Gifts of the Magi

How wise are we with our gifts of material things and of our gift of time?  Are we wise or unwise? 
Lets see how wise these two couple Della and James were.


Gifts of the Magi, by O. Henry
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Title and story as they appeared originally in the New York World.

One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And 60 cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles and smiles, with sniffles predominating.

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.

In the vestibule below belonged to this flat a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."

The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, the letters of "Dillingham" looked blurred, as though they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had ony $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling-something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry and mocked at Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her, rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read: "Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting, before Madame, large, too white, chilly and hardly looking the "Sofronie."

"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.

"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."

Down rippled the brown cascade.

"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.

"Give it to me quick," said Della.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.

She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was none other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation-as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value-the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends-a mammoth task.

Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully and critically.

"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do-oh, what could, I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents!"

At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.

Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit of saying little silent prayers about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please, God, make him think I am still pretty."

The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he-was only twenty-two-and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.

Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

Della wriggled off the table and went for him.

"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold it because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow again-you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say 'Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."

"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.

"Cut if off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"

Jim looked about the room .curiously.

"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.

"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you-sold and gone too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with a sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"

Out of his trance Jim seemed to quickly wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.

Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.

"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going awhile at first."

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.

For there lay The Combs-the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped for long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims-just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.

But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"

And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull, precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted allover town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."

Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.

"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."

The magi, as you know, were wise men-wonderfully wise men-who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas gifts. Being wise, their gifts .were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were of the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

A piece taken from www.firstworldwar.com

The Christmas Truce

You are standing up to your knees in the slime of a waterlogged trench.  It is the evening of 24 December 1914 and you are on the dreaded Western Front.

Stooped over, you wade across to the firing step and take over the watch.  Having exchanged pleasantries, your bleary-eyed and mud-spattered colleague shuffles off towards his dug out.  Despite the horrors and the hardships, your morale is high and you believe that in the New Year the nation's army march towards a glorious victory.

But for now you stamp your feet in a vain attempt to keep warm.  All is quiet when jovial voices call out from both friendly and enemy trenches.  Then the men from both sides start singing carols and songs.  Next come requests not to fire, and soon the unthinkable happens: you start to see the shadowy shapes of soldiers gathering together in no-man's land laughing, joking and sharing gifts.

Many have exchanged cigarettes, the lit ends of which burn brightly in the inky darkness.  Plucking up your courage, you haul yourself up and out of the trench and walk towards the foe...

The meeting of enemies as friends in no-man's land was experienced by hundreds, if not thousands, of men on the Western Front during Christmas 1914.  Today, 90 years after it occurred, the event is seen as a shining episode of sanity from among the bloody chapters of World War One - a spontaneous effort by the lower ranks to create a peace that could have blossomed were it not for the interference of generals and politicians.

The reality of the Christmas Truce, however, is a slightly less romantic and a more down to earth story.  It was an organic affair that in some spots hardly registered a mention and in others left a profound impact upon those who took part.

Many accounts were rushed, confused or contradictory.  Others, written long after the event, are weighed down by hindsight.  These difficulties aside, the true story is still striking precisely because of its rag-tagged nature: it is more 'human' and therefore all the more potent.

Months beforehand, millions of servicemen, reservists and volunteers from all over the continent had rushed enthusiastically to the banners of war: the atmosphere was one of holiday rather than conflict.

But it was not long before the jovial façade was torn away. Armies equipped with repeating rifles, machine guns and a vast array of artillery tore chunks out of each other, and thousands upon thousands of men perished.

To protect against the threat of this vast firepower, the soldiers were ordered to dig in and prepare for next year's offensives, which most men believed would break the deadlock and deliver victory.

The early trenches were often hasty creations and poorly constructed; if the trench was badly sighted it could become a sniping hot spot.  In bad weather (the winter of 1914 was a dire one) the positions could flood and fall in.  The soldiers - unequipped to face the rigors of the cold and rain - found themselves wallowing in a freezing mire of mud and the decaying bodies of the fallen.

The man at the Front could not help but have a degree of sympathy for his opponents who were having just as miserable a time as they were.

