Christmas Isn't Fair

 Hello!

Happy almost Friday. I thought of splitting this story into three days since it is 3k words long, but since I never could remember to get it posted until now, I decided to just let you read the full thing. This was the story I wrote for our church's Christmas play this year. And yes, I wrote myself into it. :) I am the first Mary Lou Reeder. The one who tells the story. I'm not sure you really want to see a picture of me in my costume.  . . .

Anyway, I hope you are all staying warm. Today's high (early this morning) was 17º F and it dropped to 5º F by noon. And the wind chill here was -21ºF. Now it's -4º and they say the windchill tonight could be -24º. Brrr! And yes, we got snow. Cold, powdery snow that blows across the roads, and swirls around and drifts and shifts. Tomorrow's high is supposed to be 12º F. It would be a heat wave if the windchill wasn't expected to be -22º. And since it's not expected to reach above freezing until after Christmas Day, we could have a white Christmas this year. That would be different!

Well, I hope you enjoy the story. And Merry Christmas! 

 

Christmas isn’t Fair

 

            “Helen, I’m so glad you could finally come over! We’ve been so busy with Christmas plans for school and church that we haven’t gotten to visit for quite some time.” The two friends were sitting in Mary’s living room one December afternoon.

            “I know. It has been a while. Thanks for having me over, Mary Lou. I was just admiring all the Christmas trees you have in your house and that giant pine out in your yard,” and Helen pointed to the large window where the tall and stately evergreen grew.

            “I love that tree,” Mary Lou Reeder sighed. “It always reminds me of the year I learned that Christmas wasn’t fair.”

            “Christmas isn’t fair?” Helen looked puzzled.

            “Yes. It was also my favorite Christmas.”

            “You really have me interested now.”

            Mary smiled. “Would you like to hear about it?”

            “Yes, I certainly would.” And Helen settled back in her chair with her hot drink in her hands.

            “It was way back in the ‘30s when I was ten years old, and I will admit that I was rather selfish back then. It all started the day my father came home late– Well, no, actually, it started before then, after school. I was walking home with my brother and two friends. We were talking about Christmas, as kids do in December, and I said, . . .”

 

*

 

            “We’re going to have a huge Christmas tree this year like we always do. I think we get a bigger one every year. And we’re going to decorate it with lights and ornaments. I’m going to ask if we can buy some of those new ones I saw in the store window. And we’ll have so many presents to open! We always do. And Mama will make cookies, and we’ll have a big dinner with turkey and ham and potatoes, and all sorts of good things, like we always do. Oh, we’ll have a great Christmas. What are you doing?” And Mary Lou turned to her friends.

            George shrugged. “I don’t know. Dad won’t be here for Christmas, and it’s hard to do much in a boarding house, so I don’t think we’ll do much.”

            “Will you have a tree?” Dick Reeder asked.

            George shook his head. “Nope. There’s already one in the house, and we don’t have space for one in our rooms.”

            “Are you getting a tree, Patsy?” Dick asked.

            “No. Grandma Olson says we can’t afford one and don’t have a place to put one since I moved in with her.”

            “You can come and look at our tree,” Mary Lou offered.

            The children had reached the crossroads and stopped.

            “I’d better go.” George waved and hurried away.

            “Come on, Mary Lou,” Dick said, “we’d better get going too, or Mama will wonder where we are. Bye, Patsy!”

            Patsy waved and ran off while the brother and sister headed for home.

            “What do you want for Christmas, Dick?” Mary Lou asked.

            “Oh, I want a new bike and the new tool set I was telling Dad about, and a new game and some books, and some other things. What do you want?”

            Mary Lou had her list ready. “A new doll house and new roller skates. And there’s a baby doll that is just too cute. And I want the full set of Little House books, and a red dress with a white collar, and . . .” Her voice died away as they rounded the bend in the road.

 

*

 

            Mary laughed a little. “I had a list a mile long of what I wanted that year. I had poured over every mail order catalogue that came into the house and wanted to visit every shop in town. I wanted new clothes and books and toys.” She shook her head. “You know how kids are when it comes to things they want.”

            “That’s for sure,” Helen agreed.

            “Anyway, I talked of almost nothing except Christmas for the next day or two. I told how big I wanted our tree, and I gave Mother my long list of what I wanted to find under the Christmas tree. Mother didn’t really say anything. But then she was busy taking care of my little brother. Willie was only two then.

