Although this video isn’t actually a “Christmas” story, it really does capture the essence and spirit of this special day… and since so many of us gather around the tree on Christmas morning with a cup of coffee in hand, I hope this video will touch you and the lives of people you care about!

Please share this video with your friends, family, and anybody you think will enjoy it. Together we can bring the spirit of Christmas to more and more people!

This heartwarming video is brought to you by Spiritual Short Stories.

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Story written by Annie.

I hurried into the local department store to grab some last minute Christmas gifts. I looked at all the people and grumbled to myself. I would
be in here forever and I just had so much to do. Christmas was beginning to become such a drag. I kinda wished that I could just sleep through Christmas. But I hurried the best I could through all the people to the toy department. Once again I kind of mumbled to myself at the prices of all these toys. And wondered if the grandkids would even play with them.

I found myself in the doll aisle. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a little boy about 5 holding a lovely doll. He kept touching her hair and he held her so gently. I could not seem to help myself. I just kept looking over at the little boy and wondered who the doll was for. I watched him turn to a woman and he called his aunt by name and said, “Are you sure I don’t have enough money” She replied a bit impatiently, “You know that you don’t have enough money for it. The aunt told the little boy not to go anywhere that she had to go get some other things and would be back in a few minutes. And then she left the aisle. The boy continued to hold the doll.

After a bit I asked the boy who the doll was for. He said, “It is the doll my sister wanted so badly for Christmas. She just knew that Santa would
bring it.” I told him that maybe Santa was going to bring it. He said “No, Santa can’t go where my sister is…I have to give the doll to my Momma to take to her”. I asked him where his sister was.

He looked at me with the saddest eyes and said “She has gone to be with Jesus”. My Daddy says that Momma is going to have to go be with her. My heart nearly stopped beating. Then the boy looked at me again and said, “I told my Daddy to tell Momma not to go yet. I told him to tell her to wait till I got back from the store”. Then he asked me if I wanted to see his picture. I told him I would love to. He pulled out some pictures he’d had taken at the front of the store. He said “I want my Momma to take this with her so she don’t ever forget me.” “I love my Momma so very much and I wish she did not have to leave me”. “But Daddy says she will need to be with my sister.”

I saw that the little boy had lowered his head and had grown so very quiet. While he was not looking I reached into my purse and pulled out a handfull of bills. I asked the little boy, “Shall we count that money one more time?” He grew excited and said “Yes, I just know it has to be enough”. So I slipped my money in with his and we began to count it.

Of course it was plenty for the doll. He softly said, “Thank you Jesus for giving me enough money.” Then the boy said “I just asked Jesus to give me enough money to buy this doll so Momma can take it with her to give to my sister.” “And he heard my prayer”. “I wanted to ask him for enough to buy my Momma a white rose, but I didn’t ask him, but he gave me enough to buy the doll and a rose for my Momma.” “She loves white roses so very very much”.

In a few minutes the aunt came back and I wheeled my cart away. I could not keep from thinking about the little boy as I finished my shopping in a totally different spirit than when I had started. And I kept remembering a story I had seen in the newspaper several days earlier about a drunk driver hitting a car and killing a little girl and the Mother was in serious condition. The family was deciding on rather to remove the life support. Now surely this little boy did not belong with that story.

Two days later I read in the paper where the family had disconnected the life support and the young woman had died. I could not forget the little boy and just kept wondering if the two were somehow connected. Later that day, I could not help myself and I went out and bought some white roses and took them to the funeral home where the young woman was. And there she was holding a lovely white rose, the beautiful doll, and the picture of the little boy in the store.

I left there in tears, my life changed forever. The love that little boy had for his little sister and his mother was overwhelming. And in a split second a drunk driver had ripped the life of that little boy to pieces. “We make a living by what we get; We make a life by what we give.”

from: http://www.annien.com
Submitted by:  John London

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— Author Unknown

Just a week before Christmas I had a visitor. This is how it happened. I just finished the household chores for the night and was preparing to go to bed when I heard a noise in the front of the house. I opened the door to the front room, and to my surprise, Santa himself stepped out from behind the Christmas tree. He placed his finger over his mouth so I would not cry out. “What are you doing?” I started to ask him.

The words choked in my throat, as I saw he had tears in his eyes. His usual jolly manner was gone. Gone was the eager boisterous soul we all know.  He then answered me with a simple statement, TEACH THE CHILDREN! I was puzzled: What did he mean? He anticipated my question, and with one quick movement brought forth a miniature toy bag from behind the tree.

As I stood there bewildered, Santa said, Teach the Children! Teach them the old meaning of Christmas. The meaning that a now-a-day Christmas has forgotten!

Santa then reached in his bag and pulled out a FIR TREE and placed it on the mantle. Teach the Children that the pure green color of the  stately fir tree remains green all year round, depicting the everlasting hope of mankind.  All the needles point heavenward, making it a symbol of man’s thoughts turning
toward heaven.

He again reached into his bag and pulled out a brilliant STAR. Teach the Children that the star was the heavenly sign of promises long ago.   God promised a Savior for the world, and the star was the sign of fulfillment of that promise.

He then reached into the bag and pulled out a CANDLE. Teach the Children that the candle symbolizes that Christ is the light of the world, and when we see this great light we are reminded of He who displaces the darkness.

Once again he reached into his bag and then removed a WREATH and  placed it on the tree. Teach the Children that the wreath symbolizes the eternal nature of love. Real love never ceases. Love is one continuous round of affection.

He then pulled out from his bag an ornament of HIMSELF. Teach the Children that Santa Claus symbolizes the generosity and good will we feel during the month of December.

He reached in again and pulled out a HOLLY LEAF. Teach the Children the holly plant represents immortality. It represents the crown of thorns worn by our Savior. The red holly berries represent blood shed by Him.

Next he pulled out a GIFT from the bag and said, “Teach the Children that God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son. Thanks be to God for His  unspeakable gift. Teach the Children that the wise men bowed before the holy babe and presented Him with gold, frankincense, and myrrh. We should give gifts in the same spirit as the wise men.”

Santa then reached in his bag and pulled out a CANDY CANE and hung it on the tree. Teach the Children that the candy cane represents the shepherd’s crook. The crook on the shepherd’s staff helps bring back strayed sheep from the flock. The candy cane is the symbol that we are our brother’s keeper.

He reached in again and pulled out an ANGEL. Teach the Children that it was the angels that heralded in the glorious news of the Savior’s birth. The angels sang ‘Glory to God in the highest, on earth, peace and good will.’

Suddenly I heard a soft twinkling sound, and from his bag he pulled out a BELL. Teach the Children that as the lost sheep are found by the sound of a bell, it should bring people to the fold. The bell symbolizes guidance and return.

Santa looked at the tree and was pleased. He looked back at me and I saw the twinkle was back in his eyes. He said, “Remember, teach the Children the true meaning of Christmas, and not to put me in the center, for I am but a humble servant of the One who is, and I bow down and worship Him, our Lord, our God.”

Author Unknown

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— Author Unknown

Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities.  But for those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors.   It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving.