Another factor that broke down the animosity between the opposing armies were the surroundings.  In 1914 the men at the front could still see the vestiges of civilization   Villages, although badly smashed up, were still standing.  Fields, although pitted with shell-holes, had not been turned into muddy lunarscapes.

Thus the other world - the civilian world - and the social mores and manners that went with it was still present at the front.  Also lacking was the pain, misery and hatred that years of bloody war build up.  Then there was the desire, on all sides, to see the enemy up close - was he really as bad as the politicians, papers and priests were saying?

It was a combination of these factors, and many more minor ones, that made the Christmas Truce of 1914 possible.

On the eve of the Truce, the British Army (still a relatively small presence on the Western Front) was manning a stretch of the line running south from the infamous Ypres salient for 27 miles to the La Bassee Canal.

Along the front the enemy was sometimes no more than 70, 50 or even 30 yards away.  Both Tommy and Fritz could quite easily hurl greetings and insults to one another, and, importantly, come to tacit agreements not to fire.  Incidents of temporary truces and outright fraternization were more common at this stage in the war than many people today realize - even units that had just taken part in a series of futile and costly assaults, were still willing to talk and come to arrangements with their opponents.

As Christmas approached the festive mood and the desire for a lull in the fighting increased as parcels packed with goodies from home started to arrive.  On top of this came gifts care of the state.  Tommy received plum puddings and 'Princess Mary boxes'; a metal case engraved with an outline of George V's daughter and filled with chocolates and butterscotch, cigarettes and tobacco, a picture card of Princess Mary and a facsimile of George V's greeting to the troops.  'May God protect you and bring you safe home,' it said.

Not to be outdone, Fritz received a present from the Kaiser, the Kaiserliche, a large meerschaum pipe for the troops and a box of cigars for NCOs and officers.  Towns, villages and cities, and numerous support associations on both sides also flooded the front with gifts of food, warm clothes and letters of thanks.

The Belgians and French also received goods, although not in such an organised fashion as the British or Germans.  For these nations the Christmas of 1914 was tinged with sadness - their countries were occupied.  It is no wonder that the Truce, although it sprung up in some spots on French and Belgian lines, never really caught hold as it did in the British sector.

With their morale boosted by messages of thanks and their bellies fuller than normal, and with still so much Christmas booty to hand, the season of goodwill entered the trenches.  A BritishDaily Telegraph correspondent wrote that on one part of the line the Germans had managed to slip a chocolate cake into British trenches.

Even more amazingly, it was accompanied with a message asking for a ceasefire later that evening so they could celebrate the festive season and their Captain's birthday.  They proposed a concert at 7.30pm when candles, the British were told, would be placed on the parapets of their trenches.

The British accepted the invitation and offered some tobacco as a return present.  That evening, at the stated time, German heads suddenly popped up and started to sing.  Each number ended with a round of applause from both sides.

The Germans then asked the British to join in.  At this point, one very mean-spirited Tommy shouted: 'We'd rather die than sing German.'  To which a German joked aloud: 'It would kill us if you did'.

December 24 was a good day weather-wise: the rain had given way to clear skies.

On many stretches of the Front the crack of rifles and the dull thud of shells ploughing into the ground continued, but at a far lighter level than normal.  In other sectors there was an unnerving silence that was broken by the singing and shouting drifting over, in the main, from the German trenches.

Along many parts of the line the Truce was spurred on with the arrival in the German trenches of miniature Christmas trees - Tannenbaum.  The sight these small pines, decorated with candles and strung along the German parapets, captured the Tommies' imagination, as well as the men of the Indian corps who were reminded of the sacred Hindu festival of light.

It was the perfect excuse for the opponents to start shouting to one another, to start singing and, in some areas, to pluck up the courage to meet one another in no-man's land.

By now, the British high command - comfortably 'entrenched' in a luxurious châteaux 27 miles behind the front - was beginning to hear of the fraternization.

Stern orders were issued by the commander of the BEF, Sir John Frenchagainst such behaviour.  Other 'brass-hats' (as the Tommies nick-named their high-ranking officers and generals), also made grave pronouncements on the dangers and consequences of parleying with the Germans.

However, there were many high-ranking officers who took a surprisingly relaxed view of the situation.  If anything, they believed it would at least offer their men an opportunity to strengthen their trenches.  This mixed stance meant that very few officers and men involved in the Christmas Truce were disciplined.