            “But I remember the evening Daddy came home late. We’d already eaten and were sitting around playing with Willie. Mother looked at Daddy, and he shook his head as he took his coat off. Then he came over and sat down on the couch beside her.”

 

*

 

            “Daddy,” Mary Lou asked, “when are we going to get our Christmas tree?”

            “I’m afraid–” Daddy began and then stopped and looked at Mama.

            “Dick, Mary Lou,” Mama began, “there’s something you two should know.”

            “Are we going to Grandma’s?” Mary Lou asked quickly.

            Mama shook her head. “No. You see, Daddy lost his job last week.”

            “Lost his job?” Dick exclaimed. “What for?”

            “They can’t afford as many people, son. This depression is hitting pretty hard.” Dad’s voice was quiet.

            “But what does that have to do with a Christmas tree?” Mary Lou demanded.

            “It means,” Mama said, “that we don’t have money to buy a large one. And,” she went on before either child could say anything, “it also means there won’t be many gifts this year.”

            “But–” Mary Lou stared at her parents. “But that’s not fair!”

            “Can’t you get another job, Dad?” Dick asked hopefully.

            “I’ve been trying, Dick. There just isn’t anything so far.”

            Mary Lou buried her face in her hands. “It’s not fair!” she cried.

            Mama handed Willie to Dad and moved over beside Mary Lou. “Honey,” she lifted her chin, “life isn’t going to be fair. The very first Christmas wasn’t fair.”

            “What do you mean, Mama?” And Dick moved closer.

            “Do you think it was fair that the God who created the whole world just by speaking should leave Heaven and become a tiny baby and be born in a stable with smelly animals?”

            “Well, no.” And Dick frowned a little.

            “And,” Mama went on, “He didn’t come just to be born as a baby. He came to die for the sins of the whole world, even when He had done nothing wrong. Now, does that seem very fair to you?”

            Dick shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

            “Mary Lou?”

            Mary Lou wouldn’t look up, but she shook her head.

            “Does this mean we won’t have any Christmas?” Dick demanded.

            “Oh, we’ll do something,” Dad promised, setting Willie on the floor.

            Mama stood up. “You two had better get your homework done and then get to bed. Tomorrow’s another school day.”

            With a groan, Dick stood up. “Come on, Mary Lou, I’ll help you with your spelling.”

            As the children walked away, Mama turned to Dad. “What are we going to do?”

            “Pray.”

 

*

 

            Mary took a sip of her hot drink. “It took me a long time to get to sleep that night. I knew a lot of dads were out of work. Ourfriend George’s father was off working at one of the Civilian Conservation Corps projects and had been gone for several months.”

            “Then his family was at least getting some money, right?”

            Mary nodded. “Yes, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted my dad to join that so we’d have money, or if I wanted him to just stay home so we could be a family. What I really wanted, of course, was for him not to have lost his job.”

            Helen nodded. “So, what happened?”

            “Well, the next day on the way to school, Patsy and George met us as they usually did.”

 

*

 

            “Have you gotten your tree yet?” Patsy asked.

            “Nope. Don’t know if we’re going to get one either,” Dick answered in matter of fact tones.

            “Why not? I thought you always got a huge one?” And George looked puzzled.

            “Dad lost his job,” Mary Lou said.

            “Oh, I’m sorry, Mary Lou.” Patsy hugged her friend. “Is he going to join the CCC?”

            Mary Lou shrugged. “I don’t know.”

            “Dad said we’d still do something for Christmas,” Dick said.

            “It’s just not fair,” Mary Lou said.

            “Yeah, but remember what Mama said about the first Christmas,” Dick reminded her.

            “What did she say?” Patsy and George asked at the same time.

            “It wasn’t fair that Jesus had to leave Heaven and be born in a dirty stable and then die for our sins,” Dick answered.

            “But He did it anyway,” George remarked thoughtfully.

            The ringing of the school bell left no time for more conversation.

 

*

 

            “That’s an interesting thought,” Helen remarked. “I hadn’t thought of how unfair that first Christmas really was.”

            Mary nodded. “I know. It’s easy to overlook. We get so caught up in trying to make sure everyone has the same number of presents, or that we don’t forget to send someone a Christmas card, that we forget Christmas isn’t about being fair, or even about what gifts we get. But I wasn’t sure about all that back then.”

            Mary clasped her hands around her mug and continued her story.

            “When we got home from school that day Daddy was home building a block tower with Willie. I remember just how strange it was to see him at home on a weekday.”

 

*

 

            “How was school?” Dad asked.

            “Fine,” Dick answered.

