. "I can't see anything!" But, alas, splinters from the shattered mirror had pierced the little boy.
Now in the grip of the evil spell, he snapped: "You're so ugly!" And ripping two roses from her bush, he ran off. From that day on, Karl turned into a very nasty boy, and nobody could understand what had happened to him to cause such a change. Only Gerda still loved him, though all she got in return were insults and spite.
Winter came round again, though earlier than usual, and bringing far more snow than anyone could remember.
One day, just after going outdoors to play in the snow, Karl saw the beautiful maiden he had seen that night, coming towards him wrapped in a white fur coat. She stood in front of him and told him to tie his sledge to her own, drawn by a white horse. Then they sped away. Suddenly, the great sledge soared into the sky and through the clouds. Stretched out on his own little sledge, Karl didn't dare move a muscle for fear of falling into space. At last, they came to a halt on an immense white plain, dotted with lots of sparkling frozen lakes.
"Come into my arms," said the Snow Queen, opening her soft fur coat. "Come and keep warm!"
Karl allowed himself to be hugged by the unknown maiden and a chill ran up his spine as two icy lips touched his forehead. The Snow Queen kissed him again, and in an instant, the little boy forgot all about Gerda and his past life, as he fell into a deep sleep.
In the meantime, Gerda was anxiously searching for Karl, but no one had seen him. Finally, she went down to the river.
"Great river," she said, "please tell me if you've seen Karl or if you've carried him away! I'll give you these, if you do!" And she threw her shoes into the river. But the current paid no heed and just swept them back to the bank. Not far away stood an old boat, and Gerda climbed into it. As she drifted with the current, she pleaded: "Great river, silently flowing and knowing all things about men's lives, take me to Karl."
At dusk, she stopped by a river bank carpeted with all kinds of flowers. After resting she went into the forest, and though she did not know how she would ever find her friend, a mysterious voice inside her told her to be brave. After wandering far and wide, she stopped, tired and hungry. A crow flapped out from a hollow tree.
"If you're looking for Karl," it said, "I know where he is! I saw him with the Snow Queen on her sledge in the sky!"
"And where is her kingdom?" Gerda asked the crow.
"In Lapland, where all is icy cold. That reindeer over there might take you! "
Gerda ran over to the big reindeer, threw her arms around its neck and, laying her cheek against its soft muzzle, said: "Please help me to find my friend!" The reindeer's kindly eyes told her that he would, and she climbed onto its back. They travelled till they came to the frozen tundra, lit by the fiery glow of the Northern Lights.
"Karl! Karl! Where are you?" shouted Gerda as loudly as she could. When, at last, she found the little boy, Karl did not recognize her. Gerda threw her arms round him, and teardrops dripped onto his chest and heart. This broke the evil spell. Karl woke from his long sleep, and when he set eyes on Gerda, he too began to cry. The second cold splinter of mirror vanished. They had found each other again at last, thanks to Gerda's love, and the reindeer galloped them home. The two plants on the window sills started to blossom again and to twine, a sign of their everlasting friendship.
There are many different versions of "The Snow Queen". Here is another version.
Thanks For Visiting
|
Santa wants to keep you and his friends at the North Pole safe this Christmas so he's wearing a mask. The perfect ornament to commemorate 2020 And in a large store. Old Santa looked round, Said "I hope there's no more". "Of these spoiled kids, That Parents bring in. So spoiled and head strong, I know I can't win". "They sit on my knee, And pull at my beard. Till my face is all sore, And I feel I've been sheared". "Since it is Christmas Eve, It will be a disgrace. But I think I'll stay home, And doctor my face". E.H. Coe 1973 |
St. Nicholas inspired the character of Santa Claus. The tradition of St. Nicholas was imported to the United States by German and Dutch emigrants, there the man who brought gifts to children on Christmas Eve took the name of Santa Claus. We find in the figure of Santa Claus what symbolically represented St. Nicholas: the long white beard, the fur hair, the great red cloak. St. Nicholas traveled on a donkey, Santa Claus on a sleigh pulled by eight reindeers: Comet, Dancer, Dasher, Prancer, Vixen, Donder, Blitzen, Cupid, translated into Italian Cometa, Ballerina, Fulmine, Weasel, Freccia, Saltarello, Donato, Cupido .. Then later came Rodolfo, the famous reindeer with the red nose. Over the years its appearance changed In 1809, writer Washington Irvin first spoke of Santa's moving around the sky for the distribution of gifts. In 1821: The American shepherd, Clément Clarke Moore wrote a fairy tale about Christmas for children in which the character of Santa Claus appeared with a sleigh pulled by eight reindeer. In 1860, Thomas Nast, illustrator and caricaturist for the New Yorkais Illustrateur Weekly, dressed Santa Claus in a long red cape trimmed with fur and a large black leather belt. For nearly 30 years, Nast illustrated all aspects of the Santa Claus legend with hundreds of drawings. In 1885, Nast officially established Santa's residence in the North Pole and illustrated with a drawing two children tracing the route from the North Pole to the United States on a map of the world. The following year, American writer George P. Webster took up this idea and pointed out that the toy factory and Santa's home during the long summer months were hidden in the ice and snow of the North Pole. In 1931, Santa Claus got his new look for a Coca Cola advertising campaign. They changed the red cape for a red suit, put some weight on him and gave him a nicer air. Thus Coca Cola spread and still spreads the image of the nice old man all over the world. How to track down Santa Claus?The traditional home of Santa Claus changes according to traditions: in the United States it is said that he lives in the North Pole (located for the occasion in Alaska) while in Canada his laboratory is indicated in the north of the country; in Europe the Finnish version is more widespread, which makes him live in the village of Rovaniemi, in Lapland.Other traditions speak of Dalecarlia, in Sweden, and of Greenland. In countries where he is identified with San Basilio, he is sometimes made to live in Caesarea. With the advent of the Internet, some websites were published so that interested children and adults could symbolically follow Santa's path via radar. In reality it is a US Air Force jet that leaves from a Canadian base to arrive in Mexico City. But the intentions of following the deeds of Santa Claus are much earlier. For example, in 1955 Sears Roebuck, a department store in Colorado Springs, in the United States, distributed Santa Claus's elusive phone number to children to call on Christmas Eve. Due to a printing error, however, the number corresponded to the air defense command, which was then called CONAD (Continental Air Defense Command), a precursor of the NORAD (North American Aerospace Defense Command). Harry Shoup, the commander on duty that evening, when he began to get the first phone calls from the children realized the mistake and told them that there were indeed signs on the radars showing Santa coming from the North Pole. Since NORAD was created in 1958, the Americans and Canadians have developed a joint Santa monitoring program, which is now available to all children on the website of the new air defense command. Likewise, many local television stations across Canada and the United States report Santa's location to their viewers and have their meteorologists follow him. - Source: Thanks For Visiting |