Interestingly, the German High Command's ambivalent attitude towards the Truce mirrored that of the British.

Christmas day began quietly but once the sun was up the fraternization began.  Again songs were sung and rations thrown to one another.  It was not long before troops and officers started to take matters into their own hands and ventured forth.  No-man's land became something of a playground.

Men exchanged gifts and buttons.  In one or two places soldiers who had been barbers in civilian times gave free haircuts.  One German, a juggler and a showman, gave an impromptu, and given the circumstances, somewhat surreal performance of his routine in the centre of no-man's land.

Captain Sir Edward Hulse of the Scots Guards, in his famous account, remembered the approach of four unarmed Germans at 08.30.  He went out to meet them with one of his ensigns.  'Their spokesmen,' Hulse wrote, 'started off by saying that he thought it only right to come over and wish us a happy Christmas, and trusted us implicitly to keep the truce.  He came from Suffolk where he had left his best girl and a 3 ½ h.p. motor-bike!'

Having raced off to file a report at headquarters, Hulse returned at 10.00 to find crowds of British soldiers and Germans out together chatting and larking about in no-man's land, in direct contradiction to his orders.

Not that Hulse seemed to care about the fraternization in itself - the need to be seen to follow orders was his concern.  Thus he sought out a German officer and arranged for both sides to return to their lines.

While this was going on he still managed to keep his ears and eyes open to the fantastic events that were unfolding.

'Scots and Huns were fraternizing in the most genuine possible manner.  Every sort of souvenir was exchanged addresses given and received, photos of families shown, etc.  One of our fellows offered a German a cigarette; the German said, "Virginian?"  Our fellow said, "Aye, straight-cut", the German said "No thanks, I only smoke Turkish!"... It gave us all a good laugh.'

Hulse's account was in part a letter to his mother, who in turn sent it on to the newspapers for publication, as was the custom at the time.  Tragically, Hulse was killed in March 1915.

On many parts of the line the Christmas Day truce was initiated through sadder means.  Both sides saw the lull as a chance to get into no-man's land and seek out the bodies of their compatriots and give them a decent burial.  Once this was done the opponents would inevitably begin talking to one another.

The 6th Gordon Highlanders, for example, organised a burial truce with the enemy.  After the gruesome task of laying friends and comrades to rest was complete, the fraternization began.

With the Truce in full swing up and down the line there were a number of recorded games of soccer, although these were really just 'kick-abouts' rather than a structured match.

On January 1, 1915, the London Times published a letter from a major in the Medical Corps reporting that in his sector the British played a game against the Germans opposite and were beaten 3-2.

Kurt Zehmisch of the 134th Saxons recorded in his diary: 'The English brought a soccer ball from the trenches, and pretty soon a lively game ensued.  How marvellously wonderful, yet how strange it was.  The English officers felt the same way about it.  Thus Christmas, the celebration of Love, managed to bring mortal enemies together as friends for a time.'

The Truce lasted all day; in places it ended that night, but on other sections of the line it held over Boxing Day and in some areas, a few days more.  In fact, there parts on the front where the absence of aggressive behaviour was conspicuous well into 1915.

Captain J C Dunn, the Medical Officer in the Royal Welch Fusiliers, whose unit had fraternized and received two barrels of beer from the Saxon troops opposite, recorded how hostilities re-started on his section of the front.

Dunn wrote: 'At 8.30 I fired three shots in the air and put up a flag with "Merry Christmas" on it, and I climbed on the parapet.  He [the Germans] put up a sheet with "Thank you" on it, and the German Captain appeared on the parapet.  We both bowed and saluted and got down into our respective trenches, and he fired two shots in the air, and the War was on again.'

The war was indeed on again, for the Truce had no hope of being maintained.  Despite being wildly reported in Britain and to a lesser extent in Germany, the troops and the populations of both countries were still keen to prosecute the conflict.

Today, pragmatists read the Truce as nothing more than a 'blip' - a temporary lull induced by the season of goodwill, but willingly exploited by both sides to better their defenses and eye out one another's positions.  Romantics assert that the Truce was an effort by normal men to bring about an end to the slaughter.

