24 Days of Christmas Day 8

8 December 

Bread of Life

 John 6:35  35 And Jesus said unto them, I am the bread of life: he that cometh to me shall never hunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst.

Carol: The First Noel Hymn #213

Story: I Think You Have a Fire at Your Store

I Think You Have a Fire at Your Store

LARUE H. SOELBERG

This Christmas had begun like any other. The laughter of our happily excited children was evidence that Santa had indeed been able to decipher the hastily scrawled notes mailed weeks before.

As was our custom, LeRoy and I would wait until the children had sufficient time to inspect, test, compare, and segregate their new treasures before we would open our gifts.

The similarity of this Christmas to any other ended here.

The loud knock on the front door demanded immediate answer.

"Come quick!" There was urgency in our friend's voice. "I think you have a fire at your store!"

Fears flooded my mind as I ran through the vacant lot to the store, a small grocery business, which was not yet half paid for.  There were no flames rising from the building, but the win­dows were solid black.

A fireman came running up and put his hand against the window.

"No heat." He seemed relieved. "There's no fire now— let's open it up."

Our hopes were raised. Perhaps we had not lost everything!

He turned the key and pushed open the door. The dense, choking smoke that had filled every minute space of the small building drifted out into the street.

My heart sank. It was like looking at the inside of a coal-black furnace. Not a crack, not a corner, not one can stacked beneath another had escaped the ugly black filth!

LeRoy, with the help of some of the firemen, removed the motor that had burned itself out. We stood gazing in disbelief at the result.

True, the store had not burned, but was it salvageable? Perhaps the building and equipment could be cleaned, but what about the thousands of bottles, cans, and cartons? Even if they could be saved, how could we possibly survive the closing of business for even a few days?

"Only one thing to do." The fireman's voice was surpris­ingly cheerful. "Let's see if we can clean it up."

We were reluctant to accept his offer of help. After all, wasn't this Christmas, a day to be spent with family and loved ones?

"Come on," he joked. "My son will be glad to have me out of the house so that he can play with his electric train. Get me a bucket and some soap."

No sooner would we equip one volunteer with cleaning items than another would appear at the door, demanding, as one neighbor put it, "a chance to participate in this joyful holi­day project."

Each person who came to the door uttered an astonished "Oh, no!" and then, "Where do you want me to start?"

By 11 a.m. there were over forty people: friends, neighbors, firemen, patrons, and new acquaintances, scrubbing away at the terrible black goo. Still they kept coming! We were over­whelmed!

The men had taken over the cleaning of the ceiling, the most stubborn and difficult task of all. The women were working in twos, taking items off the shelves, cleaning what they could, and boxing the rest.

One young lad who was recuperating from a broken leg made trips to the cafe to get hamburgers and potato chips to feed the workers. Another brought turkey and rolls which, I'm certain, were to have been the biggest part of his family's Christ­mas dinner.

An energetic teenager must have run twenty miles emptying buckets and refilling them with clean hot water.

A service station operator brought hundreds of old cleaning rags.

An electrician worked on a motor replacement and soon had the refrigerator case operating again.

This was no ordinary cleaning job. Every inch had to be scrubbed, scoured, washed, and rinsed. Sometimes this procedure had to be repeated seven times before the white of the walls and ceiling would show through, yet everyone was laughing and joking as though they were having a good time.

"Actually, I only dropped by to supervise," came a com­ment from behind the bread rack.

"I bet this cures you of following fire trucks," a fireman chided his wife.

We all laughed when an attractive blonde woman, who was perched on top of the vegetable case and now bore a striking resemblance to a chimney sweep, burst out with a chorus of "Chim Chim Cheree."

It was shortly after 2 a.m. when we locked the front door. Everyone had gone. As they finished their jobs, they just slipped out—not waiting for a word of thanks or a smile of appreciation.

We walked home hand in hand. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks. Not the tears of frustration and despair that had threatened earlier, but tears of love and gratitude. Business would open as usual tomorrow—because fifty-four kind people had the true spirit of Christmas in their hearts.