A heart-touching Christmas classic about a poor little German girl and her Granny who enjoy a beautiful Christmas without gifts, just with the warmth of their hearts Little Gretchen and the Wooden Shoe by Elizabeth HarrisonOnce upon a time, a long time ago, far away across the great ocean, in a country called Germany, there could be seen a small log hut on the edge of a great forest, whose fir-trees extended for miles and miles to the north. This little house, made of heavy hewn logs, had but one room in it. A rough pine door gave entrance to this room, and a small square window admitted the light. At the back of the house was built an old-fashioned stone chimney, out of which in winter usually curled a thin, blue smoke, showing that there was not very much fire within. Small as the house was, it was large enough for the two people who lived in it. I want to tell you a story to-day about these two people. One was an old, gray-haired woman, so old that the little children of the village, nearly half a mile away, often wondered whether she had come into the world with the huge mountains, and the great fir-trees, which stood like giants back of her small hut. Her face was wrinkled all over with deep lines, which, if the children could only have read aright, would have told them of many years of cheerful, happy, self-sacrifice, of loving, anxious watching beside sick-beds, of quiet endurance of pain, of many a day of hunger and cold, and of a thousand deeds of unselfish love for other people; but, of course, they could not read this strange handwriting. They only knew that she was old and wrinkled, and that she stooped as she walked. None of them seemed to fear her, for her smile was always cheerful, and she had a kindly word for each of them if they chanced to meet her on her way to and from the village. With this old, old woman lived a very little girl. So bright and happy was she that the travelers who passed by the lonesome little house on the edge of the forest often thought of a sunbeam as they saw her. These two people were known in the village as Granny Goodyear and Little Gretchen. The winter had come and the frost had snapped off many of the smaller branches from the pine-trees in the forest. Gretchen and her Granny were up by daybreak each morning. After their simple breakfast of oatmeal, Gretchen would run to the little closet and fetch Granny’s old woolen shawl, which seemed almost as old as Granny herself. Gretchen always claimed the right to put the shawl over her Granny’s head, even though she had to climb onto the wooden bench to do it. After carefully pinning it under Granny’s chin, she gave her a good-bye kiss, and Granny started out for her morning’s work in the forest. This work was nothing more nor less than the gathering up of the twigs and branches which the autumn winds and winter frosts had thrown upon the ground. These were carefully gathered into a large bundle which Granny tied together with a strong linen band. She then managed to lift the bundle to her shoulder and trudged off to the village with it. Here she sold the fagots for kindling wood to the people of the village. Sometimes she would get only a few pence each day, and sometimes a dozen or more, but on this money little Gretchen and she managed to live; they had their home, and the forest kindly furnished the wood for the fire which kept them warm in cold weather. In the summer time Granny had a little garden at the back of the hut where she raised, with little Gretchen’s help, a few potatoes and turnips and onions. These she carefully stored away for winter use. To this meagre supply, the pennies, gained by selling the twigs from the forest, added the oatmeal for Gretchen and a little black coffee for Granny. Meat was a thing they never thought of having. It cost too much money. Still, Granny and Gretchen were very happy, because they loved each other dearly. Sometimes Gretchen would be left alone all day long in the hut, because Granny would have some work to do in the village after selling her bundle of sticks and twigs. It was during these long days that little Gretchen had taught herself to sing the song which the wind sang to the pine branches. In the summer time she learned the chirp and twitter of the birds, until her voice might almost be mistaken for a bird’s voice; she learned to dance as the swaying shadows did, and even to talk to the stars which shone through the little square window when Granny came home too late or too tired to talk. Sometimes, when the weather was fine, or her Granny had an extra bundle of newly knitted stockings to take to the village, she would let little Gretchen go along with her. It chanced that one of these trips to the town came just the week before Christmas, and Gretchen’s eyes were delighted by the sight of the lovely Christmas-trees which stood in the window of the village store. It seemed to her that she would never tire of looking at the knit dolls, the woolly lambs, the little wooden shops with their queer, painted men and women in them, and all the other fine things. She had never owned a plaything in her whole life; therefore, toys which you and I would not think much of, seemed to her to be very beautiful. That night, after their supper of baked potatoes was over, and little Gretchen had cleared away the dishes and swept up the hearth, because Granny dear was so tired, she brought her own small wooden stool and placed it very near Granny’s feet and sat down upon it, folding her hands on her lap. Granny knew that this meant she wanted to talk about something, so she smilingly laid away the large Bible which she had been reading, and took up her knitting, which was as much as to say: “Well, Gretchen, dear, Granny is ready to listen.” “Granny,” said Gretchen slowly, “it’s almost Christmas time, isn’t it?” “Yes, dearie,” said Granny, “only five more days now,” and then she sighed, but little Gretchen was so happy that she did not notice Granny’s sigh. “What do you think, Granny, I’ll get this Christmas?” said she, looking up eagerly into Granny’s face. “Ah, child, child,” said Granny, shaking her head, “you’ll have no Christmas this year. We are too poor for that.” “Oh, but, Granny,” interrupted little Gretchen, “think of all the beautiful toys we saw in the village to-day. Surely Santa Claus has sent enough for every little child.” “Ah, dearie,” said Granny, “those toys are for people who can pay money for them, and we have no money to spend for Christmas toys.” “Well, Granny,” said Gretchen, “perhaps some of the little children who live in the great house on the hill at the other end of the village will be willing to share some of their toys with me. They will be so glad to give some to a little girl who has none.” “Dear child, dear child,” said Granny, leaning forward and stroking the soft, shiny hair of the little girl, “your heart is full of love. You would be glad to bring a Christmas to every child; but their heads are so full of what they are going to get that they forget all about anybody else but themselves.” Then she sighed and shook her head. “Well, Granny,” said Gretchen, her bright, happy tone of voice growing a little less joyous, “perhaps the dear Santa Claus will show some of the village children how to make presents that do not cost money, and some of them may surprise me Christmas morning with a present. And, Granny, dear,” added she, springing up from her low stool, “can’t I gather some of the pine branches and take them to the old sick man who lives in the house by the mill, so that he can have the sweet smell of our pine forest in his room all Christmas day?” “Yes, dearie,” said Granny, “you may do what you can to make the Christmas bright and happy, but you must not expect any present yourself.” “Oh, but, Granny,” said little Gretchen, her face brightening, “you forget all about the shining Christmas angels, who came down to earth and sang their wonderful song the night the beautiful Christ-Child was born! They are so loving and good that they will not forget any little child. I shall ask my dear stars to-night to tell them of us. You know,” she added, with a look of relief, “the stars are so very high that they must know the angels quite well, as they come and go with their messages from the loving God.” Granny sighed, as she half whispered, “Poor child, poor child!” but Gretchen threw her arm around Granny’s neck and gave her a hearty kiss, saying as she did so: “Oh, Granny, Granny, you don’t talk to the stars often enough, else you wouldn’t be sad at Christmas time.” Then she danced all around the room, whirling her little skirts about her to show