In the public's mind the facts have become irrevocably mythologized, and perhaps this is the most important legacy of the Christmas Truce today.  In our age of uncertainty, it comforting to believe, regardless of the real reasoning and motives, that soldiers and officers told to hate, loathe and kill, could still lower their guns and extend the hand of goodwill, peace, love and Christmas cheer.

Delayed Delivery

This story is called "Delayed Delivery," and it first appeared in a 1992 Christmas story contest for a Canadian paper called The Northern Life and was reprinted as well in Christmas in My Heart. ...

There had never been a winter like this. Stella watched from the haven of her armchair as gusts of snow whipped themselves into a frenzy. She feared to stand close to the window, unreasonably afraid that somehow the blizzard might be able to reach her there, sucking her, breathless, out into the chaos. The houses across the street were all but obliterated by the fury of wind-borne flakes. Absently, the elderly woman straightened the slipcovers on the arms of her chair, her eyes glued to the spectacle beyond the glass.

Dragging her gaze away from the window, she forced herself up out of her chair and waited a moment for balance to reassert itself. Straightening her back against the pain that threatened to keep her stooped, she set out determinedly for the kitchen.

In the doorway to the next room she paused, her mind blank, wondering what purpose

had propelled her there. From the vent above the stove the scream of the wind threatened to funnel the afternoon storm directly down into the tiny house. Stella focused brown eyes on the stovetop clock. The three-fifteen time reminded her that she had headed in there to take something out of the freezer for her supper. Another lonely meal that she didn't feel like preparing, much less eating.

Suddenly, she grabbed the handle of the refrigerator and leaned her forehead against the cold, white surface of the door as a wave of self-pity threatened to drown her. It was too much to bear, losing her beloved Dave this summer! How was she to endure the pain, the daily nothingness? She felt the familiar ache in her throat and squeezed her eyes tightly shut to hold the tears at bay.

Stella drew herself upright and shook her head in silent chastisement. She reiterated her litany of thanks. She had her health, her tiny home, an income that should suffice for the remainder of her days. She had her books, her television programs, and her needlework. There were the pleasures of her garden in the spring and summer, walks through the wilderness park at the end of her street, and the winter birds that brightened the feeders outside her kitchen picture window. Not today though, she thought ruefully, as the blizzard hurled itself against the eastern wall of the kitchen.

"Ah, Dave, I miss you so! I never minded storms when you were here." The sound of her own voice echoed hollowly in the room. She turned on the radio that stood on the counter next to a neatly descending row of wooden canisters. A sudden joyful chorus of Christmas music filled the room, but it only served to deepen her loneliness.

Stella had been prepared for her husband's death. Since the doctor's pronouncement of

terminal lung cancer, they had both faced the inevitable, striving to make the most of their remaining time together. Dave's financial affairs had always been in order. There were no new burdens in her widowed state. It was just the awful aloneness ... the lack of purpose to her days.

They had been a childless couple. It had been their choice. Their lives had been full and

rich. They had been content with busy careers, and with each other.

They had had many friends. Had!. That was the operative word these days. It was bad

enough losing the one person you loved with all your heart. But over the past few years,

she and Dave repeatedly had to cope with the deaths of their friends and relations. They were all of an age-the age when human bodies began giving up--dying. Face it-they were old!

And now, on this first Christmas without Dave, Stella would be on her own. Mable and

Jim had invited her to spend the holiday with them in Florida, but somehow that had

seemed worse than staying at home alone. Not only would she miss her husband, but she would miss the snow, and the winter, and the familiarity of her home.

With shaky fingers, she lowered the volume of the radio so that the music became a muted background. She glanced toward the fridge briefly, then decided that a hot bowl of soup would be more comforting fare this evening.

To her surprise, she saw that the mail had come. She hadn't even heard the creak of the levered mail slot in the front door. Poor mailman, out in this weather! "Neither hail, nor sleet .... " With the inevitable wince of pain, she bent to retrieve the damp, white envelopes from the floor. Moving into the living room, she sat on the piano bench to open them. They were mostly Christmas cards, and her sad eyes smiled at the familiarity of the traditional scenes and at the loving messages inside. Carefully, her arthritic fingers arranged them among the others clustered on the piano top. In her entire house, they were the only seasonal decoration. The holiday was less than a week away, but she just did not have the heart to put up a silly tree, or even set up the stable that Dave had built with his own hands.