It was Christmas Eve 1881.  I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn’t been enough money to buy me the rifle that I’d wanted for Christmas.  We did the  chores early that night for some reason.  I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible.

After supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible.  I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn’t in much  of a mood to read Scriptures. But Pa didn’t get the Bible, instead he bundled up again and went outside. I couldn’t figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn’t worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.  Soon  Pa came back in.  It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard. “Come on, Matt,” he said. “Bundle up good, it’s cold out tonight.” I was really upset then. Not only wasn’t I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the  cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see.  We’d already done all the chores, and I couldn’t think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this.  But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one’s feet when he’d told  them to do something, so I got up and put my boots  back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens.  Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house.  Something was up, but I didn’t know what..
Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled.  Whatever it was we were going to do wasn’t going to be a short, quick, little job.   I could tell. We never hitched up this sled unless we were going to haul a big load.  Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand.  I reluctantly climbed up beside him.  The cold was already biting at me.  I wasn’t happy.  When I was on, Pa pulled the sled  around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed.  He got off and I followed. “I think we’ll put on the high sideboards,” he said.  “Here, help me.”  The high sideboards!  It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever  it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high side boards on.

After we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood – the wood I’d spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all Fall sawing into blocks  and splitting. What was he doing?  Finally I said something.  “Pa,” I asked, “what are you doing?”  You been by the Widow Jensen’s lately?” he asked. The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road.  Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight.  Sure, I’d been by, but so what?
Yeah,” I said, “Why?”

“I rode by just today,” Pa said. “Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They’re out of wood, Matt.”  That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him.  We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it.  Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait.  When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. “What’s in the little sack?” I asked.  Shoes, they’re out of shoes.  Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning.  I got the children a little candy too.  It just wouldn’t be Christmas without a  little candy.”

We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen’s pretty much in silence.  I tried to think through what Pa was doing.  We didn’t have much by worldly standards.  Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most  of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it.  We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn’t have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy?  Really,  why was he doing any of this?  Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us; it shouldn’t have been our concern.

We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door.  We knocked.  The door opened a crack and a timid  voice said,  “Who is it?”  “Lucas Miles, Ma’am, and my son, Matt, could we come in for a bit?”

Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in.  She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.  The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly  gave off any heat at all.  Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.

“We brought you a few things, Ma’am,” Pa said and set down the sack of flour.  I put the meat on the table.  Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it.  She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time.  There was a pair for her and one for each of the children – sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last.  I watched her carefully.  She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks.  She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn’t come out.
“We brought a load of wood too, Ma’am,” Pa said.  He turned to me and said, “Matt, go bring in enough to last awhile.  Let’s get that fire up to size and heat this place up.”  I wasn’t the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and as
much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too.  In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks with so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn’t speak.

My heart swelled within me and a joy that I’d never known before, filled my soul.  I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference.  I could see we were literally  saving the lives of these people.

I soon had the fire blazing and everyone’s spirits soared.  The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn’t crossed her face for a long time.  She finally turned to us. “God bless you,” she said. “I know the Lord has sent you.  The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his angels to spare us.”

In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again.  I’d never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true.  I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth.  I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others.  The list seemed endless as I thought on it.
Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left.  I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get.  Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that  the Lord would make sure he got the right sizes.

Tears were running down Widow Jensen’s face again when we stood up to leave.  Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug.  They clung to him and didn’t want us to go.  I could see that they missed their Pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.
At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, “The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow.  The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals.  We’ll be by to get you about eleven.  It’ll be nice to have some little ones around again.  Matt, here, hasn’t been little for quite a spell.”  I was the youngest.  My two brothers and two sisters  had all married and had moved away.

Widow Jensen nodded and said, “Thank you, Brother Miles.  I don’t have to say, May the Lord bless you, I know for certain that He will.”

Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn’t even notice the cold.  When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, “Matt, I want you to know something.  Your ma and me have  been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn’t have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square.  Your ma and me were real excited,  thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that, but on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do.  Son, I spent the money  for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand.”

I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again.  I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it.  Now the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities.  Pa had given me a lot more.  He  had given me the look on Widow Jensen’s face and the radiant smiles of her three children.

For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much  more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.

Author Unknown

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— Author Unknown

It’s just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.

It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas—oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it- overspending… the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma—the gifts given in desperation because you couldn’t think of anything else. Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.

Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church, mostly black. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler?ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford.

Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn’t knowledge defeat.

Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, “I wish just one of them could have won,” he said. “They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them.” Mike loved kids-all kids-and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse.

That’s when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition—one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on.

The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents. As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn’t end there.

You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide- eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope. Mike’s spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.

By Nancy W. Gavin

The story first appeared in Woman’s Day magazine in 1982 as a contest winner. Unfortunately, Nancy passed away from cancer two years after the story was published. Her family still keeps the tradition started and pass it on to their children. Feel free to use the story.

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Story written by Oliver Bell Bunce

“I hate holidays,” said Bachelor Bluff to me, with some little
irritation, on a Christmas a few years ago. Then he paused an instant,
after which he resumed: “I don’t mean to say that I hate to see people
enjoying themselves. But I hate holidays, nevertheless, because to me
they are always the saddest and dreariest days of the year. I shudder
at the name of holiday. I dread the approach of one, and thank heaven
when it is over. I pass through, on a holiday, the most horrible
sensations, the bitterest feelings, the most oppressive melancholy; in
fact, I am not myself at holiday-times.”

“Very strange,” I ventured to interpose.

“A plague on it!” said he, almost with violence. “I’m not inhuman. I
don’t wish anybody harm. I’m glad people can enjoy themselves. But I
hate holidays all the same. You see, this is the reason: I am a
bachelor; I am without kin; I am in a place that did not know me at
birth. And so, when holidays come around, there is no place anywhere
for me. I have friends, of course; I don’t think I’ve been a very
sulky, shut-in, reticent fellow; and there is many a board that has a
place for me–but not at Christmastime. At Christmas, the dinner is a
family gathering; and I’ve no family. There is such a gathering of
kindred on this occasion, such a reunion of family folk, that there is
no place for a friend, even if the friend be liked. Christmas, with all
its kindliness and charity and good-will, is, after all, deuced
selfish. Each little set gathers within its own circle; and people like
me, with no particular circle, are left in the lurch. So you see, on
the day of all the days in the year that my heart pines for good cheer,
I’m without an invitation.

“Oh, it’s because I pine for good cheer,” said the bachelor, sharply,
interrupting my attempt to speak, “that I hate holidays. If I were an
infernally selfish fellow, I wouldn’t hate holidays. I’d go off and
have some fun all to myself, somewhere or somehow. But, you see, I hate
to be in the dark when all the rest of the world is in light. I hate
holidays because I ought to be merry and happy on holidays and can’t.