Our children had left the tree lights burning, and our pres­ents lay unopened in a neat pile on the floor. They would wait until morning. Whatever those gaily wrapped packages con­tained would be dwarfed, indeed, by the great gift of friendship given to us that Christmas Day.

Deseret News. December 21. 1970.

24 Days of Christmas Day 7

7 December 

Jehovah

 D&C 110:2–3  2 We saw the Lord standing upon the breastwork of the pulpit, before us; and under his feet was a paved work of pure gold, in color like amber.

 3 His eyes were as a flame of fire; the hair of his head was white like the pure snow; his countenance shone above the brightness of the sun; and his voice was as the sound of the rushing of great waters, even the voice of Jehovah, saying:

Carol:  Samuel Tells of the Baby Jesus Children’s Songbook #36

Story:  Straw for the Manger

Straw for the Manger   

 

KATHRYN E. FRANKS

    

The boys and girls in Miss Bell's class at Belmont School gathered in the school auditorium to prepare for the yearly Christmas program.    

Pete, the tallest boy in the class, was up on the stage nailing wood together for the manger scene.

Sara, a pretty girl with long hair, and Molly, with short hair and dimples, had been fitted for the angel costumes. Now they were busy pinning the flimsy white material together for their mothers to stitch.

The other children were lined up in the back of the room waiting to be called into the music room for chorus practice.    

Lisa hadn't been assigned anything yet. She stood alone, among the empty seats. If I weren't so tall, she mused, or if I had long, blond hair, I'd like to do something besides stay backstage and pin on costumes, or stand in the doorway and welcome parents.    

She was new in the class, and living on the outskirts of town in a trailer with her grandmother and father. It was only natural, she felt, that she wasn't very well acquainted.    

Standing alone among the rows of empty seats, Lisa waited anxiously for Miss Bell to come back into the room. She tried to busy her hands, although there was nothing really for her to do. She had started stacking some songbooks when Pete, upstage with the manger scene, called out, "We haven't any straw. How can we make a manger scene without straw?"    

Some were busy talking and did not hear. Others looked up with little concern, then turned back to their work.    

Pete stepped to the front of the stage and called louder this time. "Hey, all of you! If any of you have any straw, I'll pick it up after I finish my paper route."    

Why didn't someone speak up? Lisa wondered. Sara lived in a big house on the edge of town. She owned her own riding horse. She would have straw.    

"Well‑?" Pete waited impatiently for an answer.    

We have straw under the trailer, Lisa's conscience reminded her. How could she offer, though, if the other girls hadn't. She shuddered at the thought of being conspicuous, but she could not take her eyes from the unfinished manger scene.    

"I have straw, Pete," she said, "if you'll come get it."    

The girls looked quickly at Lisa, then turned back to their work.    

"Good," Pete answered. "I know where you live. It will probably be dark before I get there."    

The room was embarrassingly quiet. Lisa picked up her books and hurried out the rear door without waiting for Miss Bell to come from the music room and excuse her for the day.    

A cold wind blew from the north as Lisa hugged her thin coat around her and hurried across town. She walked along the outskirts until she reached the trailer park. The trailers were back a distance from the road, protected in front by a grove of trees.    

After Lisa explained to her grandmother what she planned to do, she went outside to look under the trailer. She ran back. "The straw is greasy and oily! What shall I do?"    

She looked out the window at the field that stretched southward to the Norris farm.    

"I'll have to cross the fields to the Norris farm," she told her grandmother. "Mrs. Norris will give me some fresh straw."   Grandmother was old, but she understood that things are important if they are promised. "Go," she said, "but be back before supper time‑before it gets dark."    

Lisa climbed under the barbed wire fence and ran down the slope to the gully. There she pushed through thistle and tall grasses and then scurried upward to the second fence. In the distance the bare trees of the Norris orchard looked small and far away. It hadn't seemed this far before, Lisa thought, as she panted up the last hill to the orchard. The rough, wooded gate opened into the orchard. Here Lisa followed a narrow path to the backyard.    