Suddenly engulfed by the loneliness of it all, Stella buried her lined face in her hands,

lowering her elbows to the piano keys in a harsh, abrasive discord, and let the tears come. How would she possibly get through Christmas and the winter beyond it? She longed to climb into bed and bury herself in a cocoon of blankets, not emerging until her friends and spring returned.

The ring of the doorbell echoed the high-pitched, discordant piano notes and was so unexpected that Stella had to stifle a small scream of surprise. Now who could possibly be calling on her on a day like today? Wiping her eyes, she noticed for the first time how dark the room had become. The doorbell sounded a second time.

Using the piano for leverage, she raised herself upright and headed for the front hall,

switching on the living room light as she passed. She opened the wooden door and stared through the screened window of the storm door in consternation. On her front porch, buffeted by waves of wind and snow, stood a strange, young man, whose hatless head was barely visible above the large carton in his arms. She peered beyond him to the driveway, but there was nothing about the small car to give clue to his identity. Returning her gaze to him, she saw that his hands were bare and his eyebrows had lifted in an expression of hopeful appeal that was fast disappearing behind the frost forming on the glass. Summoning courage, the elderly lady opened the door slightly and he stepped sideways to speak into the space.

"Mrs. Thornhope?"

She nodded affirmation, her extended arm beginning to tremble with cold and the

strain of holding the door against the wind. He continued, predictably, ''I have a

package for you."

Curiosity drove warning thoughts from her mind. She pushed the door far enough

to enable the stranger to shoulder it and stepped back into the foyer to make room

for him. He entered, bringing with him the frozen breath of the storm. Smiling, he

placed his burden carefully on the floor and stood to retrieve an envelope that protruded

from his pocket. As he handed it to her, a sound came from the box. Stella actually jumped. The man laughed in apology and bent to straighten up the cardboard flaps, holding them open in an invitation for her to peek inside. She advanced cautiously, then turned her gaze downward.

It was dog! To be more exact, a golden Labrador retriever puppy. As the gentleman

lifted its squirming body up into his arms, he explained, "This is for you, ma'am He's 6 weeks old and completely housebroken." The young pup wiggled in happiness at being released from captivity and thrust ecstatic, wet kisses in the direction of his benefactor's chin. "We were supposed to deliver him on Christmas Eve," …continued with some difficulty, as he strove to rescue his chin from the wet little tongue, ''but the staff at the kennels start their holidays tomorrow. Hope you don't mind an early present."

Shock had stolen her ability to think clearly. Unable to form coherent sentences.

she stammered, "But ... I don't ... I mean... who .. ?".

 The young fellow set the animal down on the doormat between them and then reached out a finger to tap the envelope she was still holding.

"There s a letter in there that explains everything, pretty much. The dog was bought last July while her mother was still pregnant. It was meant to be a Christmas gift. If you'll just wait a minute, there are some things in the car I'll get for you."

Before she could protest, he was gone, returning a moment later with a huge box of

dog food, a leash, and a book entitled Caring for Your Labrador Retriever. All this

time the puppy had sat quietly at her feet, panting happily as his brown eyes watched her.

Unbelievably, the stranger was turning to go. Desperation forced the words from

her lips. ''But who…who bought it?"

Pausing in the open doorway, his words almost snatched away by the wind that

tousled his hair, he replied, ''Your husband, ma'am." And then he was gone.

It was all in the letter. Forgetting the puppy entirely at this sight of the familiar handwriting, Stella had walked like a somnambulist  to her chair by the window.

Unaware that the little dog had followed her, she forced tear-filled eyes to read her

husband's words. He had written it three weeks before his death and had left it with the kennel owners to be delivered along with the puppy as his last Christmas gift to her. It was full of love and encouragement and admonishments to be strong. He vowed that he was waiting for the day when she would join him. And he had sent her this young animal to keep her company until then.

Remembering the little creature for the first time, she was surprised to find him

quietly looking up at her, his small panting mouth resembling a comic smile. Stella

put the pages aside and reached down for the bundle of golden fur. She thought

that he would be heavier, but he was only the size and weight of a sofa pillow. And

so soft and warm. She cradled him in her arms and he licked her jawbone, then

cuddled up into the hollow of her neck. The tears began anew at this exchange of

affection and the dog endured her crying without moving.