Granny how the wind had made the snow dance that day. She looked so droll and funny that Granny forgot her cares and worries and laughed with little Gretchen over her new snow-dance. The days passed on, and the morning before Christmas Eve came. Gretchen having tidied up the little room—for Granny had taught her to be a careful little housewife—was off to the forest, singing a birdlike song, almost as happy and free as the birds themselves. She was very busy that day, preparing a surprise for Granny. First, however, she gathered the most beautiful of the fir branches within her reach to take the next morning to the old sick man who lived by the mill. The day was all too short for the happy little girl. When Granny came trudging wearily home that night, she found the frame of the doorway covered with green pine branches. “It’s to welcome you, Granny! It’s to welcome you!” cried Gretchen; “our old dear home wanted to give you a Christmas welcome. Don’t you see, the branches of evergreen make it look as if it were smiling all over, and it is trying to say, ‘A happy Christmas’ to you, Granny!” Granny laughed and kissed the little girl, as they opened the door and went in together. Here was a new surprise for Granny. The four posts of the wooden bed, which stood in one corner of the room, had been trimmed by the busy little fingers, with smaller and more flexible branches of the pine-trees. A small bouquet of red mountain-ash berries stood at each side of the fireplace, and these, together with the trimmed posts of the bed, gave the plain old room quite a festival look. Gretchen laughed and clapped her hands and danced about until the house seemed full of music to poor, tired Granny, whose heart had been sad as she turned toward their home that night, thinking of the disappointment which must come to loving little Gretchen the next morning. After supper was over little Gretchen drew her stool up to Granny’s side, and laying her soft, little hands on Granny’s knee, asked to be told once again the story of the coming of the Christ-Child; how the night that he was born the beautiful angels had sung their wonderful song, and how the whole sky had become bright with a strange and glorious light, never seen by the people of earth before. Gretchen had heard the story many, many times before, but she never grew tired of it, and now that Christmas Eve had come again, the happy little child wanted to hear it once more. When Granny had finished telling it the two sat quiet and silent for a little while thinking it over; then Granny rose and said that it was time for them to go to bed. She slowly took off her heavy wooden shoes, such as are worn in that country, and placed them beside the hearth. Gretchen looked thoughtfully at them for a minute or two, and then she said, “Granny, don’t you think that somebody in all this wide world will think of us to-night?” “Nay, Gretchen,” said Granny, “I don’t think any one will.” “Well, then, Granny,” said Gretchen, “the Christmas angels will, I know; so I am going to take one of your wooden shoes, and put it on the windowsill outside, so that they may see it as they pass by. I am sure the stars will tell the Christmas angels where the shoe is.” “Ah, you foolish, foolish child,” said Granny, “you are only getting ready for a disappointment To-morrow morning there will be nothing whatever in the shoe. I can tell you that now.” But little Gretchen would not listen. She only shook her head and cried out: “Ah, Granny, you don’t talk enough to the stars.” With this she seized the shoe, and, opening the door, hurried out to place it on the windowsill. It was very dark without, and something soft and cold seemed to gently kiss her hair and face. Gretchen knew by this that it was snowing, and she looked up to the sky, anxious to see if the stars were in sight, but a strong wind was tumbling the dark, heavy snow-clouds about and had shut away all else. “Never mind,” said Gretchen softly to herself, “the stars are up there, even if I can’t see them, and the Christmas angels do not mind snowstorms.” Just then a rough wind went sweeping by the little girl, whispering something to her which she could not understand, and then it made a sudden rush up to the snow-clouds and parted them, so that the deep, mysterious sky appeared beyond, and shining down out of the midst of it was Gretchen’s favorite star. “Ah, little star, little star!” said the child, laughing aloud, “I knew you were there, though I couldn’t see you. Will you whisper to the Christmas angels as they come by that little Gretchen wants so very much to have a Christmas gift to-morrow morning, if they have one to spare, and that she has put one of Granny’s shoes upon the windowsill ready for it?” A moment more and the little girl, standing on tiptoe, had reached the windowsill and placed the shoe upon it, and was back again in the house beside Granny and the warm fire. The two went quietly to bed, and that night as little Gretchen knelt to pray to the Heavenly Father, she thanked him for having sent the Christ-Child into the world to teach all mankind how to be loving and unselfish, and in a few moments she was quietly sleeping, dreaming of the Christmas angels. The next morning, very early, even before the sun was up, little Gretchen was awakened by the sound of sweet music coming from the village. She listened for a moment and then she knew that the choir-boys were singing the Christmas carols in the open air of the village street. She sprang up out of bed and began to dress herself as quickly as possible, singing as she dressed. While Granny was slowly putting on her clothes, little Gretchen, having finished dressing herself, unfastened the door and hurried out to see what the Christmas angels had left in the old wooden shoe. The white snow covered everything—trees, stumps, roads, and pastures—until the whole world looked like fairyland. Gretchen climbed up on a large stone which was beneath the window and carefully lifted down the wooden shoe. The snow tumbled off of it in a shower over the little girl’s hands, but she did not heed that; she ran hurriedly back into the house, putting her hand into the toe of the shoe as she ran. “Oh, Granny! Oh, Granny!” she exclaimed, “you didn’t believe the Christmas angels would think about us, but see, they have, they have! Here is a dear little bird nestled down in the toe of your shoe! Oh, isn’t he beautiful?” Granny came forward and looked at what the child was holding lovingly in her hand. There she saw a tiny chick-a-dee, whose wing was evidently broken by the rough and boisterous winds of the night before, and who had taken shelter in the safe, dry toe of the old wooden shoe. She gently took the little bird out of Gretchen’s hands, and skillfully bound his broken wing to his side, so that he need not hurt himself by trying to fly with it. Then she showed Gretchen how to make a nice warm nest for the little stranger, close beside the fire, and when their breakfast was ready she let Gretchen feed the little bird with a few moist crumbs. Later in the day Gretchen carried the fresh, green boughs to the old sick man by the mill, and on her way home stopped to see and enjoy the Christmas toys of some other children whom she knew, never once wishing that they were hers. When she reached home she found that the little bird had gone to sleep. Soon, however, he opened his eyes and stretched his head up, saying just as plain as a bird could say, “Now, my new friends, I want you to give me something more to eat.” Gretchen gladly fed him again, and then, holding him in her lap, she softly and gently stroked his gray feathers until the little creature seemed to lose all fear of her. That evening Granny taught her a Christmas hymn and told her another beautiful Christmas story. Then Gretchen made up a funny little story to tell to the birdie. He winked his eyes and turned his head from side to side in such a droll fashion that Gretchen laughed until the tears came. As Granny and she got ready for bed that night, Gretchen put her arms softly around Granny’s neck, and whispered: “What a beautiful Christmas we have had to-day, Granny! Is there anything in the world more lovely than Christmas?” “Nay, child, nay,” said Granny, “not to such loving hearts as yours.” 