            “Did you find a job, Daddy?” Mary Lou asked hopefully.

            Daddy shook his head. “No.”

            “Can’t you join the CCC like George’s daddy?”

            Daddy shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

            Just then Mama came into the room. “I think,” she said, “we need to make some plans for Christmas.”

            Dick dumped his books down and sat on the floor with his legs crossed to help Willie built a tower. “What sort of plans?”

            Mary Lou remained standing, a sad look on her face.

            Mama sat down with a paper and pencil “Well,” she began, “we should think of things we can do to make Christmas special. I thought perhaps we could invite George and his mother to do something with us.”

            Mary Lou folded her arms. “But they have money.”

            “Mary Lou, it’s not about money,” Mama said gently. “It’s about celebrating the birth of the One who came to save us from our sins.”

            “I want a Christmas tree.”

            Dad spoke. “Mr. Lawton, over on the edge of town, said there were some trees in his woods that would be nice for Christmas. Said we were welcome to come help ourselves.”

            “Could we take Patsy along?” Dick asked. “It didn’t sound like her grandma was planning on much Christmas at all.”

            “I think that would be nice,” Mama smiled, writing the idea down on her paper. “What else could we do? Mary Lou, do you have any ideas?”

            Mary Lou remained standing and shook her head.

            “Can we make cookies at all this year, Mama?” Dick asked.

            “I think so. Not a lot, but I think we can manage a few. Anything else?” Mama looked over at Dad and Mary Lou, then smiled at Willie.

            “I know what I’d like to do,” Dad remarked, after a short silence. “I’d like to focus on the whole Christmas story this year, not just the first part.”

            “The whole story, Dad?” Dick turned a puzzled face to his father. “But we usually have the whole thing. We read the part in Luke Christmas Eve night, and then the story in Matthew on Christmas morning.”

            “Honey, I think that would be a wonderful idea,” Mama put in quickly, not giving Dad a chance to answer.

            “But–” Dick began.

            “Now, let’s see.” It was evident that Mama wasn’t going to give Dad a chance to answer Dick’s question. “Tomorrow is the last day of school until New Year, isn’t it?”

            “Yes, Ma’am.” Dick stacked a few blocks up.

            “Good. Phil, do you have any plans for Saturday?”

            Dad looked up. “Nope.”

            “What do you think of looking for a Christmas tree then? If it works for George and his Mama and for Patsy?”

            Dad agreed with a nod.

            “Dick and Mary Lou, why don’t you run over to Patsy’s and see if she can join us on Saturday. And her grandma too, if she’d like. And then to the Babcock’s. Make sure Mrs. Babcock knows we’d love to have her as well as George.”

            Dick jumped up. “Come on, Mary Lou!”

            Reluctantly, Mary Lou followed.

 

*

 

            “Let me guess,” Helen said with a little laugh, “you weren’t happy about the whole plan.”

            Mary shook her head. “No, I certainly wasn’t. I wanted a Christmas tree, but I didn’t want to tramp through the woods. And I certainly didn’t want to do it with George and Patsy, even though they were my friends. The idea of being as poor, or maybe even poorer than they were, just didn’t sit well with me.” She took a sip of her drink.

            “Well, did they go with you?”

            “Yes. And we came home with a Christmas tree. It wasn’t full and large like I had dreamed of. I didn’t even think it was very pretty, but no one listened to me. I can’t say that I blame them, for I rather sulked the whole time we were in the woods. Mrs. Babcock and George and Patsy and Mrs. Olson stayed and helped us decorate the tree.”

 

*

 

            There was much laughter and chatter in the Reeder living room as everyone helped hang ornaments on the tree while Christmas songs came over the radio. Even Willie tried to help. No, the ornaments weren’t spaced out perfectly, and there were some bare spots, but it was a happy time. When the last ornament was hung, Dick ran over and plugged in the lights.

            “Oh, it’s pretty!”

            “Beautiful!”

            “It reminds me of the Christmas trees we used to have before this depression hit and my husband joined the CCC,” Mrs. Babcock said with a sigh. “It really is lovely.”

            “Patsy, did you used to have Christmas trees like this?” Mary Lou asked.

            Patsy nodded. “Yeah. We’d set it up Christmas Eve, and then Dad would read the Christmas story. I miss that most of all.”

            “We could do that now, couldn’t we, Dad?” Dick asked.

            Dad looked at Mrs. Babcock and Mrs. Olson. “Would you like to join us?”