Mrs. Norris welcomed Lisa and asked her about her grandmother. "As soon as I put this bread in the oven, we'll go to the barn and fill a clean gunnysack with straw." The good smell of fresh bread made Lisa hungry.    

Daylight had started to fade by the time Lisa stepped out the door. Snow clouds slid over the first evening star.    

At the second fence Lisa decided that if she cut across the cornfield, she would cut the distance to the trailer in half.    

In the half‑darkness she stumbled over the corn stubble with every few steps. As she hurried through the thickets, she tripped and fell, hitting her chin against a sharp stone. Half crawling, she pulled the sack until she regained her balance.    

Lisa sobbed out as the sharp weeds tore her stocking and cut her hands. The taller cornstalks snagged at her coat, slowing her down as she tried to run.    

Then as she reached the slope that stretched uphill to the last barbed wire fence, she spotted the tiny light from the trailer window. Like a distant star, it guided her forward.    

Lisa barely had time to change her clothes before Pete came for the straw. "Thanks, Lisa," he said. She told him nothing of her trip to the nearby farm.    

"Would you have time to arrange the straw around the manger for me tomorrow after school?" Pete asked. "I have a longer paper route now. I never get in before supper time."    

"I'll do it‑I'll be glad to."    

After school the next day, Lisa, with her dark sweater around her shoulders, tip‑toed quietly on the stage in the auditorium.    

She was on her knees carefully spreading the straw when Miss Bell came into the auditorium. As she came through the door, she paused, stopped, then slowly she took a few steps forward. "Lisa!" she called excitedly, "you are just right! You are the person I want to play Mary." She walked toward the stage. "I asked Mrs. Laurel, our music teacher, to select a taller girl for the part. She misunderstood, and I just now found out that we have no one for the part."    

Miss Bell stepped upon the stage. She took the sweater from Lisa's shoulders, and placed it, like a shawl, around her face. "Your features are just right. You will be wonderful."    

Slowly Lisa lifted her face, her eyes wide in wonderment.    

"Miss Bell," she answered softly, her fingers moving the wisps of straw, "I would love to‑more than any other part."    

Miss Bell did not see the tears that fell and lost themselves in the straw.    

Miss Bell told Lisa, "You will kneel beside the manger with the colored lights soft upon you. Pete, who is playing Joseph, will stand beside you. Keep your fingers lightly on the manger while the choir and the angels sing in the background. You will keep motionless while the shepherds gather slowly around the crib."    

Miss Bell hurried out of the room after giving Lisa instructions to be ready for rehearsal the next day. A joyful little song burst through Lisa's happiness and followed her across town to the trailer, where she rushed inside to tell Grandmother her wonderful news.     

Children's Friend, December 1965. 

24 Day of Christmas Day 6

His Name subway art here

6 December 

Rock 

1 Nephi 15:15 And then at that day will they not rejoice and give praise unto their everlasting God, their rock and their salvation?

Carol: O Holy Night

Story: When the Wise Man Appeared

When the Wise Man Appeared

William Ashley Anderson

It was a bitterly cold night, vast and empty. Over Hallett's Hill a brilliant star danced like tinsel on the tip of a Christmas tree. The still air was as resonant as the inside of an iron bell; but within our snug farmhouse in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania it was mellow with the warmth of our cherry-red stoves.

The dinner things had been cleared away, and 1 relaxed when Bruce came downstairs—an apparition in a long white nightgown with a purple cloak of tintexed cotton over his shoulders. In one hand he held a tall crown of yellow pasteboard and tinsel. From the other swung an ornate censer. On his feet were thin flapping sandals.

"What in the world are you supposed to be?" I asked.

My wife looked at the boy critically, but with concern and tenderness.

"He's one of the Wise Men of the East!" she explained with some indignation.

The look she gave me was an urgent reminder that I had promised to get him to the schoolhouse in town in time for the Christmas pageant. I shud­dered at the thought of the cold and went out into the night, pulling on a heavy coat.

