Remember this December...

Remember
This December,
That love weighs more than gold!

--Josephine Dodge Daskam Bacon

Keeping Christmas is...

Keeping Christmas is good, but sharing it is better.

--Arnold Glasow

A Christmas candle...

A Christmas candle is a lovely thing;
It makes no noise at all,
But softly gives itself away;
While quite unselfish, it grows small.

--Eva Logue

Christmas is not a time...

Christmas is not a time nor a season, but a state of mind. To cherish peace and goodwill, to be plenteous in mercy, is to have the real spirit of Christmas.

--Calvin Coolidge

It is Christmas every time...

It is Christmas every time you let God love others through you...yes, it is Christmas every time you smile at your brother and offer him your hand.

--Mother Teresa

The only blind person...

The only blind person at Christmastime is he who has not Christmas in his heart.

--Helen Keller

In the bleak mid-winter (What can I give Him?)

By Christina Rossetti

In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty
Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him whom cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
Which adore.

Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Throng’d the air,
But only His mother
In her maiden bliss
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.

What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him,
Give my heart.

When we were children...

When we were children we were grateful to those who filled our stockings at Christmas time. Why are we not grateful to God for filling our stockings with legs?

--G.K. Chesterton

I will honor Christmas...

I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.

--Charles Dickens

Somehow, not only for Christmas

By John Greenleaf Whittier

Somehow, not only for Christmas,
But all the long year through,
The joy that you give to others,
Is the joy that comes back to you.
And the more you spend in blessing,
The poor and lonely and sad,
The more of your heart's possessing,
Returns to you glad.

Oh! lovely voices of the sky

By Felicia Hemans

Oh! lovely voices of the sky
Which hymned the Saviour's birth,
Are ye not singing still on high,
Ye that sang, "Peace on earth"?

It is Christmas in the heart...

It is Christmas in the heart that puts Christmas in the air.

--W.T. Ellis

St. Francis and the First Manger Scene

By Dorothy Prescott

It is not generally known that St. Francis of Assisi was responsible for that popular feature of the Christmas season--the manger scene. It came about because of his longing to make the great truths of the Spirit real to the ordinary person.

Francis loved people, from the great Pope in his palace--and he knew two of them--to the beggars in the streets, the robbers in the mountains, and especially outcasts like the lepers.

Francis loved all creatures too. He loved the birds; most people know the story of how he preached to them as they perched near him, flying away when he dismissed them. He loved the beasts too, even the fierce wolf who terrified the people of Gubbio, Italy, and whom he is said to have tamed. He once begged the Emperor to pass a law that all birds and beasts be given extra food at Christmas, so that they too might have "joy in the Lord."

As a young man he loved material things as well, especially the beautiful clothes, costly velvets and satins from the shop of his wealthy father, Pietro Bernardone. People tended to wear their wealth on their backs in those days, and Bernardone was happy to see his son, the best-dressed young man in town, leading all the other young people in music and dancing and general carousing--it was all good for business, which he hoped Francis would join him in one day.

But Francis began to find that things as such did not satisfy him. He felt that there must be something more real in the world, and he tried all sorts of ways to find it. He even went to war, but it only brought him imprisonment, and he came home very weak after a serious illness.

But at last he learned that real satisfaction was to be found in loving God and doing what God wanted him to do. He was such an example of this new way of living and demonstrated it so well that people began to follow him. He longed to make God's truths understandable to them, and one Christmas he had the idea of showing people just what the birth of Jesus must have actually been like, in all its poverty and discomfort.

He found exactly the right place for it--a great pile of rocks on a bleak mountain near the village of Greccio. In a cleft of the mountainside there was a cave, and there he decided to rebuild the Nativity scene. He brought up an ox and an ass, and had the figure of Baby Jesus carved and laid in a manger between them. News of what he was doing spread all over the countryside.

Towards the cave on the desolate mountain a steady stream of men, women, and children came by night carrying torches and candles to light their way. At last they were all massed around the entrance to the cave, looking in.