            “George and I would love to. Thank you.” Mrs. Babcock sat down on a chair near Mama.

            “That would be so nice, Phil. Thank you.” And Mrs. Olson sat down with Patsy beside her.

            Everyone settled down to listen with eagerness except Mary Lou. She sat by herself and frowned.

 

*

 

            “Why were you upset?” Helen asked. “It seems like a beautiful thing to do after decorating a Christmas tree.”

            Mary took a drink of her tea and shook her head. “That’s exactly what my mother asked me after the others had left. I told her it wasn’t fair that we had to listen to the same thing twice just because Patsy and George didn’t get to decorate their own trees and listen to it then. I know, I wasn’t very nice about it, and to be honest, I was expecting to get into trouble for saying what I did, but my parents were so wise. They didn’t scold. Instead . . .”

 

*

 

            “Come sit over here, Mary Lou.” Mama’s voice was quiet, and she patted the seat beside her.

            Mary Lou dragged herself over and sat down without a word.

            “I think,” Mama said, “we need to hear the rest of the Christmas story.”

            Dad nodded and opened his Bible again. “And when they were come to the place, which is called Calvary, there they crucified him, and the malefactors, one on the right hand, and the other on the left. Then said Jesus, ‘Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.’” Dad turned some pages and read another verse. “But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”

            No one said a word as Dad turned back some pages and read, “Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures; and that he was buried, and that he rose again the third day according to the scriptures.” Gently Dad closed the Bible. “That is the rest of the Christmas story.”

            “See,” Mama said, “it wasn’t fair. Jesus Christ not only left the glories of His Father’s home to be born as a baby in a crowded town full of strangers who had no room for Him except in a stable with smelly animals, but He came so that He might die for our sins. Christmas isn’t about gifts or trees or even cookies–though we can enjoy those things as we celebrate Christ’s birth–it’s about a Savior Who didn’t worry about how unfair it was that He should suffer for the sins we have done. Instead He came in love to give His life a ransom for many.”

            “I like that,” Dick admitted. “Life would be a whole lot better if we could forget about trying to make sure things were fair, and instead thought of doing things because of love.”

            “It sure would, son,” Dad said with a nod and a yawn.

            Mama looked at the clock. “It’s getting late. Time for everyone to head to bed.”

            Rising, Dad picked up Willie. “Dick, will you unplug the Christmas tree?”

 

*

 

            “I couldn’t get to sleep that night,” Mary Lou Reeder said. “Those verses Dad had read kept coming back to my mind. I knew in my head that Jesus had come to die, but I always thought of that for Easter time, not Christmas. Somehow, hearing it all read together like that made me think about it differently. I don’t know what time it was when I finally got up and went into the dark living room. I plugged in the Christmas tree and sat on the floor hugging my knees and looking at the lights. No, it wasn’t fair that my dad had lost his job. But others had lost their jobs. Was it fair that he had kept his job longer than George’s dad? The longer I sat and thought about it, the more I realized that things I had taken for granted weren’t fair. But I also realized how special Christmas was even if we didn’t have everything we were used to having, and how thankful I was that Jesus came in love and not in fairness; He came to bring salvation to everyone who was willing to receive it, not to those who deserved it. He came to die for my sins even when I had rejected His great gift.” Mary fell silent for a few minutes.

            Reaching out, Helen placed her hand on Mary Lou’s arm. “What did you do?”

            A smile came over Mary Lou’s face. “I knelt there beside that Christmas tree, confessed my sins, and received the best gift anyone could give me.”

            Helen let out a sigh. “So that’s why you love Christmas trees so much.”

            “Yes. The Christmas trees remind me that Christmas isn’t about fairness, it’s about love.”

Have you had really cold weather this week?

Are you ready for Christmas?

If you really want to see me in my costume, you can watch the play HERE.

I Heard the Bells

 I don't know about you, but I really enjoy hearing the story behind hymns and Christmas carols. I was trying to come up with something that wouldn't take me long to post (since my mom, sister and I have been sick for much of the week and are still trying to get over this cough) and was looking through old posts. I came across this post and decided to share it again. 

Enjoy the history and the song!

 

Enjoy those bells!

 

And if you want a different tune and a more "homey" feel, here's the Waltons singing "I heard the Bells on Christmas Day."

 

Have a blessed day! And maybe I'll have a story for you or pictures, or something next time.

Behind Glory

 Merry Christmas!