Thanks For Visiting
|
This delightful Christmas short story about young Ebenezer Scrooge's generous employer, Fezziwig, who throws a ball in his warehouse, welcoming one and all to the dance. ===================== Charles John Huffam Dickens (1812 –1870) was an English writer and social critic. He is regarded as the greatest novelist of the Victorian era and wrote such famous classic novels as “Oliver Twist”, “A Christmas Carol”, “Nicholas Nickleby”, “David Copperfield”, “A Tale of Two Cities” and “Great Expectations”.
Thanks For Visiting
|
A String of Blue Beads by Fulton OurslerPete Richards was the loneliest man in town on the day Jean Grace opened his door. Pete's shop had come down to him from his grandfather. The little front window was strewn with a disarray of old-fashioned things: bracelets and lockets worn in days before the Civil War, gold rings and silver boxes, images of jade and ivory, porcelain figurines.On this winter's afternoon, a child was standing there, her forehead against the glass, earnest and enormous eyes studying each discarded treasure as if she were looking for something quite special. Finally, she straightened up with a satisfied air and entered the store. The shadowy interior of Pete Richards's establishment was even more cluttered than his show window. Shelves were stacked with jewel caskets, dueling pistols, clocks, and lamps, and the floor was heaped with andirons and mandolins and things hard to find a name for. Behind the counter stood Pete himself, a man not more than thirty but with hair already turning gray. There was a bleak air about him as he looked at the small customer who flattened her ungloved hands on the counter. "Mister," she began, "would you please let me look at the string of blue beads in the window?" Pete parted the draperies and lifted out a necklace. The turquoise stones gleamed brightly against the pallor of his palm as he spread the ornament before her. "They're just perfect," said the child, entirely to herself. "Will you wrap them up pretty for me, please?" Pete studied her with a stony air. "Are you buying these for someone?" "They're for my big sister. She takes care of me. You see, this will be the first Christmas since Mother died. I've been looking for the most wonderful Christmas present for my sister." "How much money do you have?" asked Pete warily. She had been busily untying the knots in a handkerchief and now she poured out a handful of pennies on the counter. "I emptied my bank," she explained simply. Pete Richards looked at her thoughtfully. Then he carefully drew back the necklace. The price tag was visible to him but not to her. How could he tell her? The trusting look of her blue eyes smote him like the pain of an old wound. "Just a minute," he said and turned toward the back of the store. Over his shoulder he called, "What's your name?" He was very busy about something. "Jean Grace." When Pete returned to where Jean Grace waited, a package lay in his hand, wrapped in scarlet paper and tied with a bow of green. "There you are," he said shortly. "Don't lose it on the way home." She smiled happily at him over her shoulder as she ran out the door. Through the window he watched her go, while desolation flooded his thoughts. Something about Jean Grace and her string of beads had stirred him to the depths of a grief that would not stay buried. The child's hair was wheat yellow, her eyes sea blue, and once upon a time, not long before, Pete had been in love with a girl with hair of that same yellow and with eyes just as blue. And the turquoise necklace was to have been hers. But there had come a rainy night—a truck skidding on a slippery road—and the life was crushed out of his dream. Since then, Pete Richards had lived too much with his grief in solitude. He was politely attentive to customers, but after hours his world seemed irrevocably empty. He was trying to forget in a self-pitying haze that deepened day by day. The blue eyes of Jean Grace jolted him into acute remembrance of what he had lost. The pain of it made him recoil from the exuberance of holiday shoppers. During the next ten days trade was brisk; chattering women swarmed in, fingering trinkets, trying to bargain. When the last customer had gone late on Christmas Eve, he sighed with relief. It was over for another year. But for Pete Richards the night was not quite over. The door opened and a young woman hurried in. With an inexplicable start, he realized that she looked familiar, yet he could not remember when or where he had seen her before. Her hair was golden yellow and her large eyes were blue. Without speaking, she drew from her purse a package loosely unwrapped in its red paper, a bow of green ribbon with it. Presently the string of blue beads lay gleaming again before him. "Did this come from your shop?" she asked. Pete raised his eyes to hers and answered softly, "Yes, it did." "Are the stones real?" "Yes. Not the finest quality—but real." "Can you remember who it was you sold them to?" "She was a small girl. Her name was Jean Grace. She bought them for her older sister's Christmas present." "How much are they worth?" "The price," he told her solemnly, "is always a confidential matter between the seller and the customer." "But Jean has never had more than a few pennies of spending money. How could she pay for them?" Pete was folding the paper back into its creases, rewrapping the little package just as neatly as before. "She paid the biggest price anyone can ever pay," he said. "She gave all she had." There was a silence then that filled the little curio shop. Then from a faraway steeple, a bell began ringing. The sound of the distant chiming, the little package lying on the counter, the question in the eyes of the girl, and the strange feeling of renewal struggling unreasonably in the heart of the man, all had come to be because of the love of a child. "But why did you do it?" He held out the gift in his hand. "It's already Christmas morning," he said. "And it's my misfortune that I have no one to give anything to. Will you let me see you home and wish you a Merry Christmas at your door?" And so, to the sound of many bells and in the midst of happy people, Pete Richards and a girl whose name he had yet to hear, walked out into the beginning of the great day that brings hope into the world for us all.