Finally, Stella lowered him to her lap, where he regarded her solemnly. She wiped

vaguely at her wet cheeks, then somehow mustered a smile.

"Well, little guy, I guess it's you and me." His pink tongue panted in agreement.

Stella's smile strengthened and her gaze shifted sideways to the window. Dusk had

fallen, and the storm seemed to have spent the worst of its fury. Through fluffy flakes that were now drifting down at a gentler pace, she saw the cheery Christmas lights that edged the rooflines of her neighbors' homes. The strains of "Joy to the World" wafted in from the kitchen.

Suddenly Stella felt the most amazing sensation of peace and benediction washing

over her. It was like being enfolded in a loving embrace. Her heart beat painfully, but it was with joy and wonder, not grief or loneliness. She need never feel alone again. Returning her attention to the dog, she spoke to him, "You know, fella, I have a box in the basement that I think you'd like. There's a tree in it and some decorations and lights that will impress you like crazy! And I think I can find that old stable down there, too. What d'ya say we go hunt it up?" The puppy barked happily in agreement, as if he understood every word.

Isn't that a touching story of love between a man and woman? I am glad I have the privilege to share this story with you.

A blessed Christmas to you all.

A Christmas Letter

Christmas Peace & Old English Carols

The Poinsettia & Christmas Bells

Christmas & New Year Holiday Recipes

Will the Christ Child Come?

Will the Christ Child Come?

Written by Gaye Willis

One Christmas we had an interesting experience that I would like to share.

Halfway through December we were doing the regular evening things when there

was a knock at the door. We opened it to find a small package with a beautiful

ceramic lamb inside. We looked at the calendar and realized that the 12 days

of Christmas were beginning! We waited excitedly for the next night's surprise

and only then, with the gift of a matching shepherd, did we realize that

the lamb was part of a nativity set.

Each night we grew more excited to see what piece we would receive.

Each was exquisitely beautiful. The kids kept trying to catch the givers

as we slowly built the scene at the manger and began to focus on Christ's birth.

On Christmas Eve, all the pieces were in place, all but the Baby Jesus.

My 12-year-old son really wanted to catch our benefactors and began

to devise all kinds of ways to trap them. He ate dinner in the minivan,

watching and waiting, but no one came. Finally, we called him in to go through

our family's Christmas Eve traditions. But before the kids went to bed, we

checked the front step - - no Baby Jesus! We began to worry that my son

had scared them off. My husband suggested that maybe they dropped the Jesus

and there wouldn't be anything coming. Somehow, something was missing that

Christmas Eve.

There was a feeling that things weren't complete. The kids went to bed and before

I went to bed, I again checked to see if the Jesus had come - - no, the doorstep was

empty.

In our family, the kids can open their stockings when they want to, but they have to

wait to open any presents until Dad wakes up. So one by one they woke up very early and I

also woke up to watch them. Even before they opened their stockings, each child

checked to see if perhaps during the night the Baby Jesus had come.

Missing that piece of the set seemed to have an odd effect. At least it changed

my focus. I knew there were presents under the tree for me and I was excited

to watch the children open their gifts, but first on my mind was the feeling of

waiting for the ceramic Christ Child. We had opened just about all of the presents

when one of the children found one more for me buried deep beneath the limbs of

the tree.

He handed me a small package from my former visiting teaching companion.

This sister was somewhat less-active in the church. I had been her visiting teacher

for a couple of years and then, when she was asked to be a visiting teacher, she

requested to go with me. I had learned over time they didn't have much for Christmas, so that

their focus was on the children. It sounded like she didn't get many gifts to open,

so I had always given her a small package -- new dish towels, the next year's Relief

Society lesson manual -- not much, but something for her to open.

I was touched when at church on the day before Christmas, she had given me this

small package, saying it was just a token of her love and appreciation. As I took

off the bow, I remembered my friendship with her and was filled with gratitude for

knowing her and for her kindness and sacrifice in this giving me a gift. But as the

paper fell away, I began to tremble and cry. There in the small brown box was

the Baby Jesus! He had come!