Okay, Christmas Eve, but it's close enough. Besides, my brother and his family are coming over today to do Christmas with us, so it'll be Christmas. Of course the weather is not going to feel anything like Christmas is supposed to feel like as it's supposed to be 77º today. What kind of Christmas weather is that?

It's been a busy first part of the week.

Saturday– I had play practice in the morning and because two people from one group of singers were sick, they'd had to pull a singer from the other group as well as the pastor's son from KC to fill in. And then when my group of singers was singing we realized we were going to need someone else so my sister was recruited.

Sunday– Music practice before Sunday School. Bell practice with the kids after church, and then practice with my sister and two little girls (I played piano for them). I worked on caroling stuff some in the afternoon and then we were off for the Christmas program. It wasn't nearly as stressful and crazy as when I'm directing the play, which was nice. The play went well, and then we had a fellowship meal afterwards and got to visit with different ones.

Monday– Worked on caroling stuff, my grandpa came down for a short visit, saw the house and ate lunch with us before he went to my brother's to see his place. The caroling group met at 4:30 instead of 5 which was wonderful because it meant we could leave at 5 since it took us 3 hours to go to 8 places. Yes, they were scattered all over! Twice we had to drive 20 minutes to the next place.

Tuesday– I put things away and relaxed! Read.

Wednesday– I made a graham cracker house and worked on a blog post and even wrote. I finished today's story

Thursday– My mom and I decided we wanted to do some paper craft things for decorating the table for today, so we tried one thing. Didn't work. Tried another, too small. So my mom created something and it worked! It's so cute! Sorry, I don't have a picture to show you.

 Today's story is one I've wanted to write since Angie Thompson wrote her "Glory" story for her Advent collection. It takes place the same day as "Glory" only in a different place and gives a little glimpse into some other people who were going to be affected by the decisions the characters in "Glory" made. Totally confused yet? :D I hope you enjoy it.

 

Behind Glory

 

    Georgie woke with the pain of his broken leg chasing the pain from his bruised hip up and down his whole body. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation. Trying to fight back the tears, he opened his eyes. As he sniffed back the sobs, his nose wrinkled. Why did hospitals have to smell so . . . so clean? He longed for the smell of burnt bacon and dirt.
    “Good morning, Georgie,” a cheerful voice greeted him. “How do you feel today?”
    Georgie turned his head. Nurse Maddie was standing beside his bed.
    “I don’t like being here at Christmas.”
    “I know. And I wish you could be at home right now.” She brushed his dark hair off his face. “But tonight we’re going to have some special visitors. Some carolers are going to come and sing Christmas songs to all the children here at the hospital. Won’t that be nice?”
    Staring at the light beginning to come in through the curtained windows, Georgie nodded slightly. He remembered a time when his dad used to sing Christmas carols all December. Mom had said he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, whatever that meant, but she had always laughed when she said it and smiled bigger. Dad hadn’t sung this year. Georgie wished he would. Maybe the carolers would be nice.