Source: MyFavoriteChristmasStories
Thanks For Visiting |
 Synopsis: It was Christmas Eve, and all of the elves and Santa Claus were excited to get all of the toys ready to deliver to children around the world. But, Santa had one last chore to do. He wanted to give little presents to all of the animals in the forest, including Barney Bear who was asleep in his cave. When Santa quietly places Barney’s present next to his nose, Barney snores like thunder and a mountain of snow crashes to the ground and covers the entrance to the cave. How will the elves get Santa out of the cave in time for Christmas? Find out what happens when the elves decide to ask Eli, Santa’s very first helper, and wisest elf for help. Play the audio version of “The Christmas Santa Almost Missed“ while reading along with the story below, "The Christmas Santa Almost Missed" · 2017 Narrator: Kim Mitzo Thompson · Author: Cathy East Dubowski · Illustrator: Nan Pollard Santa and his elves were up early. It was Christmas Eve, the happiest and busiest time of the year. “We’ll never get everything ready tonight!” said Felix. “Oh, don’t worry so much,” said Santa laughing. “We’ve never missed a Christmas yet!” By sunset, every doll was dressed, every wheel was in place, and every ball had just the right bounce. But Santa had one more chore to do before he left. He climbed into a small sled with his elves, Gus and Gertie. “I’m off to deliver presents to my animal friends,” he said. “Make sure all the toys are on my sleigh by the time I get back!” “Yes, Sir!” said the chief elf, Jared. “Anything else?” “Yes!” shouted Santa. “Enjoy yourselves! It’s Christmas Eve!” With the flick of the reins, Santa and his two helpers dashed off into the falling snow. There were presents for each of the young rabbits. And there was something special for the little fawn. “Some of my enchanted jingle bells!” Santa whispered to its mother. Santa even had something for Barney Bear though he’d been a bit mischievous this year. “Barney!” called Santa, “I’ve a present for you!” The sound of deep growly-bear snoring shook icicles from the roof of the cave opening. Quietly Santa tip-toed into the cave. Deep inside the cave, Barney was curled up fast asleep. Santa laid Barney’s present next to his nose so he’d see it as soon as he woke up. “Merry Christmas, Barney!” whispered Santa. Just then, Barney turned over and snored like thunder- so loudly it shook the walls. “Santa!” Gertie shouted into the cave, “Look out!” Gus and Gertie stared in horror as a mountain of snow crashed to the ground. It covered the entrance to the Barney’s cave. “Santa!” shouted Gus, “Are you alright?” “There’s no answer!” cried Gertie. “I’ll start digging,” Gus told Gertie. “You run for help and hurry!” Back at Santa’s workshop, the other elves were worried. “Santa should have been back by now,” said Felix. “It’s almost time to go!” Gertie stumbled into the lamplight gasping for breath. “Santa’s in trouble!” she cried. Quickly, she told the others what had happened. Felix looked around sadly at the tiny elves. “We’re too little!” he moaned. “It’ll take us forever to dig Santa out. Maybe all night, Santa might miss Christmas,” shouted the elves. “I’ve got an idea!” said Jared. “Old Eli lives just over that hill. He was Santa’s very first helper and he’s the wisest elf that ever lived. He’ll know what to do!” Quickly, the elves piled into Santa’s toy-filled sleigh. With a shake of their jingle bells, the reindeer leaped into the air. Minutes later, the elves stood before a small ancient cottage. The door was squeaked open and out peered a tiny elf. His white beard reached down to his toes. “That’s Eli! How can he help?” cried Felix. “He’s as little as we are and he’s old and crooked to boot.” Eli listened carefully as Jared told him what had happened to Santa. The old elf smiled. Follow me! he said softly. Inside the dark cottage, Eli unlocked a wooden cabinet and took down a dusty pottery jar. Very carefully, Eli opened that jar. “It’s magic Sugar ‘n’ Spice Dust from Santa’s very first Christmas long, long ago. This is all that’s left in the world. I’ve been saving it all these years. But tonight we must use it to save Santa,” Eli chuckled. The elves rushed to Barney Bear’s cave. Gus was worn out from digging. “I haven’t heard a sound of Santa,” he moaned. With a wink and nod, Eli mumbled some strange words. Then he flung his arm wide and sprinkle the sparkling magic dust over Santa’s sleigh full of toys. Santa’s elves had seen wondrous things in their work. But even they were astonished by what they saw. The toys in Santa’s sleigh sprang to life! Robots and teddy bears and dolls in pretty dresses began to dig with all their might. Steam shovels and dump trucks huffed and puffed as they scooped u snow A toy train hauled the snow as quickly as the busy workers could fill its cars. Shiny bicycles and toy race cars flooded the night with light. Shouting with joy, the elves too began to dig. At last, near midnight, the miniature army of toys and elves rescued Santa. “Thank you all,” said Santa. “How lucky I’m to have such wonderful friends.” “Look,” cried Gertie, “Something’s happening to the toys!” The magic dust was wearing off. Slowly, as they were falling asleep, the toys wound down and then they were still. There were only toys, ordinary toys, once again. Santa and his elves loaded the toys into the sleigh. And with a merry “Ho, Ho, Ho!” they dashed into the starlit sky. Around the world, children slept, dreaming of Santa and the toys he would bring. Not one of them would ever know that this was the Christmas Santa almost missed!