“Don’t tell me,” he cried, stopping the word that was on my lips; “I
tell you, I hate holidays. The shops look merry, do they, with their
bright toys and their green branches? The pantomime is crowded with
merry hearts, is it? The circus and the show are brimful of fun and
laughter, are they? Well, they all make me miserable. I haven’t any
pretty-faced girls or bright-eyed boys to take to the circus or the
show, and all the nice girls and fine boys of my acquaintance have
their uncles or their grand-dads or their cousins to take them to those
places; so, if I go, I must go alone. But I don’t go. I can’t bear the
chill of seeing everybody happy, and knowing myself so lonely and
desolate. Confound it, sir, I’ve too much heart to be happy under such
circumstances! I’m too humane, sir!
And the result is, I hate holidays. It’s miserable to be out, and yet I
can’t stay at home, for I get thinking of Christmases past. I can’t
read–the shadow of my heart makes it impossible. I can’t walk–for I
see nothing but pictures through the bright windows, and happy groups
of pleasure-seekers. The fact is, I’ve nothing to do but to hate
holidays. But will you not dine with me?”

Of course, I had to plead engagement with my own family circle, and I
couldn’t quite invite Mr. Bluff home that day, when Cousin Charles and
his wife, and Sister Susan and her daughter, and three of my wife’s kin
had come in from the country, all to make a merry Christmas with us. I
felt sorry, but it was quite impossible, so I wished Mr. Bluff a “Merry
Christmas,” and hurried homeward through the cold and nipping air.

I did not meet Bachelor Bluff again until a week after Christmas of the
next year, when I learned some strange particulars of what occurred to
him after our parting on the occasion just described. I will let
Bachelor Bluff tell his adventure for himself.

“I went to church,” said he, “and was as sad there as everywhere else.
Of course, the evergreens were pretty, and the music fine; but all
around me were happy groups of people, who could scarcely keep down
merry Christmas long enough to do reverence to sacred Christmas. And
nobody was alone but me. Every happy paterfamilias in his pew
tantalized me, and the whole atmosphere of the place seemed so much
better suited to every one else than me that I came away hating
holidays worse than ever. Then I went to the play, and sat down in a
box all alone by myself. Everybody seemed on the best of terms with
everybody else, and jokes and banter passed from one to another with
the most good-natured freedom. Everybody but me was in a little group
of friends. I was the only person in the whole theatre that was alone.
And then there was such clapping of hands, and roars of laughter, and
shouts of delight at all the fun going on upon the stage, all of which
was rendered doubly enjoyable by everybody having somebody with whom to
share and interchange the pleasure, that my loneliness got simply
unbearable, and I hated holidays infinitely worse than ever.

“By five o’clock the holiday became so intolerable that I said I’d go
and get a dinner. The best dinner the town could provide. A sumptuous
dinner for one. A dinner with many courses, with wines of the finest
brands, with bright lights, with a cheerful fire, with every condition
of comfort–and I’d see if I couldn’t for once extract a little
pleasure out of a holiday!

“The handsome dining-room at the club looked bright, but it was empty.
Who dines at this club on Christmas but lonely bachelors? There was a
flutter of surprise when I ordered a dinner, and the few attendants
were, no doubt, glad of something to break the monotony of the hours.

“My dinner was well served. The spacious room looked lonely; but the
white, snowy cloths, the rich window hangings, the warm tints of the
walls, the sparkle of the fire in the steel grate, gave the room an air
of elegance and cheerfulness; and then the table at which I dined was
close to the window, and through the partly drawn curtains were visible
centres of lonely, cold streets, with bright lights from many a window,
it is true, but there was a storm, and snow began whirling through the
street. I let my imagination paint the streets as cold and dreary as it
would, just to extract a little pleasure by way of contrast from the
brilliant room of which I was apparently sole master.

“I dined well, and recalled in fancy old, youthful Christmases, and
pledged mentally many an old friend, and my melancholy was mellowing
into a low, sad undertone, when, just as I was raising a glass of wine
to my lips, I was startled by a picture at the windowpane. It was a
pale, wild, haggard face, in a great cloud of black hair, pressed
against the glass. As I looked it vanished. With a strange thrill at my
heart, which my lips mocked with a derisive sneer, I finished the wine
and set down the glass. It was, of course, only a beggar-girl that had
crept up to the window and stole a glance at the bright scene within;
but still the pale face troubled me a little, and threw a fresh shadow
on my heart. I filled my glass once more with wine, and was again about
to drink, when the face reappeared at the window. It was so white, so
thin, with eyes so large, wild, and hungry-looking, and the black,
unkempt hair, into which the snow had drifted, formed so strange and
weird a frame to the picture, that I was fairly startled. Replacing,
untasted, the liquor on the table, I rose and went close to the pane.
The face had vanished, and I could see no object within many feet of
the window. The storm had increased, and the snow was driving in wild
gusts through the streets, which were empty, save here and there a
hurrying wayfarer. The whole scene was cold, wild, and desolate, and I
could not repress a keen thrill of sympathy for the child, whoever it
was, whose only Christmas was to watch, in cold and storm, the rich
banquet ungratefully enjoyed by the lonely bachelor. I resumed my place
at the table; but the dinner was finished, and the wine had no further
relish. I was haunted by the vision at the window, and began, with an
unreasonable irritation at the interruption, to repeat with fresh
warmth my detestation of holidays. One couldn’t even dine alone on a
holiday with any sort of comfort, I declared. On holidays one was
tormented by too much pleasure on one side, and too much misery on the
other. And then, I said, hunting for justification of my dislike of the
day, ‘How many other people are, like me, made miserable by seeing the
fullness of enjoyment others possess!’

“Oh, yes, I know,” sarcastically replied the bachelor to a comment of
mine; “of course, all magnanimous, generous, and noble-souled people
delight in seeing other people made happy, and are quite content to
accept this vicarious felicity. But I, you see, and this dear little
girl–”

“Dear little girl?”

“Oh, I forgot,” said Bachelor Bluff, blushing a little, in spite of a
desperate effort not to do so. “I didn’t tell you. Well, it was so
absurd! I kept thinking, thinking of the pale, haggard, lonely little
girl on the cold and desolate side of the window-pane, and the
over-fed, discontented, lonely old bachelor on the splendid side of the
window-pane, and I didn’t get much happier thinking about it, I can
assure you. I drank glass after glass of the wine–not that I enjoyed
its flavour any more, but mechanically, as it were, and with a sort of
hope thereby to drown unpleasant reminders. I tried to attribute my
annoyance in the matter to holidays, and so denounced them more
vehemently than ever. I rose once in a while and went to the window,
but could see no one to whom the pale face could have belonged.

“At last, in no very amiable mood, I got up, put on my wrappers, and
went out; and the first thing I did was to run against a small figure
crouching in the doorway. A face looked up quickly at the rough
encounter, and I saw the pale features of the window-pane. I was very
irritated and angry, and spoke harshly; and then, all at once, I am
sure I don’t know how it happened, but it flashed upon me that I, of
all men, had no right to utter a harsh word to one oppressed with so
wretched a Christmas as this poor creature was. I couldn’t say another
word, but began feeling in my pocket for some money, and then I asked a
question or two, and then I don’t quite know how it came about–isn’t
it very warm here?” exclaimed Bachelor Bluff, rising and walking about,
and wiping the perspiration from his brow.