I realized on that Christmas Day, that Christ will come into our lives in ways that

we don't expect. The spirit of Christ comes into our hearts as we serve one another.

We had waited and watched for Him to come, expecting the dramatic "knock at the

door and scurrying of feet" but He came in a small, simple package that represented

service, friendship, gratitude and love.

This experience taught me that the beginning of the true spirit of Christmas

comes as we open our hearts and actively focus on the Savior. But we will most

likely find Him in the small and simple acts of love, friendship and service that we

give to each other. This Christmas I want to feel again the joy of knowing that

Christ is in our home. I want to focus on loving and serving. More than that, I want to open

my heart to Him all year that I may see Him again.

May the spirit of Christ be with you and yours

this Christmas and always ...

NOT AMONG STRANGERS

When I awoke in the army hospital, it all seemed like a bad dream.  The explosion as our jeep passed over the mine, drifting in and out of consciousness as I was rushed to the hospital, the vague awareness that I had broken bones and a concussion.

But I was going to be all right.  Thank You, God, thank you!  Than I began to wonder what day it was.  Our unit had started out December 23rd.  That was 48 hours ago.  Then today was December 25th. Christmas!

I thought of my wife who was expecting our first child.  Was there any news?

A ward boy whistled nearby while he handed out mail.  He stopped at my bedside.  "Do you think you can stand some mail from home?"

I grabbed the packet.  The letters from my sisters and friends I put aside for later. Of the half-dozen from my wife, I chose the one with the latest date, November 30th, and tore it open.

"Dearest Love,

Please be careful now because there is a little girl who wants to see you very much.  She weighs six pounds, eight ounces..."

I was a father!!!

Through the blur of tears I saw a face hovering over mine.  "What's wrong?"  the nurse asked apprehensively.  Too choked up to speak, I handed her my letter.  She read it, patted my shoulder and left.

The longing for home was stronger than ever now.  I should be with my wife and my daughter on Christmas Day!  I should be with those whom I love and who love me, not among strangers who do not care, I thought.

I lay back staring at the ceiling, engulfed by loneliness.

Hours later, an irritating squeak broke through my lonely reverie.  The ward boy was back, this time pushing a cart.  There were two nurses with him and a doctor and another ward boy. 

What was wrong?  Then, on the cart, I saw it, the most beautiful cake in the world.  The words on it read, "Congratulations, Daddy!"

Someone had cared enough to salvage a sad Christmas for one lonely soldier.  In spite of the war and hatred in our world, gentleness and concern can still prevail.  (Mario Picarelli)

More to come this Christmas Season.

May you all enjoy a safe and blessed CHRISTMAS Season.

Your Brother in Christ

Christmas Games for Fun 2

Answers:
1. D
2. A
3. D
4. C
5. D
6. D
7. C
8. C
9. C
10. B

Hope you enjoyed and had fun.

Christmas Games

1.  FALSE...Gabriel appeared to Zechariah, Elizabeth's husband, and told him that his wife would conceive. Then, Gabriel appeared to Mary to tell her.  Luke 1:13, 1:31.

2.  TRUE...maybe...OK...trick question.  Gabriel did appear to Mary, but we don't know which angel appeared to Joseph.  Luke 1:28, Matthew 1:20.

3.  TRUE..There is no record of him speaking at all.

4.  FALSE..He sent an army of warrior angels. "Host" is a military term. See Luke 2:13.

5.  FALSE..There is no mention of how many came.

6.  FALSE..He was given His name on His eight day, according to Jewish custom.  Luke 2:21.

7.  FALSE...What drummer boy?  Besides, what mother would let a kid with a drum around her sleeping baby?

8.  TRUE...Rahab was a prostitute, David was an adulterer, and Ruth was from Moab.  Matthew 1:3-6 If Jesus has relatives like that, why should any of us be ashamed of ours?

9.  TRUE...maybe...Some translations call Jesus' mother, Mary, and John's mother, Elizabeth, relatives, bot others say cousins.  Luke 1:36

10.  TRUE...And that's the best Christmas present of all!  Luke 1:9-11.

Hope you enjoyed this fun Christmas page.  Another to follow in a couple of days.

Your Brother in Christ

IS ANYTHING TOO HARD FOR THE LORD?