Thanks For Visiting
|
 A Christmas Poem By Emily Ogden NashIn Baltimore there lived a boy.He wasn't anybody's joy. Although his name was Jabez Dawes, His character was full of flaws. In school he never led his classes, He hid old ladies' reading glasses, His mouth was open when he chewed, And elbows to the table glued. He stole the milk of hungry kittens, And walked through doors marked 'No Admittance'. He said he acted thus because There wasn't any Santa Claus. Another trick that tickled Jabez Was crying 'Boo' at little babies. He brushed his teeth, they said in town, Sideways instead of up and down. Yet people pardoned every sin, And viewed his antics with a grin, Till they were told by Jabez Dawes, 'There isn't any Santa Claus!' Deploring how he did behave, His parents swiftly sought their grave. They hurried through the portals pearly, Like whooping cough, from child to child, He sped to spread the rumor wild: 'Sure as my name is Jabez Dawes There isn't any Santa Claus!' Slunk like a weasel of a marten Through nursery and kindergarten, Whispering low to every tot, 'There isn't any, no there's not!' The children wept all Christmas eve And Jabez chortled up his sleeve. No infant dared hang up his stocking For fear of Jabez' ribald mocking. He sprawled on his untidy bed, Fresh malice dancing in his head, When presently with scalp-a-tingling, Jabez heard a distant jingling; He heard the crunch of sleigh and hoof Crisply alighting on the roof. What good to rise and bar the door? A shower of soot was on the floor. What was beheld by Jabez Dawes? The fireplace full of Santa Claus! Then Jabez fell upon his knees With cries of 'Don't,' and 'Pretty Please.' He howled, 'I don't know where you read it, But anyhow, I never said it!' 'Jabez' replied the angry saint, 'It isn't I, it's you that ain't. Although there is a Santa Claus, There isn't any Jabez Dawes!' Said Jabez then with impudent vim, 'Oh, yes there is, and I am him! Your magic don't scare me, it doesn't' And suddenly he found he wasn't! From grimy feet to grimy locks, Jabez became a Jack-in-the-box, An ugly toy with springs unsprung, Forever sticking out his tongue. The neighbors heard his mournful squeal; They searched for him, but not with zeal. No trace was found of Jabez Dawes, Which led to thunderous applause, And people drank a loving cup And went and hung their stockings up. All you who sneer at Santa Claus, Beware the fate of Jabez Dawes, The saucy boy who mocked the saint. Donner and Blitzen licked off his paint Frederick Ogden ‘Ogden’ Nash was born on 19 August 1902 in Rye, New York, United States of America. He was married to Frances Rider Leonard in 1931. He became a writer of humorous poetry. Frederick Ogden ‘Ogden’ Nash passed on at 68 years of age on 19 May 1971 and rests in North Hampton, New Hampshire, United States of America. - MakeFunOfLife SpecialMomentsHome.com Christmas Poems
Thanks For Visiting
|
 I am going to tell you a story about something wonderful that happened to a Christmas tree like this, ever and ever so long ago, when it was once upon a time. It was before Christmas, and the tree was all trimmed with pop-corn and silver nuts and pretty glass balls and little wooden toys, and stood safely out of sight in a room where the doors were locked, so that the children should not see it before it was time. But ever so many other little house-people had seen it. The big black pussy saw it with her great green eyes; the little gray kitty saw it with her little blue eyes; the kind house-dog saw it with his steady brown eyes; the yellow canary saw it with his wise, bright eyes. Even the wee, wee mice that were so afraid of the cat had peeped one peek when no one was by. But there was some one who hadn't seen the Christmas tree. It was the little gray spider! You see, the spiders lived in the corners -- the warm corners of the sunny attic and the dark corners of the nice cellar. And they were expecting to see the Christmas Tree as much as anybody. But just before Christmas a great cleaning-up began in the house. The house-mother came sweeping and dusting and wiping and scrubbing, to make everything grand and clean for the Christ-child's birthday. Her broom went into all the corners, poke, poke, poke -- and of course the spiders had to run! Not one could stay in the house while the Christmas cleanness lasted. So, you see, they couldn't see the Christmas Tree. Spiders like to know all about everything, and see all there is to see, and they were very sad. So at last they went to the Christ-child and told him all about it. "All the others see the Christmas Tree, dear Christ-child," they said; "but we, who are so domestic and so fond of beautiful things, we are cleaned up! We cannot see it all." The Christ-child was very sorry for the little spiders when he heard this, and he said they should see the Christmas Tree. The day before Christmas when nobody was noticing, he let them all go in, to look as long as ever they liked. They came creepy, creepy, creepy, down the attic stairs, creepy, creepy, creepy, up the cellar stairs, creepy, creepy, along the halls --and into the beautiful room. The fat mother spiders and the old papa spiders were there, and all the little teenty, tonty, curly spiders, the baby ones. And then they looked! Round and round the Tree they crawled, and looked and looked and looked. Oh, what a good time they had! They thought it was perfectly beautiful. And when they looked at everything they could see from the floor, they started up the Tree to see some more. All over the tree they ran, creepy, crawly, looking at every single thing. Up and down, in and out, over every branch and twig the little spiders ran, and saw every one of the pretty things right up close. They stayed until they had seen all there was to see, you may be sure, and then they went away at last, quite happy. Then, in the still, dark night before Christmas Day, the dear Christ-child came, to bless the Tree for the Children. But when he looked at it -- what do you suppose? -- it was covered with cobwebs! Everywhere the little spiders had been they had left a spider-web; and you know they had been just everywhere. So the Tree was covered from its trunk to its tip with spider-webs, all hanging from the branches and looped around the twigs; it was a strange sight. What could the Christ-child do? He knew that house-mothers do not like cobwebs; it would never, never do to have a Christmas Tree covered with those. No, indeed. So the dear Christ-child touched the spiders' webs, and turned them all to gold! Wasn't that a lovely trimming? They shone and shone, all over the beautiful Tree. And that is the way the Christmas Tree came to have golden cobwebs on it. THE END You amay also want to read: The Story Of The Spiders from Santagames.net
Thanks For Visiting
|
A Note from Santa Claus I regret to inform you that, effective immediately, I will no longer serve the States of Georgia, Florida, North and South Carolina, New Mexico, Arizona, Oklahoma, Tennessee, Alabama, Mississippi, Texas, and Arkansas on Christmas Eve. Due to the overwhelming current population of the earth, my contract was renegotiated by North American Fairies and Elves Local 209. As part of the new and better contract I also get longer breaks for milk and cookies so keep that in mind. However, I'm certain that your children will be in good hands with your local replacement, who happens to be my third cousin, Bubba Claus. His side of the family is from the South Pole. He shares my goal of delivering toys to all the good boys and girls; however, there are a few differences between us. Differences such as: 1. There is no danger of the Grinch stealing your presents from Bubba Claus. He has a gun rack on his sleigh and a bumper sticker that reads:"These toys insured by Smith and Wesson." 2. Instead of milk and cookies, Bubba Claus prefers that children leave an RC cola and pork rinds or a moon pie on the fireplace. And Bubba doesn't smoke a pipe. He dips a little snuff though, so please have an empty spit can handy. 3. Bubba Claus' sleigh is pulled by floppy-eared, flyin' coon dogs instead of reindeer. I made the mistake of loaning him a couple of my reindeer one time, and Blitzen's head now overlooks Bubba's fireplace. 4. You won't hear "On Comet, on Cupid, on Donner and Blitzen.." when Bubba Claus arrives. Instead, you'll hear, "On Earnhardt, on Andretti, on Elliott and Petty." 5. "Ho, Ho, Ho!" has been replaced by "Yee Haw!" And you also are likely to hear Bubba's elves respond, "I her'd dat!" 6. As required by Southern highway laws, Bubba Claus' sleigh does have a Yosemite Sam safety sticker on the back with the words "Back Off." 7. The usual Christmas movie classics such as "Miracle on 34th Street" and "It's a Wonderful Life" will not be shown in your negotiated viewing area. Instead, you'll see "Boss Hogg Saves Christmas" and "Smokey and the Bandit IV" featuring Burt Reynolds as Bubba Claus.