“Well, you see,” he resumed nervously, “it was very absurd, but I did
believe the girl’s story–the old story, you know, of privation and
suffering, and just thought I’d go home with the brat and see if what
she said was all true. And then I remembered that all the shops were
closed, and not a purchase could be made. I went back and persuaded the
steward to put up for me a hamper of provisions, which the half-wild
little youngster helped me carry through the snow, dancing with delight
all the way. And isn’t this enough?”

“Not a bit, Mr. Bluff. I must have the whole story.”

“I declare,” said Bachelor Bluff, “there’s no whole story to tell. A
widow with children in great need, that was what I found; and they had
a feast that night, and a little money to buy them a load of wood and a
garment or two the next day; and they were all so bright, and so merry,
and so thankful, and so good, that, when I got home that night, I was
mightily amazed that, instead of going to bed sour at holidays, I was
in a state of great contentment in regard to holidays. In fact, I was
really merry. I whistled. I sang. I do believe I cut a caper. The poor
wretches I had left had been so merry over their unlooked-for Christmas
banquet that their spirits infected mine.

“And then I got thinking again. Of course, holidays had been miserable
to me, I said. What right had a well-to-do, lonely old bachelor
hovering wistfully in the vicinity of happy circles, when all about
there were so many people as lonely as he, and yet oppressed with want?
‘Good gracious!’ I exclaimed, ‘to think of a man complaining of
loneliness with thousands of wretches yearning for his help and
comfort, with endless opportunities for work and company, with hundreds
of pleasant and delightful things to do. Just to think of it! It put me
in a great fury at myself to think of it. I tried pretty hard to escape
from myself and began inventing excuses and all that sort of thing, but
I rigidly forced myself to look squarely at my own conduct. And then I
reconciled my confidence by declaring that, if ever after that day I
hated a holiday again, might my holidays end at once and forever!

“Did I go and see my proteges again? What a question! Why–well, no
matter. If the widow is comfortable now, it is because she has found a
way to earn without difficulty enough for her few wants. That’s no
fault of mine. I would have done more for her, but she wouldn’t let me.
But just let me tell you about New Year’s–the New-Year’s day that
followed the Christmas I’ve been describing. It was lucky for me there
was another holiday only a week off. Bless you! I had so much to do
that day I was completely bewildered, and the hours weren’t half long
enough. I did make a few social calls, but then I hurried them over;
and then hastened to my little girl, whose face had already caught a
touch of colour; and she, looking quite handsome in her new frock and
her ribbons, took me to other poor folk, and,–well, that’s about the
whole story.

“Oh, as to the next Christmas. Well, I didn’t dine alone, as you may
guess. It was up three stairs, that’s true, and there was none of that
elegance that marked the dinner of the year before; but it was merry,
and happy, and bright; it was a generous, honest, hearty Christmas
dinner, that it was, although I do wish the widow hadn’t talked so much
about the mysterious way a turkey had been left at her door the night
before. And Molly–that’s the little girl–and I had a rousing
appetite. We went to church early; then we had been down to the Five
Points to carry the poor outcasts there something for their Christmas
dinner; in fact, we had done wonders of work, and Molly was in high
spirits, and so the Christmas dinner was a great success.

“Dear me, sir, no! Just as you say. Holidays are not in the least
wearisome any more. Plague on it! When a man tells me now that he hates
holidays, I find myself getting very wroth. I pin him by the buttonhole
at once, and tell him my experience. The fact is, if I were at dinner
on a holiday, and anybody should ask me for a sentiment, I should say,
‘God bless all holidays!’”
OLIVER BELL BUNCE

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Story written by Olive Thorne Miller

“I declare for ‘t, to-morrow is Christmas Day an’ I clean forgot all
about it,” said old Ann, the washerwoman, pausing in her work and
holding the flatiron suspended in the air.

“Much good it’ll do us,” growled a discontented voice from the coarse
bed in the corner.

“We haven’t much extra, to be sure,” answered Ann cheerfully, bringing
the iron down onto the shirt-bosom before her, “but at least we’ve
enough to eat, and a good fire, and that’s more’n some have, not a
thousand miles from here either.”

“We might have plenty more,” said the fretful voice, “if you didn’t
think so much more of strangers than you do of your own folk’s comfort,
keeping a houseful of beggars, as if you was a lady!”

“Now, John,” replied Ann, taking another iron from the fire, “you’re
not half so bad as you pretend. You wouldn’t have me turn them poor
creatures into the streets to freeze, now, would you?”

“It’s none of our business to pay rent for them,” grumbled John. “Every
one for himself, I say, these hard times. If they can’t pay you’d ought
to send ‘em off; there’s plenty as can.”

“They’d pay quick enough if they could get work,” said Ann. “They’re
good honest fellows, every one, and paid me regular as long as they had
a cent. But when hundreds are out o’ work in the city, what can they
do?”

“That’s none o’ your business, you can turn ‘em out!” growled John.

“And leave the poor children to freeze as well as starve?” said Ann.
“Who’d ever take ‘em in without money, I’d like to know? No, John,”
bringing her iron down as though she meant it, “I’m glad I’m well
enough to wash and iron, and pay my rent, and so long as I can do that,
and keep the hunger away from you and the child, I’ll never turn the
poor souls out, leastways, not in this freezing winter weather.”

“An’ here’s Christmas,” the old man went on whiningly, “an’ not a penny
to spend, an’ I needin’ another blanket so bad, with my rhumatiz, an’
haven’t had a drop of tea for I don’t know how long!”

“I know it,” said Ann, never mentioning that she too had been without
tea, and not only that, but with small allowance of food of any kind,
“and I’m desperate sorry I can’t get a bit of something for Katey. The
child never missed a little something in her stocking before.”

“Yes,” John struck in, “much you care for your flesh an’ blood. The
child ha’n't had a thing this winter.”

“That’s true enough,” said Ann, with a sigh, “an’ it’s the hardest
thing of all that I’ve had to keep her out o’ school when she was doing
so beautiful.”

“An’ her feet all on the ground,” growled John.

“I know her shoes is bad,” said Ann, hanging the shirt up on a line
that stretched across the room, and was already nearly full of freshly
ironed clothes, “but they’re better than the Parker children’s.”

“What’s that to us?” almost shouted the weak old man, shaking his fist
at her in his rage.

“Well, keep your temper, old man,” said Ann. “I’m sorry it goes so hard
with you, but as long as I can stand on my feet, I sha’n't turn anybody
out to freeze, that’s certain.”

“How much’ll you get for them?” said the miserable old man, after a few
moments’ silence, indicating by his hand the clean clothes on the line.

“Two dollars,” said Ann, “and half of it must go to help make up next
month’s rent. I’ve got a good bit to make up yet, and only a week to do
it in, and I sha’n't have another cent till day after to-morrow.”

“Well, I wish you’d manage to buy me a little tea,” whined the old man;
“seems as if that would go right to the spot, and warm up my old bones
a bit.”

“I’ll try,” said Ann, revolving in her mind how she could save a few
pennies from her indispensable purchases to get tea and sugar, for
without sugar he would not touch it.