"Is anything too hard for Our Lord?" (Genesis 18:14)

I can honestly say...I have at times limited God and because I did not get the result I desired...often questioned why not?  Although that being said...I have never doubted anything is  not possible for God.  If what he did for his people against Pharaoh, for everyone while in the desert,  for Joshua, Gideon, Elisha, Elijah, Daniel in the Lions Den, and Shadrach, Meshach & Abednego in the Fiery Furnace...He can and will do for  us...so I ask again...as Genesis states...Is anything too hard for Our Lord?

As this question proposes a challenge to us...I believe this is God's loving challenge to you and me each minute, hour and day of our lives.  He wants us to think of the deepest, highest, and worthiest desires and longings of our hearts.  He wants us to think of those things that perhaps were desires for ourselves or someone very dear to us, yet we feel has gone unfulfilled for so long that we now see them as simply lost desires.  And God urges us to think of even the one thing that is important to us and what we once saw as possible but have given up all hope of seeing it fulfilled in our lives.  Either thru time or other circumstances...we feel it is not possible, or not meant to be, or not a priority to God.   Quickly...everything is a priority to God when it comes to the matters of His children, preparing them for spiritual growth, and journey with Him and Jesus Christ.

That very thing, as long as it aligns with what  we know to be His expressed will - much like a son was to be to Sarah and Abraham - God intends to do for us.  Only if we let Him, God will do that very thing, even if we know it is such an utter impossibility that we could simply laugh at the absurdity of anyone ever suggesting it could come to pass.

"Is anything too hard for Our Lord?"  I  say NO!  What do you say?  We need to believe nothing is too difficult when we believe in Him enough to go forward, doing His will and letting Him do the impossible for us.  As mentioned...even Abraham and Sarah....up in years...barren...without child....could have easily blocked God's plan if they had continued to disbelieve.

The only thing "too hard for the Lord" is our deliberate and continued disbelief in His love and POWER, and our ultimate rejection of His plan for us in our lives.  Like Jer 29:11 states, and Proverbs 3:5-6, we must trust always...although we do not understand.   Nothing is impossible for Jehovah to do for those who trust Him.

So...is it in your heart?   Mind?  And Soul?  Do you believe it or not?  "Is anything too hard for the Lord?"

Coincidences Or God?

“Look among the nations and watch – be utterly astounded! For I will work a work in your days which you would not believe, though it were told you.” (Habakkuk 1:5)

As I write this blog…we all have experienced an event in our lives and dismissed it as a coincidence.  But was it really?  Or was it God?

We as Christians habitually seek God’s voice through prayer through His Word, or through His messengers.  Yet sometimes we often fail to hear God speak through his activity even though He is working all around us.  Let me say that again…We often fail to fail to hear or even see his activity even though He is working all around us.  God encourages His people to watch for His activity so they will know how they should respond and adjust our lives.

The disciples I believe discovered much about God’s power by witnessing Jesus calming a raging storm with authority and a simple command and feeding the multitudes, healing of the sick, etc..  Then you have Jesus the person that dined with sinners..a very notorious sinner such as Zacchaeus…Jesus taught them a poignant message about God’s love for sinners.  Watching Jesus through the 3 years…and the climax of Jesus hanging upon the cross communicated a compelling message of what God was willing to do for His people and to free His people from sin. Lets advance beyond the crucifixion…the discovery of the empty tomb revealed an astounding truth of God’s victory over death.  To those with spiritual discernment, God’s activity is a significant revelation about His heart and will.

If you are sensitive to what God is doing around you, He will clearly speak to your through His activity.  Here we are again….speaking about His activity.  Are you seeing it?  Or overlooking it?  Dismissing it to coincidence?

If you are sensitive to what God is doing around us and in our lives…He will clearly speak to us through His activity.  You will know that God is at work, because what you see will blow our minds, and human power and wisdom will not be able to explain it.  When you experience events that surpass your understanding and ability, it may…be that God is communicating a critical important message to you.

If you want to hear God’s voice, look around you to see what He is doing.  When you are watching for God to work, what you see will reveal His character, and you will, I pray, have a fresh understanding of how to respond to Him.

So the next time you experience something unexplainable or a mystery event….think….and ask yourself…Is it a Coincidence?  Or God?