Sincerely Yours, Santa Claus
Thanks For Visiting
|
|
"The Sugar-Plum Tree" is reprinted from Poems of Childhood. Eugene Field. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1904.
THE SUGAR-PLUM TREE by: Eugene Field (1850-1895)
Have you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree? 'T is a marvel of great renown! It blooms on the shore of the Lollipop sea In the garden of Shut-Eye Town; The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet (As those who have tasted it say) That good little children have only to eat Of that fruit to be happy next day. When you 've got to the tree, you would have a hard time To capture the fruit which I sing; The tree is so tall that no person could climb To the boughs where the sugar-plums swing! But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat, And a gingerbread dog prowls below-- And this is the way you contrive to get at Those sugar-plums tempting you so: You say but the word to that gingerbread dog And he barks with such terrible zest That the chocolate cat is at once all agog, As her swelling proportions attest. And the chocolate cat goes cavorting around From this leafy limb unto that, And the sugar-plums tumble, of course, to the ground-- Hurrah for that chocolate cat! There are marshmallows, gumdrops, and peppermint canes, With stripings of scarlet or gold, And you carry away of the treasure that rains As much as your apron can hold! So come, little child, cuddle closer to me In your dainty white nightcap and gown, And I 'll rock you away to that Sugar-Plum Tree In the garden of Shut-Eye Town.
Thanks For Visiting
|
Advent Day Ten - Children's Christmas Story 2020 'The Three Skaters,' like many meaningful Christmas stories, teaches lessons about the virtues of giving. The following tale fits right into this category. The story focuses on three men -- a farmer, a baker, and a weaver -- who reap the simple and satisfying rewards of giving to the less fortunate. "The Three Skaters" | December 17, 2015 | by Paul Federico (Author) In the faraway land of Holland, a baker sadly closed up his shop. He carried a worn sack with a few loaves of bread. Not many people came into the bakery that day, because times were hard and people did not have extra money for fresh bread. The baker had to bring home the leftovers so that they would not go to waste. “Maybe I can make a nice bread pudding with these loaves,” said the baker to himself. “It would be a shame not to use such delicious bread.” The baker walked off into the cold, gray afternoon. The baker’s mind drifted to visions of his family. He pictured them all warm and snug by the fireplace, waiting for his arrival. He knew his wife would be a little disappointed with the sales at the bakery, but she would take the loaves of bread and cheerfully make the best of them. He smiled beneath the scratchy wool of his scarf. His eyes watered, from the icy wind and from the joy that his family brought to him. The baker blinked the tears away and kept walking. When he reached the frozen canal, he sat down upon a log and strapped his wooden skates to his feet. As he secured the straps, he looked down the icy canal. The land seemed to stretch out endlessly before him. The air was crisp and the wind was bitter. The baker shivered and pulled his scarf higher on his face. About a half-mile down the canal, the baker could see the farmer coming toward him. Soon he was joined by the farmer, who was also his neighbor. He, too, carried a sack. The two men greeted each other quietly and began skating together. Their skates soon fell into a rhythm. “Have you been to the market today?” asked the baker. The farmer nodded slowly. “Not much luck, though,” he said. “Same here. I still have a few loaves of bread,” said the baker. He turned his gaze down the canal and continued to skate. The farmer also could not wait to be home with his family. He looked forward to warming himself by the fire and playing with his children. His youngest child, Lily, had been ill, and the farmer wanted to get her something special at the market. But he did not sell many apples and had to bring a sack of them back home. “Perhaps a nice apple pie will warm little Lily and make her smile,” said the farmer to himself. Times were tough for everyone. It was clear that both men did not need to say much to each other. They knew exactly how the other one felt. As they continued to skate, the clouds grew thicker. The two men wanted to get home as quickly as possible. Soon they came to where another canal met up with theirs. They could see another figure coming toward them from the other canal. With a wave, they saw that it was their friend, the weaver. “Hello, gentlemen,” said the weaver. He skated right up to the farmer and the baker. They greeted the weaver warmly, and they all began to skate together. Now the sound of the three men’s skates was all that could be heard on the smooth ice of the canal. The weaver had also come from the market, where he had been trying to sell the beautiful blankets he had woven. Since no one had any extra money to spend, the weaver left the market with all of his blankets and no money. He tried to keep his spirits up, however, by taking pride in knowing that his blankets were beautifully crafted and woven out of love. “It will be wonderful when we get home and out of the chill,” said the weaver, trying to start some cheerful conversation. The other two men just nodded their heads in agreement. Their thick scarves and the biting wind made it hard to talk to one another. They continued along the canal in silence. As they passed an abandoned farm, the weaver suddenly stopped skating. He turned his gaze toward the old rundown barn in the middle of the field. He thought he heard an unusual noise. “Stop! Listen!” the weaver called to his companions. The farmer and the baker quickly stopped. They returned to the spot where the weaver was standing. The three men stood on the icy canal, staring at the old barn. Suddenly a slice of sunlight split through the clouds and shone brightly onto the barn. It was a most unusual sight! “Listen. Do you hear that?” asked the weaver. The farmer and the baker held their breath and listened. All at once, the three men heard the familiar sound of a baby crying. It seemed to be coming from the old barn, now cast in an eerie glow. “It sounds like a child,” said the farmer. “But how could it be? That farm has been abandoned for years,” said the weaver. “Perhaps a lamb was left in the barn,” said the baker. “It sounds like a lamb.” The three men heard the sound again and knew in an instant that it was not a lamb. It sounded, most definitely, like a child. Without another word, all three men stepped off the ice and into the snow. They took off their skates and began walking toward the barn. As they reached the doorway, they could hear