*

    It was late morning, the curtains were wide open and the children’s ward was bright with the winter sunshine. In the bed beside Georgie, a little fellow, only about six, lay with flushed face and red eyes. He’d been crying for some time and had only just calmed down enough for the nurse to slip away.
    “I want my mama . . . to sing . . . to me,” little Bobby hiccuped to no one in particular.
    “Bobby,” Georgie said, turning his head so he could see the little boy, “we’re going to have carolers come and sing to us tonight. Won’t that be nice?”
    Bobby hiccuped again. “Really?”
    “Uh huh. Nurse Maddie said so.”
    “Will they come tonight?” Kit lifted her head from her white pillow across the room.
    “Yes, tonight.”
    “Will they sing ‘Way in a Manger?” Lilly asked from a few beds down.
    “I don’t know. Maybe.”
    All around the room the children perked up.
    “I wish dey’d thing the thong ‘bout my brover.”
    “Your brother, Nanny?” Georgie shifted in his bed and bit his lip to keep back the cry of pain the movement had caused. He wanted to cheer up the other kids.
    “Uh huh. Harry.”
    “I don’t know that song,” Lilly said. “Can you sing it, Nanny?”
    “I don’t know it all.” Nanny half sat up in bed. “But I can thing thome.” With that Nanny began to sing. It wasn’t a very clear tune, but it was a joyful noise. “Hark, the Harry, angel thing, gory to the newborn King. Peathe on earth an’ merthy mine, God an’ thinnerth recognized. Joyful all ye naithonth withe, join the twiumph of the thkies, with Aunt Jelly hosth pwoclaim, Chwist ith born in Bethlehem. Hark, the Harry, angel thing, gory to the newborn King.”
    A patter of small hands clapping covered a muffled laugh at the nurse’s station near the door.
    “Georgie,” Teddy asked from over near the window, “Will they sing two songs?”
    “I think so.” Georgie thought of all the songs his Dad had sung and wondered how many Christmas songs there were. “Maybe they’ll even sing three songs.”
    A delighted “Oh!” echoed around the room.
    “Do you think they will wear red?” Lilly asked.
    “Maybe they’ll wear green,” Bobby said quite cheerfully having forgotten his own troubles in the promise of something special later on.
    The talk in the ward that morning and after visiting hours was all about the coming carolers. What colors would they wear? How many were coming? What would they sing? Would they come into the room? Would they have candles? Will they be wearing scarves? Do the nurses know them? What were their names?
    Georgie didn’t know the answers to the questions and neither did Nurse Elizabeth who had taken Nurse Maddie’s place.
    As dusk began to settle outside, Georgie felt himself growing restless. This was almost like waiting for Christmas morning to arrive. But unlike other Christmas Eve nights, this time Georgie couldn’t toss and turn in bed.
    “Georgie,” Bobby asked in a stage whisper, “they are coming, aren’t they?”
    “Sure they are, Bobby, why, they’re probably getting their coats on right now.”
    Lilly lifted her head. “You think so, Georgie?”
    “Sure.”
    There was a moment of silence in the dim ward. Supper was over and Nurse Elizabeth had left only a few small lights on.
    “What do you think they’re doing now, Georgie?” Kit’s voice was close to tears and Georgie guessed her back was hurting her a great deal.
    “Well, let’s see. One of the boys has to pick up one of the girls so he’s going over there. And--”
    “Do they know how to drive?” demanded Stevie.
    “I guess they might. If not someone else has to drive them.” He paused a moment and then went on. “But anyway, they’re driving down Main street and warming up their voices.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know.” Georgie wasn’t sure if real singers did warm their voices up, but his dad used to say--back when he sang--that he had to warm his voice up. Turning his head toward the door he wished the singers would come. They would come, wouldn’t they? If they didn’t come-- A lump the size of baseball seemed to rise in his throat. They had to come. They just had to!
    “What’re they doin’ now, Georgie?” Nellie asked. “Are they comin’ thoon?”
    “Pretty soon, I ‘spect. They have to get out of the car and walk inside now. Oops, one of them left his music in the car and had to run back out and get it maybe.” A few giggles sounded in the dim room. “Now they have to find out how to get to this part of the hospital. And they might get turned around a bit ‘cause it’s pretty big.” As Georgie wondered how much longer he could keep his story going, he thought he heard voices outside their room.
    Others heard them too and when the door opened, sixteen heads were turned and sixteen pairs of eyes fastened on the four visitors. The guys wore dark suits over white shirts and the girls wore red dresses.
    Not a sound could be heard as they stepped into the ward and began to sing. Their voices rich and full yet tender and soft reached to the most distant beds.
    Georgie felt like a warm blanket had been spread over him as he lay listening too the familiar strains of “Oh Come, All Ye Faithful.” He would have gone to Bethlehem to see the Baby if he’d been a shepherd. “Even if I had a broken leg,” he decided but bit his lip at a sudden stab of pain.
    After the first song, the carolers moved among the beds and spoke a few words to each child.
    One of the young men came over to Georgie and smiled down at him. “Hello there, I’m Greg.”
    “My name’s Georgie.”
    “It’s nice to meet you, Georgie. What are you doing in the hospital on Christmas Eve?”
    “Broke my leg.”
    “You did? Well, I did too when I was a little chap. Had to spend Christmas in the hospital too.”
    Georgie stared up at the smiling face of the singer. For a moment he didn’t know what to say. “I . . . I’m glad you came to sing to us. I miss my dad’s singing.” He swallowed hard.
    Greg squeezed his hand lightly. “I’m sure you do. We’ll sing again in just a minute, all right?”
    Georgie nodded, and Greg moved to another bed.
    When the carolers started singing again, Georgie lay quiet and listened, his eyes closed. They were songs he knew and their familiar words and tunes wrapped his heart like a hug and he drifted off to sleep with the soft strains of “Away in a Manger” taking away the sadness of being stuck in a hospital bed over Christmas.

Have you read "Glory"?

Did you have a good week?

What are your plans for Christmas?