"It seemed like midday," wrote someone who was there, "during that midnight filled with gladness for man and beast, and the crowds drawing near, so happy to be present for the renewal of the eternal mystery." Francis himself sang the Gospel story in a voice which was "strong, sweet and clear," says the observer. "Then he preached to the people, most lovingly, about the birth of the poor King in little Bethlehem."

So when we see a manger scene at Christmas time, we can remember St. Francis, the "poor little man," as he used to call himself, who was able to make great truths as real to other people as they were to him.

The Story of the Christmas Guest

Adapted by Helen Steiner Rice from an old German Legend

It happened one day at the year's white end;
Two neighbors called on an old-time friend.
They found his shop, so meager and mean,
Made bright with a thousand boughs of green.

And Conrad was sitting with face a-shine,
When he suddenly stopped as he stitched a twine,
And said, "Old friends, at dawn today,
When the cock was crowing the night away,

"The Lord appeared in a dream to me,
And said, `I'm coming your guest to be.'
So I've been busy with feet astir,
Strewing my shop with branches of fir.

"The table is spread and the kettle is shined
And over the rafters, the holly is twined.
And now I will wait for my Lord to appear,
And listen closely so I will hear
His step as He nears my humble place,
And I open the door and look in His face."

So his friends went home and left Conrad alone,
For this was the happiest day he had known.
For long since, his family had passed away,
And Conrad had spent a sad Christmas Day.

But he knew with his Lord as his Christmas Guest,
This Christmas would be the dearest and best.
He listened with only joy in his heart,
And with every sound, he would rise with a start.

And look for the Lord to be standing there,
In answer to his earnest prayer.
So he ran to the window after hearing a sound,
But all that he saw on the snow-covered ground…

Was a shabby beggar whose shoes were torn,
And all of his clothes were ragged and worn.
So Conrad was touched and went to the door,
And he said , "Your feet must be frozen and sore.
I have some shoes in my shop for you,
And a coat that will keep you warmer, too."

So with grateful heart, the man went away,
But as Conrad noticed the time of day,
He wondered what made his dear Lord so late,
And how much longer he'd have to wait.
When he heard a knock, he ran to the door,
But it was only a stranger once more;
A bent old crone with a shawl of black,
A bundle of branches piled on her back.

She asked for only a place to rest,
But that was reserved for Conrad's Great Guest.
But her voice seemed to plead, "Don't send me away,
Let me rest for a while on Christmas Day."

So Conrad brewed her a steaming cup,
And told her to sit at the table and sup.
But after she left, he was filled with dismay,
For he saw that the hours were passing away.

The Lord had not come, as He said He would,
And Conrad felt sure he had misunderstood.
Out of the stillness, he heard a cry,
"Please help me and tell me where am I?"
He stood disappointed, as twice before,
But shook off his sadness and went to the door.

It was only a child who had wandered away,
And was lost from her family on Christmas Day.
Again Conrad's heart was heavy and sad
But he knew he should make this little girl glad.

So he called her in and wiped her tears,
And quieted all her childish fears.
Then he led her back to her home once more.
But as he entered his darkened door,

He knew that the Lord was not coming today
For the hours of Christmas had passed away.
So he went to his room and knelt down to pray,
And he said, "Dear Lord, why did You delay?

"What kept You from coming to call on me?
For I wanted so much Your face to see."
When soft in the silence, a voice he heard:
"Lift up your head, for I kept My Word.

"Three times My shadow crossed your floor,
Three times I came to your lonely door.
For I was the beggar with bruised, cold feet.
I was the woman you gave to eat.
And I was the child on the homeless street."

Keeping Christmas

By Henry Van Dyke

There is a better thing than the observance of Christmas Day,
and that is keeping Christmas.

Are you willing to forget what you have done for other people
and to remember what other people have done for you?

To ignore what the world owes you,
and to think what you owe the world?

To admit that the only good reason for your existence is
not what you are going to get out of life,
but what you are going to give to life?

Are you willing to stoop down and consider the needs
and desires of little children?

To remember the weakness and loneliness
of people who are growing old?

To stop asking how much your friends like you,
and ask yourself whether you love them enough?

To try to understand what those who live
in the same house with you really want,
without waiting for them to tell you?