Wearied with his unusual exertion, the old man now dropped off to
sleep, and Ann went softly about, folding and piling the clothes into a
big basket already half full. When they were all packed in, and nicely
covered with a piece of clean muslin, she took an old shawl and hood
from a nail in the corner, put them on, blew out the candle, for it
must not burn one moment unnecessarily, and, taking up her basket, went
out into the cold winter night, softly closing the door behind her.

The house was on an alley, but as soon as she turned the corner she was
in the bright streets, glittering with lamps and gay people. The shop
windows were brilliant with Christmas displays, and thousands of warmly
dressed buyers were lingering before them, laughing and chatting, and
selecting their purchases. Surely it seemed as if there could be no
want here.

As quickly as her burden would let her, the old washerwoman passed
through the crowd into a broad street and rang the basement bell of a
large, showy house.

“Oh, it’s the washerwoman!” said a flashy-looking servant who answered
the bell; “set the basket right m here. Mrs. Keithe can’t look them
over to-night. There’s company in the parlour–Miss Carry’s Christmas
party.”

“Ask her to please pay me–at least a part,” said old Ann hastily. “I
don’t see how I can do without the money. I counted on it.”

“I’ll ask her,” said the pert young woman, turning to go upstairs; “but
it’s no use.”

Returning in a moment, she delivered the message. “She has no change
to-night; you’re to come in the morning.”

“Dear me!” thought Ann, as she plodded back through the streets, “it’ll
be even worse than I expected, for there’s not a morsel to eat in the
house, and not a penny to buy one with. Well–well–the Lord will
provide, the Good Book says, but it’s mighty dark days, and it’s hard
to believe.”

Entering the house, Ann sat down silently before the expiring fire. She
was tired, her bones ached, and she was faint for want of food.

Wearily she rested her head on her hands, and tried to think of some
way to get a few cents. She had nothing she could sell or pawn,
everything she could do without had gone before, in similar
emergencies. After sitting there some time, and revolving plan after
plan, only to find them all impossible, she was forced to conclude that
they must go supperless to bed.

Her husband grumbled, and Katey–who came in from a neighbour’s–cried
with hunger, and after they were asleep old Ann crept into bed to keep
warm, more disheartened than she had been all winter.

If we could only see a little way ahead! All this time–the darkest the
house on the alley had seen–help was on the way to them. A
kind-hearted city missionary, visiting one of the unfortunate families
living in the upper rooms of old Ann’s house, had learned from them of
the noble charity of the humble old washerwoman. It was more than
princely charity, for she not only denied herself nearly every comfort,
but she endured the reproaches of her husband, and the tears of her
child.

Telling the story to a party of his friends this Christmas Eve, their
hearts were troubled, and they at once emptied their purses into his
hands for her. And the gift was at that very moment in the pocket of
the missionary, waiting for morning to make her Christmas happy.
Christmas morning broke clear and cold. Ann was up early, as usual,
made her fire, with the last of her coal, cleared up her two rooms,
and, leaving her husband and Katey in bed, was about starting out to
try and get her money to provide a breakfast for them. At the door she
met the missionary.

“Good-morning, Ann,” said he. “I wish you a Merry Christmas.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Ann cheerfully; “the same to yourself.”

“Have you been to breakfast already?” asked the missionary.

“No, sir,” said Ann. “I was just going out for it.”

“I haven’t either,” said he, “but I couldn’t bear to wait until I had
eaten breakfast before I brought you your Christmas present–I suspect
you haven’t had any yet.”

Ann smiled. “Indeed, sir, I haven’t had one since I can remember.”

“Well, I have one for you. Come in, and I’ll tell you about it.”

Too much amazed for words, Ann led him into the room. The missionary
opened his purse, and handed her a roll of bills.

“Why–what!” she gasped, taking it mechanically.

“Some friends of mine heard of your generous treatment of the poor
families upstairs,” he went on, “and they send you this, with their
respects and best wishes for Christmas. Do just what you please with
it–it is wholly yours. No thanks,” he went on, as she struggled to
speak. “It’s not from me. Just enjoy it–that’s all. It has done them
more good to give than it can you to receive,” and before she could
speak a word he was gone.

What did the old washerwoman do?

Well, first she fell on her knees and buried her agitated face in the
bedclothes. After a while she became aware of a storm of words from her
husband, and she got up, subdued as much as possible her agitation, and
tried to answer his frantic questions.

“How much did he give you, old stupid?” he screamed; “can’t you speak,
or are you struck dumb? Wake up! I just wish I could reach you! I’d
shake you till your teeth rattled!”

His vicious looks were a sign, it was evident that he only lacked the
strength to be as good as his word. Ann roused herself from her stupour
and spoke at last.

“I don’t know. I’ll count it.” She unrolled the bills and began.

“O Lord!” she exclaimed excitedly, “here’s ten-dollar bills! One, two,
three, and a twenty-that makes five–and five are
fifty-five–sixty–seventy–eighty–eighty-five–ninety–one
hundred–and two and five are seven, and two and one are ten,
twenty–twenty-five–one hundred and twenty-five! Why, I’m rich!” she
shouted. “Bless the Lord! Oh, this is the glorious Christmas Day! I
knew He’d provide. Katey! Katey!” she screamed at the door of the other
room, where the child lay asleep. “Merry Christmas to you, darlin’! Now
you can have some shoes! and a new dress! and–and–breakfast, and a
regular Christmas dinner! Oh! I believe I shall go crazy!”

But she did not. Joy seldom hurts people, and she was brought back to
everyday affairs by the querulous voice of her husband.

“Now I will have my tea, an’ a new blanket, an’ some tobacco–how I
have wanted a pipe!” and he went on enumerating his wants while Ann
bustled about, putting away most of her money, and once more getting
ready to go out.

“I’ll run out and get some breakfast,” she said, “but don’t you tell a
soul about the money.”

“No! they’ll rob us!” shrieked the old man.

“Nonsense! I’ll hide it well, but I want to keep it a secret for
another reason. Mind, Katey, don’t you tell?”

“No!” said Katey, with wide eyes. “But can I truly have a new frock,
Mammy, and new shoes–and is it really Christmas?”

“It’s really Christmas, darlin’,” said Ann, “and you’ll see what
mammy’ll bring home to you, after breakfast.”

The luxurious meal of sausages, potatoes, and hot tea was soon smoking
on the table, and was eagerly devoured by Katey and her father. But Ann
could not eat much. She was absent-minded, and only drank a cup of tea.
As soon as breakfast was over, she left Katey to wash the dishes, and
started out again.

She walked slowly down the street, revolving a great plan in her mind.

“Let me see,” she said to herself. “They shall have a happy day for
once. I suppose John’ll grumble, but the Lord has sent me this money,
and I mean to use part of it to make one good day for them.”

Having settled this in her mind, she walked on more quickly, and
visited various shops in the neighbourhood. When at last she went home,
her big basket was stuffed as full as it could hold, and she carried a
bundle besides.

“Here’s your tea, John,” she said cheerfully, as she unpacked the
basket, “a whole pound of it, and sugar, and tobacco, and a new pipe.”