The batten' in the old car had gone dead, but by one of those freaks of mechanical whimsy, the engine caught at the first turn of the crank. That was a trick of the devil, for the engine died before we got out to the main road. My heart sank. I glanced at Bruce, with the crown and censer clasped in his arms, staring down the endless lane that disappeared in the lonely hills. Hallett's place was more than a mile and a half away, and the nearest turn of Route 90, with the thin chance of a lift, was more than two miles away.

Well, I thought, it's not tragically important. Bruce still said nothing, but his eyes were staring now at the big star twinkling just over the ragged edge of the mountain. Then an uneasy feeling stirred in me, because I knew the boy was praying. He had made his promise, too, and he was praying that nothing would keep him from being one of the Three Wise Men on this magic Christmas Eve.

I strained and heaved at the crank, but it was useless. I thought it over. When I looked up, Bruce was scuttling down the lane, one hand holding his skim, the other swinging the censer, the high golden crown perched cockeyed on his head. I hesi­tated between laughing at him and yelling for him to stop. Then I began once more to crank.

Finally the engine coughed throatily. I scram­bled into the car. Just about where the road enters town I overtook Bruce.

"You shouldn't have gone off that way," I growled. "It's too cold."

"I made a fire in the censer," he said. "I kept warm enough. I took a bearing on the star, made a short cut across Basoine's farm, and came out right by the new cottage." He shivered.

"But look at your feet! You might have frozen them!"

"It wasn't so bad."

We arrived at the school on time. I stood in back and watched. When I saw Bruce appear, walk­ing stiff-legged on cut and chilblained feet, kneeling by the creche declaiming his lines, I regretted my laughter at the dinner table. Then an uneasy awe rose up within me. Something stronger than a promise, I knew, had brought him through the bit­ter night to this sacred pageant.

Going home, Bruce showed me where the short­cut came out. "That's where the Thompsons live," he said, and added, "Harry Thompson died there."

As we passed the Basoine farm there were lights burning. I thought this was strange. Since George Basoine had gone off to war, the old grand­mother, who had lost her youngest son in the first war, had sort of shriveled up, and a gloom lay over the house; but as I slowed down I could see Lou Basoine through the kitchen window, smoking his pipe and talking with his wife and mother.

That was about all there was to the evening. But on Christmas Day a friendly farmer's wife came by with gifts of mincemeat, made from venison, and a jug of sassafras cider. She went into the kitchen where my wife was supervising the Christmas feast. I drifted toward the kitchen, too, when I heard laughter there, since I have a weakness for the gos­sip of the countryside.

"You must hear this!" said my wife. The farmer's wife looked at me with a glittering but wary eye.

"You hain't a-goin' to believe it either," she said. "Just the same I'm tellin' you, folks up here in the hills see things and they do believe!"

"What have you been seeing?"

"It was old Mrs. Basoine. Last night when she was a-feelin' low she thought she heard something back of the barn and she looked out. Now I'll say this for the old lady—she's got good vision. There warn't no moonlight, but if you recollect it was a bright, starry night. And there she saw, plain as day, one of the Wise Men of the Bible come a-walkin' along the hill with a gold crown on his head, a-swingjn' one of them pots with smoke in them—"

My wife and I looked at each other, but before I could say anything our visitor hurried on:

"Now don't you start a-laughin'. There's other testimony! Them Thompsons. You know the ones whose oldest boy died? Well, the children heard him first—a singin' 'Come, All Ye Faithful' plain as day. They went runnin' to the window, and they seen the Wise Man a-walkin' in the starlight across the lane, gold crown and robes, and fire pot and all!"

The farmer's wife looked defiantly at me. "Old folks and children see things that maybe we can't. All I can say is this: Basoines and Thompsons don't even know each other. But old lady Basoine was heartsick and lonely for her lost boy, and the Thompsons was heartsick and lonely because this was the first Christmas without Harry, and you dassent say they wasn't a-prayin' too! Maybe you don't believe that amounts to anythin'—but I'm tellin' you it was a comfort to them to see and believe!"