Christmas Story Prompt

 This year, instead of taking you on a tour of Garlandsburg (our Christmas village) I'm going to ask YOU to tell me what is happening. That's right, you get to visit the unique village of Garlandsburg. Pick one of the pictures below and write a short (1,000 words or less) scene about what is going on. Share your story and let me know what happens. (Yes, the pictures are posted in the order they appear in the village this year.)

Ready? Start writing!

P.S. If you need any information or have any questions, just ask!

Just a Bunch of Shepherds - Part 3

 Good morning, and happy Friday!

Sorry it's taken me so long to post again. I was planning on posting on Wednesday, but that day must have just blown away. It was in the 70s and we had wind gusts of 50 mph at times. Sure didn't feel like Christmas time.

I'm not sure what all happened this week. I know last Saturday I had play practice most of the morning. This year I get to be in the play instead of writing and directing it. I only sing carols with some other girls so it's not like I have to learn any lines or anything. All the carols are ones I already know, so it's pretty easy. Sunday had a lot of different practices. Before church a few of us practiced a song we were going to sing for the program, but we decided yesterday to cancel it because we just couldn't get everyone together for practice. On Sunday we also had bell practice with the kids at church, and my sis and I practiced a song with the Children's Church group. I also practiced playing the piano for my sister and two young girls who wanted her to sing a song with them for the program. They are pretty cute.

The rest of this week has just disappeared. I've read some, written some, went Christmas shopping with my mom to try and find something for my widow, and worked on getting lots of Christmas cards ready. I'm sure there were some other things I did, but the days are running together and . . .

Oh, wait! On Monday evening all my nieces and nephews were over so their parents could go shopping. We made and decorated Christmas cookies and ate pizza for supper. I wish I had a picture of the 18-month-old rolling and cutting, and patting, and rolling, and eating the cookie dough! It was so cute! She wanted 'noman cookies. :D 

And here's the last part of this story. Well, the last part that I've written. I've been told it needs more. Enjoy.

 

 Just a Bunch of Shepherds

Part 3

 

    The flickering lights of the candles in the windows looked friendly as Old Sawyer crossed the yard with the three brothers. He had put out the lantern and shut the barn door, latching it again from the outside. Looking around at the dark yard, he wondered if Bethlehem had been that dark on the first Christmas. Had the moon shone in the sky? Or had clouds covered the heavens?
    He put aside his thoughts when they reached the house. Once inside, he turned the almost never used lock and set about making his guests welcome. Mark was settled in Old Sawyer’s bed, his leg dressed by the old rancher’s capable hands, and after some hot tea which Old Sawyer claimed was his “Bessie’s cure for fevers an’ such”, was covered with blankets and left to sleep.
    Titus and the younger brother, Elisha, were served bowls of hot stew and then the three men, not feeling like retiring, settled themselves in the front room near the fire. For some time no one talked, then Titus, in a husky voice said, “Thank you, sir. Most cattlemen wouldn’t have lifted a finger for us. At the least they would have left us in the barn and let come what may. But Mark–” He paused, drew a breath, and then went on. “I don’t think Mark would have lasted. He was already feelin’ poorly when–well, when they came. Took him more time to reach the shelter of the bushes and that’s when he got hit in the leg.”
    Old Sawyer shook his head and rocked back and forth. “Ya know who set fire an’ shot Mark?”
    “Sure do,” Elisha spoke quickly. “I had my gun and was ready to fight back, but Titus hauled me away and wouldn’t let me so much as fire a shot.”
    “You’re too hot headed, ‘Lish. You would have killed someone, and I couldn’t stand the thought of someone being killed over sheep again, Especially not on Christmas Eve.”
    “Again?” Old Sawyer paused his rocking.
    “Pa was shot when Elisha was only ten.” Titus stared into the flames.
    “Why’d you help us, mister?” Elisha asked, his face looking more youthful in the light of the fire’s glow.
    Picking up his Bible, Old Sawyer rubbed his hand over the worn leather cover. “Well, I were readin’ the Christmas story for I heard the barn door, an’ I had jest read the line about there bein’ in the same country shepherds. I reckoned if the first ones to hear of the Savior’s birth was a bunch of shepherds, than the least I could do is offer other shepherds a place to stay.”
    “I–”
    Loud voices outside stopped whatever Elisha was going to say and his face grew a shade paler.
    “They’ve found us,” Titus whispered.
    Old Sawyer rose quietly. “Jest get yerselves in that there room with yer brother and don’t make a sound.”
    As soon as the door to the small bedroom was shut, the old rancher picked up his rifle and moved to the kitchen. Taking the lantern from its nail, he lit it and unlocked the door. Quietly, he slipped outside.
    “Who’s there?” he called.
    Instantly, four or five men left the yard and hurried toward the house, the glowing lantern, and the old rancher. “We’re lookin’ for some fugitives,” one of the men called out. “Ya seen anyone?”
    “Fugitives? No. What’s their crime?”
    “They’re tryin’ ta take over our cattle country with the dumb and smelly sheep, an’ if that ain’t a crime, I don’t know what is.” The speaker shoved a hand into his pocket as his companions laughed.
    “Bill Perkins, that you?” Old Sawyer held his lantern up higher and looked at the speaker.
    “Sure is, Old Sawyer.”
    “Why aren’t ya at home with yer folks this Christmas Eve, ‘stead a causin’ trouble an’ seekin’ ta harm yer fellow man?”
    “We knew they’d be home tonight. Folks generally are this night.”
    “Unless they’re out breakin’ the law,” Old Sawyer remarked almost to himself. Then in a louder voice he said, “Ain’t one a ya read the Christmas story?”
    Heads nodded and one of them, a puzzled look on his face said, “Sure, but what’s that got ta do with things?”
    “Shepherds were the first ones to receive the glad news of the Savior’s birth. Now if that don’t show that the Good Lord thinks highly of ‘em, then I ain’t sure what does. Now I suggest ya all get home an’ read it yerselves an’ think it over.”
    For several minutes the younger men stood before Old Sawyer in silence. Then a few in the back turned and walked away into the darkness. One by one the others followed.
    Only after the last man had disappeared did Old Sawyer turn and go back inside. He put up his gun, hung up his coat, and took off his boots. Then he walked to the bedroom door. “It’s all right now, boys. They’re gone an’ I reckon they won’t be botherin’ ya for some time.”