the baby’s cries beginning to soften as the gentle sound of a mother’s voice sang a soulful lullaby. The men opened the barn door without knocking. It was as if they knew that it was alright — that whoever was inside wanted them to come in. Inside the barn, thin beams of sunlight streamed through the holes in the roof and walls. There was not a lamb that had been abandoned by the barn’s owner, but the scene inside the barn was most incredible. In the center of the barn sat a young woman holding a newborn infant. She was singing the most beautiful and unusual lullaby. She stopped singing as she looked up at the men. Then she smiled. The men could not help but smile shyly back at the new mother. They were very surprised that anyone was in the abandoned barn, but even more surprised to see a lovely young mother holding a newborn infant. The three men looked around the barn and saw a man raking hay in a stall. The man looked very tired. After a moment, he stopped his chore and addressed the three strangers. “It’s not much of a home, but we had nowhere else to go,” he explained. “We are on our way to visit relatives. My wife had the baby before we could reach our destination.” The farmer, the baker, and the weaver all turned back to look at the mother and her newborn baby. “Are your relatives expecting your arrival?” asked the weaver. “Yes, but traveling will be difficult now with the infant. We can’t stay here long, though. We have no food, and it is very cold and drafty inside this barn,” the man said. He then finished raking a soft pile of hay and laid down a thin piece of cloth on top. Then the man walked over to the mother, took the baby, and placed it on its makeshift bed. The mother and father gathered around the child. It was obvious to the men that the young family was happy despite their hardship. The man and woman looked lovingly at each other and their new baby. The family scene touched the three men and, all at once, they took their items from their sacks and laid them on the floor near the child’s bed. They smiled at the family, then quietly left the drafty barn. Without a word, the farmer, the baker, and the weaver walked through the snow to the edge of the canal. They bent down to put on their skates, then skated off once again. Now all three of the men’s sacks were empty. They did not seem concerned with coming home empty-handed, however. They felt in their hearts that what they had done was right. Once again, the only sound to be heard was their skates on the ice. Here’s how “The Three Skaters” ends: As he skated, the baker thought of his home. The mother and child reminded him of his wife and children waiting to see him walk through the door. He felt blessed knowing that they were safe and warm in their small, but cozy house. The farmer’s thoughts drifted to his sick daughter. How fragile and tiny she looked when he left her that morning, bundled up in her blanket. He thought of the newborn child and how fragile it looked in its young mother’s arms. He said a blessing for the young family left alone in that old barn. The weaver’s prayers also went out to the mother and her child. He hoped that his handmade blankets would provide enough warmth and shelter for the family until they could continue on their journey. The three men were so deep in thought that they did not notice their sacks getting heavier. Slowly each sack was filling, as if someone was dropping items into each one. But the men did not perceive the growing heaviness. They did notice, however, that they were nearing the village where they all lived. A smile crossed each of their lips, because they knew that they would be home soon. It had been a truly strange, but amazing day. As they reached the edge of town, the three men stepped off the ice. The crisp snow crunched under their skates. They still did not speak to one another. Each one took off his skates and slung them over his shoulders. Their sacks were quite full by this time, but still not one man made mention of it. The farmer said good-bye to the baker and the weaver and headed toward his home. The baker and weaver also said their good-byes and parted company. It had been an unusual day, but neither the farmer, the baker, nor the weaver felt like talking. It was as if they all knew what the other one was thinking. By the time the baker reached his front door, his sack was brimming and very heavy. He walked into his home and found his family just as he had pictured, all huddled around the warmth of the fireplace. When they saw him come through the door, all the children shouted at once, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy’s home!” His wife walked over to the baker and gave him a warm hug. That is when she noticed the sack he was carrying. “Oh, dear! What a day at the shop!” she said, her eyes wide with wonder. The baker put down the sack. Immediately cookies and cakes, hams and bread, teas and spices, fruits and vegetables came flooding out! There were also wrapped presents for everyone. The whole family began to cry with delight. “Oh, Daddy! How wonderful!” cried the baker’s daughter. “Dear, we are blessed!” cried the baker’s wife. The baker had no idea how his sack got so full with such wonderful gifts, but he knew it must have something to do with the amazing scene in the barn. That night the baker and his family had the best dinner ever. Not only did they have enough for that night, but for forty nights after! When it was time for bed, the baker gathered the children in front of the fire and told them the amazing story of the family in the old barn on the abandoned field. He described how the sunlight broke through the clouds and shone only on the little barn where they were staying. “It was a wonderful sight, indeed!” he told the children. After he put his family to bed with full bellies and wondrous visions in their heads, the baker sat up and looked out the window. He thought of the farmer and the weaver. He knew that their night was as joyous and amazing as his had been. There was no need to wonder. For all three men had witnessed the same miracle. They all gave everything they had out of pure generosity and the goodness of their hearts. And even though the winter winds howled outside, it was the warmest night the farmer, the baker, and the weaver had ever had. — Adapted by Lynne Suesse Visit Author: Paul Federico where he is donating %100 of the profits to Heifer International. Heifer International's mission is to work with communities to end world hunger and poverty and to care for the Earth. One way they do this is to give food producing animals such as goats, cows, and chickens to impoverished communities. To learn more visit http://www.heifer.org/ Find more Christmas stories online at Zion's Mercantile
Some Image Credits: ©2006 PUBLICATIONS INTERNATIONAL, LTD.
Thanks For Visiting |