“Give me some now,” said the old man eagerly; “don’t wait to take out
the rest of the things.”

“And here’s a new frock for you, Katey,” old Ann went on, after making
John happy with his treasures, “a real bright one, and a pair of shoes,
and some real woollen stockings; oh! how warm you’ll be!”

“Oh, how nice, Mammy!” cried Katey, jumping about. “When will you make
my frock?”

“To-morrow,” answered the mother, “and you can go to school again.”

“Oh, goody!” she began, but her face fell. “If only Molly Parker could
go too!”

“You wait and see,” answered Ann, with a knowing look. “Who knows what
Christmas will bring to Molly Parker?”

“Now here’s a nice big roast,” the happy woman went on, still
unpacking, “and potatoes and turnips and cabbage and bread and butter
and coffee and–”

“What in the world! You goin’ to give a party?” asked the old man
between the puffs, staring at her in wonder.

“I’ll tell you just what I am going to do,” said Ann firmly, bracing
herself for opposition, “and it’s as good as done, so you needn’t say a
word about it. I’m going to have a Christmas dinner, and I’m going to
invite every blessed soul in this house to come. They shall be warm and
full for once in their lives, please God! And, Katey,” she went on
breathlessly, before the old man had sufficiently recovered from his
astonishment to speak, “go right upstairs now, and invite every one of
‘em from the fathers down to Mrs. Parker’s baby to come to dinner at
three o’clock; we’ll have to keep fashionable hours, it’s so late now;
and mind, Katey, not a word about the money. And hurry back, child, I
want you to help me.”

To her surprise, the opposition from her husband was less than she
expected. The genial tobacco seemed to have quieted his nerves, and
even opened his heart. Grateful for this, Ann resolved that his pipe
should never lack tobacco while she could work.

But now the cares of dinner absorbed her. The meat and vegetables were
prepared, the pudding made, and the long table spread, though she had
to borrow every table in the house, and every dish to have enough to go
around.

At three o’clock when the guests came in, it was really a very pleasant
sight. The bright warm fire, the long table, covered with a
substantial, and, to them, a luxurious meal, all smoking hot. John, in
his neatly brushed suit, in an armchair at the foot of the table, Ann
in a bustle of hurry and welcome, and a plate and a seat for every one.

How the half-starved creatures enjoyed it; how the children stuffed and
the parents looked on with a happiness that was very near to tears; how
old John actually smiled and urged them to send back their plates again
and again, and how Ann, the washerwoman, was the life and soul of it
all, I can’t half tell.

After dinner, when the poor women lodgers insisted on clearing up, and
the poor men sat down by the fire to smoke, for old John actually
passed around his beloved tobacco, Ann quietly slipped out for a few
minutes, took four large bundles from a closet under the stairs, and
disappeared upstairs. She was scarcely missed before she was back again.

Well, of course it was a great day in the house on the alley, and the
guests sat long into the twilight before the warm fire, talking of
their old homes in the fatherland, the hard winter, and prospects for
work in the spring.

When at last they returned to the chilly discomfort of their own rooms,
each family found a package containing a new warm dress and pair of
shoes for every woman and child in the family.

“And I have enough left,”‘ said Ann the washerwoman, to herself, when
she was reckoning up the expenses of the day, “to buy my coal and pay
my rent till spring, so I can save my old bones a bit. And sure John
can’t grumble at their staying now, for it’s all along of keeping them
that I had such a blessed Christmas day at all.”

By OLIVE THORNE MILLER

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Story written by Cathy Richards

At the age of 82, my mother went to heaven on May 22 of this year. For all my 47 years, I spent Christmas with Mom back in our hometown in upstate New York, even the last nine while I’ve been a California resident. This first Christmas without her will be a sad one, but one made more tender by a loving act of kindness.

Yesterday I got a slip in my mailbox to pick up a package at the post office. From the zip code listed, I thought the parcel was from a particular friend who lives near my hometown. Was I surprised to find that it was actually from the manager of the senior citizens’ apartment complex where my mother had lived. He had been very kind to us during my mother’s illness, and here was an unexpected present from him and his wife, whom I had met only once.

Of all the thoughtful gestures extended to me immediately following my mother’s death, theirs had really touched me. When I opened by mother’s apartment and invited her neighbors in to see if there was anything they wanted, the manager’s wife came. It is the only time I’ve ever seen her. She picked up a few things that day and told me to stop by for dinner if I was ever back in the area.

A couple days later, when I was leaving Mom’s apartment for the last time, the manager came out to my car to hug me, and he told me that one of the things his wife picked up was an angel ornament my mother had. Instead of using the ornament at their home, they decided that each year they would put the angel on the Christmas tree in the rec room of the apartment complex to remember my mother. The thought was so sweet that I burst into tears on the sidewalk.

Well… I opened their package this morning and first read the card. It says Mom’s angel ornament has a special place near the top of the rec room’s tree. That was enough to start the tears. But then they explained that the present was a stuffed gingerbread man that the wife made by hand … and that the material used to make the gingerbread man’s scarf and sack came from my mother’s blanket — another item selected by the wife after Mom’s passing. My eyes were flooded with tears as I opened this precious gift and saw the familiar green and white striped blanket.

It was an incredibly durable wool blanket that we had since I was a kid. It is the one and only blanket I specifically remember because of the stripes. And… when my ill mother was going through repeated, alternating periods of high fevers and chills in April and May of this year, she asked me to dig that blanket out of the closet. Even though she was piled high with sheets, blankets, and comforters, she was convinced that ultra-warm wool blanket would stop the extreme and intense chills.

Without knowing the significance of that particular wool blanket, how totally lovely and appropriate that a “stranger” picked that material to make me something so special for this first Christmas. I can’t wait to tell her how much warmth has been provided by her thoughtfulness and those familiar green and white stripes.

–Cathy Richards

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Special thanks to L. M. McCleland – author and contributor of this story!