In the quiet of the kitchen the eyes of the two women searched my face—for disbelief, perhaps, since I'm not a very religious person. But whatever they expected, they were surprised at what they got.

I hadn't seen a vision that Christmas Eve, but what I had seen was to me far more impressive than any apparition: a flesh-and-blood small boy with a promise to keep, following over a trackless countryside the star which centuries ago led the Wise Men to Bethlehem. And it was not for me to deny the courage and the faith I saw in my son's eyes that night.

And so I said, with a sincerity which must have startled those two good women as much as it obviously pleased them:

"Yes, I believe that God is very close to us at Christmas."

24 Days of Christmas Day 5

5 December

Word

 John 1:heading, 1–3  1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

 2 The same was in the beginning with God.

 3 All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.

 Carol: It Came Upon a Midnight Clear Hymn #207

Story: Christmas Loaves and Fishes

Christmas Loaves and Fishes

By Raynier Maharaj Toronto, Canada

On Christmas Eve in homes everywhere there is quiet excitement. The festive feeling and the warmth of having family members near brings to mind a Christmas tale I love to relate each year. It's a true story, even though it might sound unbelievable. And it's proof that miracles do happen.

A long time ago there was a group of young people who decided to spread some Christmas cheer. They had discovered that there were several children who would be spending the festive holiday in a community hospital nearby. So one of the friends dressed as Santa Claus, they bought nice presents, wrapped them, and armed with guitars and sweet voices, they dropped in unexpectedly at the hospital on Christmas Eve.

The children were overjoyed at seeing Santa, and by the time the group was finished handing out presents and singing Christmas carols, there were tears in everyone's eyes. From then on, it was decided they would play Santa every year.

The following Christmas Eve, oth­er patients at the hospital were included in the rounds, and by the third year the celebration was expanded to embrace some of the poor children in the neighborhood.

On the fourth Christmas Eve, how­ever, after all the rounds were made, Santa Claus looked into his bag and discovered there were a few extra toys left. So the friends mulled it over, trying to figure out what to do with them. Somebody mentioned that there were a few squatters' shacks nearby in which a couple of desperately poor families lived.

So the group decided to go there, thinking that there were perhaps three families at most. But as they drove over the crest of the hill into this lonely area—it was around midnight now—the shocked group saw a large number of people standing at the side of the street.

Much to their surprise, they were children— more than 30 of them. Behind them were not three shacks but rows and rows of shabby squatters' dwellings. As the cars drew to a stop, the children came running up, shouting with joy. It turned out they had been waiting patiently all night for Santa Claus. Some­body—no one could remember who—had told them he was coming, although our Santa had decided to go there only moments before.

Everyone was stunned, except for Santa. He was in a panic. He knew he didn't have enough toys for all these kids. Eventually, however, not wanting to disappoint the children, he decided to give whatever toys he had only to the youngest, smallest children. When the presents ran out, he'd just have to explain to the bigger kids what had happened.

So moments later he found himself perched on top of a car's hood as these 30 or more sparkling clean children, dressed in their best clothes, lined up in order of height, with the smallest first, for their moment with him. As each anxious child approached, Santa dipped into his bag, his heart heavy with dread, hoping to find at least one more toy. And by some miracle, he found one each time he dipped. And as the last of the children received a pres­ent, Santa looked into the now deflated bag. It was empty—empty as it should have been 24 children ago.

With a sigh of relief, he let out a hearty "ho-ho-ho" and bade the kids farewell. But as he was about to enter one of the cars (the reindeer, apparently, had the day off), he heard a child scream: "Santa! Santa! Wait!" And out of the bushes rushed two little children, a boy and a girl. They had been asleep.

Santa's heart sank. This time he knew for sure he had no more toys. The bag was empty. He had seen it himself. But as the out-of-breath kids approached, he summoned up some extra courage and dipped into the bag one more time. And—lo and behold— there were indeed two more presents in the bag.