To make a grave for your ugly thoughts
and a garden for your kindly feelings, with the gate open?

Are you willing to do these things even for a day?
Then you can keep Christmas.

Are you willing to believe that love
is the strongest thing in the world--
stronger than hate, stronger than death--
and that the blessed Life which began in
Bethlehem many years ago is the image
and brightness of eternal love?

Then you can keep Christmas.

Coping with Christmas

By Jeanette Doyle Parr

Old Ebenezer Scrooge, during his pre-dream days, would have been proud of me that Christmas season. I'd started sprinkling "bah, humbugs" around just two short weeks after Thanksgiving.

Weakened by a recent bout of flu, I was physically and mentally exhausted. For the first time in my life, the Christmas season wasn't proving to be a time of spiritual uplift.

Oh, I'd seen the looks my children had exchanged each time I snapped about Christmas-cookie messes, or tried to hurry clumsy little hands as they wrapped presents. My husband began retreating each time I lamented the high cost of gifts and how commercial Christmas had become, and it wasn't long until even the dog was avoiding my sharp tongue.

And each morning, determined that this day would be better, I'd vow to be more patient. But by late evening, I was usually complaining about, or to, someone.

Now, on December 22nd, I had another problem. Try as I might, I couldn't get the angel wings straightened on my little girl's costume.

"Put it on again, Kris. Let Mama see what she needs to do."

Happily Kris put on her costume and slipped her halo over her shining blonde hair. The left wing tilted toward the floor.

"Can I practice my song while you fix me, Mama?"

"I suppose so," I sighed. "Just don't wiggle."

Her back to me, she began singing in her thin, childish voice,

Oh, come all ye hateful,

Joy, Phil and their trumpet,

Oh come ye, oh come ye to Bethlehem...

My hands stilled. Unexpected tears spilled from my eyes, ran down my face, and splashed on the glittering wings.

Oh come all ye hateful. ... That was me all right. No wonder Christmas hadn't been the same. I hadn't gone to Bethlehem.

Not once during the entire holiday season had I paused to reflect on the miracle in the manger. My early-morning quiet times, usually devoted to Scripture reading and prayer, had been filled with extra baking, wrapping, and sewing.

Kris wiggled around to face me. "Are you crying because I sang too bootiful?"

"Yes, baby, because it was so beautiful, just like you ... and like Christmas.”

I gave her a big hug and silently vowed that the rest of Christmas would be beautiful, because I would take my hateful spirit to Bethlehem.

I smiled again. Joy, Phil and their trumpet--we'd all go to receive the eternal gift.

Alone at Christmas

By Vivian Patterson

I'd been trying not to think about Christmas, dreading the day, hoping against hope that some angel would come into my life and make everything okay. I even tried pretending that it was just a normal day, nothing special, in hopes that would make the loneliness go away. But I couldn't avoid it.--Christmas was all around me, and I was alone. No one to talk to, no one to laugh with, and no one to wish me a happy Christmas. With each minute that passed I was getting more depressed--and that's what I had dreaded the most.

To cheer myself up, I searched for happy memories to occupy my mind. One that popped up was about my Sunday school teacher. He was an easygoing, friendly man who'd spent a lot of time with us kids, and had a knack for making things fun and happy. He had said that Jesus was the joy of his life. His words ran through my mind, "Just take Jesus with you."

Would that work? I thought about it. I was alone--no one would know the difference. So I decided then and there to make Jesus my Friend for the day.

We did everything together--drank hot chocolate by the fire, walked the streets together, talked about how pretty the world was, laughed, and waved at passers-by. I could almost feel His arm around me everywhere I went and hear His voice talking to me. In whispers beyond the realm of audible sound He told me He loved me--just me--and that He would always be My Friend. Somehow I knew I would never be alone again.

As I lay down to sleep that Christmas night I felt so happy, so peaceful, so content. It seemed odd, but then again it didn't. I'd spent the day with Jesus, and I just hoped that others had as happy a Christmas Day as I had.

Christmas waves a magic wand...

Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful.

--Norman Vincent Peale