It seemed just a moment later that I awoke with Mom shaking my arm. She was saying, “Wake up, honey. We’re all here.” I came to and looked around the table. The whole family was seated and loaded down with piles of bags and boxes. Mom still had hold of my arm.
“Are you okay, Greg? You’re all wet and reek of smoke.”
“There was a big fire near the mall and I went to watch,” I said. It was a lame cover, but the best I could manage on the spot.
Then Dad joined in. “You don’t have any packages. Haven’t you bought anything yet?”
Mom piped in. “Don’t tell me you forgot your money? Oh, Greg.”
“It’s all good. Don’t worry, I’ve already taken care of it,” I said. Susan gave me her Mona Lisa smile.
It was Jeff’s turn now. “Where ya got your presents? Out in the sleigh?” He was glancing under the table as he said it. Dad jumped in to the rescue.
“Okay everyone. Just leave him alone. He says it’s all taken care of. Now, what do you want to eat?”
After a good meal, we rode to a grocery store. Dad and Jeff stood guard over the packages while the rest of us went inside to shop. I pushed the cart while Mom and Susan stacked it high with goodies. Somehow a few items that I really like seemed to get into the cart. As we strolled the meat department, Mom asked, “Which should we have, ham or turkey, for Christmas dinner?”
“How about a goose?” I asked.
Mom looked at me skeptically. “Turkey it is. If you squint, it’ll look like a goose!”
“Works for me,” I replied.
We also stopped at a tree lot and bought a great looking tree on the way back to the farm. Jeff joined me in the driver’s seat and did most of the steering once we were out of town. While my heart felt fine, my mind was screaming trying to figure out what to do about presents.
After dinner, Jeff hauled in the box of decorations from the van and we set up the tree. There was a crackling fire and Christmas carols drifting through the scented air. It looked like a game of Twister as Mom and Dad climbed over and around each other to string up the lights, garland, and popcorn. Susan lovingly hung her favorite ornaments, as she does every year. She looked beautiful and serene. Her hair shone around her face, flush with the heat from the fire. Jeff decorated all the lower branches and placed the tree skirt around the base. He scrambled around in his own world, neatly arranging all the packages. There was nothing from me down there yet.
When bedtime came, I retired to the attic. I was hoping Grandpa would reappear and help me out, but it didn’t happen. His words about looking into my heart were still with me though. I went through the trunks, searching for inspiration. I finally just relaxed and pictured each family member. It seemed as if I had new eyes, because I could see them in new ways, and my feelings toward them were clear. It didn’t take long after that for me to find what I needed. An hour later, all my presents were wrapped and I put them under the tree in the quiet of the night.
Christmas morning started in the usual way. Jeff woke before the sun, waited until the rooster crowed, then went from door to door to wake the rest of us up. We all staggered around down toward the kitchen. Mom whipped together a simple breakfast, finished first by Jeff.
We finally made it to the front room and gathered around the magnificent tree. Jeff had already pulled out all the presents, and had them arranged according to recipient. We all sat in a circle and each took a turn, opening one gift at a time. Everyone else would watch and compliment both the giver and recipient. This year we were going from oldest to youngest.
As usual, the biggest presents were opened first, which left all the ones I gave for last. In fact, a couple of them got lost in the wrapping paper, and I had to tell everyone to search for them.
Finally, Mom and Dad got to my present. Mom pulled away the wrapping paper to reveal a silver locket with a chain. She looked at it and said, “Oh honey, it’s beautiful!”
“Open it,” I said.
She found the clasp and the locket opened like a clam. Inside each half was a photograph from my wallet. One was of Mom, and the other of Dad. “Oh!” she said again.
I screwed up my courage and said, “With that locket, you’re always in the kissing position. I know I haven’t said it, or shown it much, but I want you both to know how lucky I feel to have parents who still love us and each other after all these years.” Mom looked at me with tears in her eyes. “We’ll treasure this forever, “ she said, and hugged me.
Dad squeezed my shoulder and blinked. “Thanks, son,” he said with a wavering voice.
Susan was next. She opened her lumpy package from me. Out tumbled an ivory handled brush, a carved bone barrette, and a cameo broach. “Wow, cool!” she said. She held up the broach and carefully studied the white profile on a black background, surrounded with silver filigree.
“Susan,” I said, “I don’t know why, but you’ve had my back all my life. Even when I didn’t deserve it. I owe you a lot more than these little things, but I hope they remind you of how beautiful I think you are.” I don’t know who had a harder time believing I said that, her or me! She leaned over and gave me a big hug and her award-winning smile.
We all looked at Jeff. Your turn,” said Dad.
Jeff looked at me and said, “I don’t have to give you a hug or kiss, do I?”
Everyone laughed. “Just open it, Squirt,” I said. He tore away the paper and showed us all a spark plug wrench. He looked a little puzzled, so I pointed and said, “Look in your wrapping paper.” He dug through it and pulled out a little card.
“Read it,” I said.
He stared intently, and said, “It’s a coupon. ‘Good for one full training session at Greg’s School of Auto Mechanics.’” He looked at me, still puzzled.
I held up my hands. “Well, I can’t give you a gift without you knowing how to use it, right?”
“All right!” he said. “When do we start? You know, I think I heard one of those cylinders in the tractor missing!” We all laughed again.
Later that cold, sunny day, Mom made us a feast for dinner. We were seated around the big farm table, decked out in our best clothes, just like our usual Christmas tradition. Mom was wearing her locket around her neck, and sat close to Dad, almost touching. Susan was radiant in a high-necked black dress. The cameo looked perfect pinned at her throat, and the bone barrette shone in her hair. Jeff’s shirt and tie were slowly acquiring the contents of his dinner plate.
Mom had made a centerpiece that featured the gas station photo of us in the sleigh. Jeff was still eating, while the rest of us were more than satisfied. He looked up and wiped some gravy off his chin. We were all staring at him, but he didn’t seem to notice; he had his eyes on the photo of us in the sleigh. Without missing a beat, he announced, “I think that was the best Christmas ever!”
Susan smiled and said, “I think so, too!”
Right then, I could have sworn I hear an old man’s chuckle echo faintly through the old house. All I could do was smile.

Also read   | Chapter 1  | Chapter 2 |  Chapter 3 |   Chapter 4 |   Chapter 5 |  Chapter 6 |  Chapter 7 |
–by  L. M. McCleland

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Special thanks to L. M. McCleland – author and contributor of this story!