That group of friends, now all grown adults, still talk about this miracle on Christmas morning. They still have no explanation for it, other than the fact that it happened. How do I know so much about this? Well, I was the one playing Santa.

Family Circle   12/16/97

24 Days of Christmas Day 4

4 December

Anointed One  

Bible Dictionary—Anointed One

Carol: Joy to the World Hymn #201

Story: A Boy Learns a Lesson

A Boy Learns a Lesson

In about my tenth year, as Christmas approached, I longed for and electric train. The times were those of the economic depression, yet my mother and dad purchased for me a lovely electric train.

Christmas morning bright and early I thrilled when I noticed my train. The next few hours were devoted to operating the transformer and watching the engine pull its cars forward - then backward around the track.

Mother said that she had purchased a windup train for the widow Hansen's boy, Mark, who lived down the lane at Gale street. As I looked at his train, I noted a tanker car which  I so much admired. I put up such a fuss that my mother succumbed to my pleadings and gave me the tanker car. I put it with the train set and felt pleased.

My mother and I took the remaining cars and the engine down to Mark Hansen. The young boy was a year or two older that I . He had never anticipated such a gift. He was thrilled beyond words. He wound the key in his engine, it not being electric or as expensive as mine, and was overjoyed as the engine and the three cars, plus caboose went around the track.

I felt a horrible sense of guilt as I returned home. The tanker car no longer appealed to me. Suddenly, I took the tanker car in my hand, plus an additional car of my own, and ran all the way down to Gale Street and proudly announced to Mark, "we forgot to bring two cars which belong to your train."

I don't know when a deed has made me feel any better than that experience as a ten-year-old boy.

 - Thomas S. Monson

24 Day of Christmas day 3

3 December 

Good Shepherd

 John 10:14–15, 17  14 I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and am known of mine.

 15 As the Father knoweth me, even so know I the Father: and I lay down my life for the sheep.

 17 Therefore doth my Father love me, because I lay down my life, that I might take it again.

Carol: O Little town of Bethlehem Hymn #208

Story: I was Grateful Just to be Alive

I was Grateful Just to be Alive

Royal R.Meservy

It was the Sunday before Christmas, and our family was discussing memorable Christmases. After some discussions among the children, my eleven-year-old son Greg asked, "Dad, which Christmas do you remember best? Will you tell us about it?"

That was a big order, but after a few minutes' hesitation, I proceeded to tell them this experience:

The Christmas that stands out most in my mind was that of 1944, during World War II. We had fought through the Battle of the Ardennes and were then sent to the Siegfried Line to replace the Second Division. We had been there a week when the German offensive known as the Belgian Bulge began. We were right on the nose of that thrust and were commanded to hold at all costs. For two and a half days we fought and held. But finally, on December 19, 1944, we were forced to surrender.

After we were searched, we stood out in a barnyard all night. The next morning we began a march of thirty-eight miles. There was no food, except part of a raw sugar beet that I dashed into a field to get as we marched along.

The following morning, after sleeping on the cold, damp ground, we moved slowly forward. We arrived at a big building about noon and were given two packages of German emergency ration crackers and a ride to the Geroldstein, Germany, railway station, where we slept on the hard cement. On December 21, we were loaded aboard a train of boxcars, with sixty-five men to each car. The sliding doors on either side of the car were wired shut from the outside. There was no food or water.

December 23, 1944, found us outside of Diez, still cramped up in the boxcar, hungry and thirsty. It was on this memorable afternoon that I learned the true meaning of Christmas.

Just before dark American bombers flew overhead, and bombs fell so close that one boxcar door was ripped entirely off. As the bombing continued, someone asked, "Has anybody got a Bible?" I reached into my pocket and handed him my pocket edi­tion of the New Testament. He turned to the second chapter of Saint Luke and read:

"And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.

"And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.

"And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

"For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

"And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in a manger.

"And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." (Luke 2:8-14.)

I had heard that scripture read year after year, but never be­fore or since with the emotion and feeling with which it was read in that boxcar.