I was tooling around with my fifth batch of kids when we noticed a column of smoke rising a few blocks away down the road. Five minutes later, a fire truck went by with its siren blaring. As soon as we stopped, all the kids hopped off the sleigh and ran toward the smoke. Their parents chased after them. Nobody paid me and no one was waiting for a ride. I decided to check it out myself, and chugged along after the crowd up the road.
The scene was chaos when I arrived. Two houses were separated by a copse of trees about 200 feet wide. The copse was almost engulfed with fire. The fire was very close to the house on the left, and the firemen were spraying down the roof and walls to keep it from torching. A huge crowd of people was milling around the road where the police were keeping them back.
I stood near the rumbling fire truck where a tired looking fireman was talking on the radio. The word “Chief” was emblazoned on his back. A young looking fireman came bounding through the snow. He was breathless but managed to say, “The fire’s spreading in the treetops. A bunch of trees are down on the other side of the grove. One of them is in contact with the other house. If the fire gets over to that side, it’s a goner.”
The Chief said, “Any way to haul those trees out of there and make a fire break?”
The younger one shook his head, still pointing. “I don’t think so. They’re way back off the road and the snow’s too deep.”
“How much longer before the fire gets there?” yelled the chief over a sudden roar in the flames.
“Fifteen minutes maybe.”
The chief leaned back on the truck as he looked at the scene in front of him. Then he made his mind up. “We won’t have back up for another half hour at least. We’re already in place, and I know we can save this house. Everyone’s out of the house, so just keep them out. Get back there and see if you can make a fire break somehow. I’ll be over there in a few minutes with some help. Got that? Now go!”
The young guy ran back to the other side. I went on the road in his direction and saw what he was talking about. A group of huge, old trees had fallen down and were leaning up against a small white house. If the trees caught fire, that house would go up for sure.
I sprinted back to the tractor and sleigh, slipping and falling a couple of times as I went. I fired her up and went top speed up the road.
As I passed the large crowd, several people turned and pointed. I realized I still had the sleigh in tow!
When I got back to the white house, I saw a pickup truck stuck in the snow about halfway between the road and the fallen trees. A bunch of guys were trying to push it out of the way, but its wheels had dug themselves in pretty deep.
I stopped and began unhitching the sleigh. Looking up, I saw a woman in tears, standing a little ways from the crowd. She looked as if she was praying as she glanced from the truck to the house. The noise from the fire was noticeably louder than before. Two little girls clung to the woman. One of them must have been only 3 years old. She had a full head of messed-up, black fuzzy hair. She looked at me with an intense fearful stare. In one hand she held a ratty old stuffed bunny that was missing a leg and clung to her mother’s coat with the other.
Once the sleigh was free, I chugged the old Ford back in the snow, up to the truck and paused. The guys abandoned the truck and began directing me toward the trees. A couple of firemen grabbed the end of the chain and pulled it back to the tree that was against the house. “Thank God you’re here,” one of them yelled at me.
The tree was so big that your arms couldn’t have reached around its trunk. It was broken near the ground, but was still attached pretty well to the stump. A man in a flannel shirt was cutting away at the break with a chain saw. The fireman looped the chain around the trunk and hooked it securely. They waved the man with the saw away and yelled. “Pull!”
I gave her some gas and pulled the chain taut. The tires dug in and the chain wiggled like a guitar string. The tree shifted a little, but didn’t want to move. They finally waved at me to stop, and the chain saw went back to work.
He cut at the break for what seemed like forever, and again they waned him off and yelled, “Pull!” to me. This time the whole tree rocked and shook as the tractor grunted and yanked on the chain. A loud crack came from the stump, and I revved up even more. With a splintering sound, the trunk broke free, and I pulled it away. The tree slid down the side of the house to the round. A little cheer came from the crowd as I dragged the tree away from the damaged wall.
By now, the fire was just reaching the far end of the row of fallen trees. My load was almost completely clear of the house when the rest of the leaning trees cascaded into one another like a row of falling dominoes. One of them fell right up against the house again. There was a whoosh and a crackling roar as the flaming tree on the far end fell into its neighbor’s branches. The fireman and volunteers scattered, telling and cursing, under the shower of sparks and flaming twigs, some of which swirled skyward in the growing updraft. I could see panic in their eyes.
I pulled my tree several yards further away. A fireman ran up to me and shouted, “C’mon, we gotta do it again, but much faster this time.” They unhitched my chain from the tree, and I looped around into position for the other tree, now threatening the house.
I watched from my seat through the heat-rippled air as the chain saw went to work on the new break. The tree’s branches were already ablaze and flames began to lick at the open wound on the house’s wall. The men’s shouts, and the chain saw’s buzz, were drowned out by the fire’s roar. I was so close that I could feel the strong ground wind being sucked into the hungry flames.
The fire had worked to within a few feet of the yellow-coated fireman who was frantically winding the chain around the tree trunk. The snow around them had begun to steam, and I had a hard time seeing in the fog. When the chain was secure, they all hopped clear and waved at me to pull. I gunned the tractor and the chain snapped taut again. The tree moved a little, but the tractor’s tires began to slip on an icy spot. I backed up about 6 feet and steered toward a bare spot in the snow.
This time, the wheels dug in deep and pulled hard. The strained chain stretched straight as an arrow into the flames around the tree trunk. I gave the truck full throttle and lurched the steering wheel back and forth to give the tires fresh earth to grab.
Without warning, the tree fell free and we surged forward. With a hail of sparks and snaps, the tree pulled quickly clear of the house. I dragged it about 100 feet away, leaving a trail of flaming twigs hissing in my snowy wake. The ragged end of the trunk snowplowed into a drift and I could move it no further.
The man in the flannel shirt sprayed a garden hose at the small flames on the house’s wall, while the fireman pulled away some broken, burning branches that were strewn near the house. My job was finished, so I got down and watched everyone work. After a few minutes, it looked like the fire was out, although the house had a large black smoking scar on its wall, reaching almost to the eaves. There was a good 400-foot fire and wood-free zone around the house.
Another fire truck arrived and the fresh crew went right to work. They sprayed foam all over the damaged side of the house, and then attacked the fire in the copse. The tired young fireman stopped to rest a bit. He stomped by me, clapped me on the shoulder, and nodded as he went by.
The guy in the flannel shirt stepped away and went to the mother and two little girls. They hugged and wept openly. I was still watching them when the young fireman reappeared and handed me a bottle of water. He nodded toward the family and said, simply, “That’s their house.”
“It’s okay, right? No major damage?” I asked.
“Yeah. A some siding, some insulation, a paint job, and she’ll be as good as new. By the way, you don’t need that hat anymore. It’s not exactly fireman’s regulation, anyway.”
“Huh? Oh!” I said as I felt my head. I’d had the top hat on the whole time! The fireman smirked, clapped me on the back, and strode away.
I noticed Eileen, the red-haired girl I’d given my first ride to. She walked up to the frizzy-haired girl and whispered something in her ear. The frizzy-haired girl locked her big dark eyes on me again. Then she broke from her mother, ran up to me, gave my leg a squeeze, and ran back again before her Mom and Dad noticed she was gone. She still looked scared.
The fear in that little girl’s eyes and her ragged bunny kept floating in front of me as I hooked up the sleigh and drove back to the mall parking lot. Time was getting short, so I ran inside the mall. Things were very clear to me now. I knew just what I had to buy.
I emerged a short time later and walked back to the white house carrying a large bag. The firemen were still battling the fire in the copse, but they seemed to have the upper hand and weren’t as frantic as before. The mother and the two girls still stood in the same spot, surrounded by neighbors and friends.
I stood near a tree a little ways away from them until the frizzy-haired girl saw me. She still looked a little frightened. I squatted down and reached into the bag without taking my eyes off her. I grinned and pulled a big stuffed bunny out of the bag. Her eyes got even wider when I held it out to her. She slowly came up to me, gave me a really big hug, and grabbed the rabbit. Then, her sister came over. I pulled another rabbit out of my top hat and handed it to her.
“Thank you, mister. Merry Christmas!” she smiled and skipped back to her sister and mother. Eileen, the red-haired girl, came up to the frizzy-haired girl, put her arm around her shoulders, and whispered, “See? I told you he was one of Santa’s helpers!”
I looked up at their mother, whose face was smudged and tear-stained. She had been watching from the crowd the whole time. She took a long look at me, then began waving at her husband as she glanced back and forth between me and him. Taking off my top hat, I quickly disappeared into the crowd and walked back to the mall.
I went straight to the food court. I didn’t see any of my family there, so I grabbed a chair at an empty table. I didn’t know how exhausted I was until I sat down. I leaned back and must have fallen asleep in seconds.

Also read   | Chapter 1  | Chapter 2 |  Chapter 3 |   Chapter 4 |   Chapter 5 |  Chapter 6 |  Chapter 7 |
–by  L. M. McCleland

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