Peace came over us. He handed the Bible back to me, and we all sat quietly, each deep in his own thoughts.

The next day, after eighty-eight hours without water, we were given water and later some food. Christmas of 1944 is the one I remember best because I was grateful just to be alive.

Improvement Era. December 1970, p. 6. Dr. Royal R. Meservy, a native of Wilford Fremont County, Idaho, has served two full-time missions for the Church. He and his wife have seven children; the family resides in Fullerton, California, where he is a counselor at Fullerton College.

24 Day of Christmas Day 2

2 December 

Creator

 2 Ne. 9:5  5 Yea, I know that ye know that in the body he shall show himself unto those at Jerusalem, from whence we came; for it is expedient that it should be among them; for it behooveth the great Creator that he suffereth himself to become subject unto man in the flesh, and die for all men, that all men might become subject unto him.

Christmas Funnies

What goes “oh, oh, oh”?
Santa walking backwards!

Knock knock!
Who’s there?
Snow.
Snow who?
Snow use – I’ve forgotten my name again!

Why does Santa have three gardens?
So he can ho ho ho!

When does Christmas come before Thanksgiving?
In the dictionary!

What’s the difference between the Christmas alphabet and the ordinary alphabet?
The Christmas one has no L (noel)!

What do you have in December that’s not in any other month?
The letter D!

Why is it always cold at Christmas?
Because it’s in Decemberrrr!

What Christmas carol is a favorite of parents?
Silent Night!

Why do mummys like the holidays?
 Because of all the wrapping!

 Why don’t aliens celebrate Christmas?
 Because they don’t want to give away their presence.

When does New Year’s Day come before Christmas Day?

 Every year!

Who hides in the bakery at Christmas?
A mince spy!

How many presents can Santa fit in an empty sack?
Only one, after that it’s not empty anymore!

What do you get if you eat Christmas decorations?
Tinselitus!

How does Good King Wenceslas like his pizzas?
Deep and crisp and even!

What do monkeys sing at Christmas?
Jungle bells, jungle bells!

Who delivers presents to baby sharks at Christmas?
Santa Jaws!

What do you get if Santa goes down the chimney when the fire is lit?
Crisp Cringle!

How do sheep greet each other at Christmas?
A merry Christmas to ewe!

What do you get if you cross an apple with a Christmas tree?
A pineapple!

What kind of candle burns longer, a red candle or a green candle?
Neither, candles always burn shorter!

24 Days of Christmas Day 1

1 December 

Mediator

 1 Tim. 2:5  5 For there is one God, and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus;

Story: The Auction

THE AUCTION

A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art. When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son. About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands. He said, "Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you and your love for art. The young man held out his package. "I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this." The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture. "Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift."

The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected. The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection. On the platform sat the painting of the son. "Who will bid for this picture?" There was silence. Then a voice in the back of the room shouted, "We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one."

But the auctioneer persisted. "Will someone bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? $100, $200" Another voice shouted angrily, "We didn't come to see this painting. We came to see the Van Goghs, the Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids." But still the auctioneer continued. "The son! The son! Who'll take the son?" Finally a voice came from the back of the room. It was the long-time gardener of the man and his son. "I'll give you $10 for the painting." Being a poor man, it was all he could afford. "We have $10, who will bid $20?" "Give it to him for $10. Let's see the masters." "$10 is the bid, won't someone bid $20?" The crowd was becoming angry. They didn't want the picture of the son. They wanted the more worthy investments for their collection. The auctioneer pounded the gavel. "Going once, twice, SOLD for $IO!" A man sitting in the second row shouted, "Now let's get on with the collection!" The auctioneer laid down his gavel. "I'm sorry, the auction is over." What about the paintings?" "I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was
told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only
the painting of the son would be auctioned. The man who took the son gets everything."

God gave his son 2000 years ago to die on a cruel cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is, "The Son, the Son, who'll take the Son?" Because you see, whoever takes the Son, gets everything. 

Friemel