*

    The dawn of Christmas morning was bright and clear. The grass was covered in frost which glittered and sparkled like jewels. Old Sawyer made his way back to the house after he had finished the chores in the barn. Pausing in the yard, he drew in a breath. The smell of frying ham drifted from the house. It was good to have company even if he had to give up his bed and sleep in the old rocking chair. “It’s better ‘n in the barn,” he murmured. “Lord, bless the Tyler brothers. Ya know I ain’t one to favor sheep, an’ were I young I might a been wantin’ ta join them troublemakers last night. But I’m jest an old man now, Lord, an’ ya gave me a bit more sense than I used ta have. Would Ya tell my Bessie Merry Christmas for me? An’ tell her it ain’t a lonely Christmas since I put her candles in the windows. And Lord, thanks for still makin’ me useful even to a bunch of shepherds.” 

 

Do you think this story should be longer?

Have you made and decorated Christmas cookies this year?

Would you rather be on or off stage for a Christmas play?

Just a Bunch of Shepherds - Part 2

 Happy Monday!

I decided not to make you all wait until Friday to read the next part of this little story. Enjoy!

 

 Just a Bunch of Shepherds

Part 2

 

    The house was dark and quiet when Old Sawyer entered. No sweet scent of fresh cookies or comforting smell of savory stew greeted him. It wasn’t how he was used to spending Christmas Eve.
    He lit the lamp, stirred up the fire in the stove and then looked into the cold, dark front room.
    “I’ll do it, Bessie,” he said with a glance at the picture hanging on the wall.
    Taking the lamp, he went in search of candles. He found them carefully wrapped in the bottom drawer of his wife’s worn writing cabinet. With tender hands, Old Sawyer settled each candle in its holder and these were then placed in the windows and the candles lighted. Their soft glow brought a smile to the old man’s face as he turned and set about the task of making his supper.
    As he worked, his thoughts drifted from one Christmas memory to another. The home had been so full of love and laughter as the children had grown up. There had been tears, but not many and they had always been softened by the knowledge that all things worked together for good.
    Old Sawyer ate his solitary supper in silence. Only the steady ticking of the clock on the mantel piece of the front room broke the quiet of the winter evening.
    “It sure would be nice if’n I had someone ta talk to come evenin’s. ‘Specially Christmas Eve. Somehow,” he murmured, “it jest don’t seem right to have this warm house an’ not be sharin’ it nohow. Even a dog would be somethin’.”
    He rose and washed his dishes and then, carrying the lamp, he moved into the front room. “I reckon the Good Lord didn’t have anyone who needed me.”
    After building a blazing fire in the fireplace, he settled into his favorite rocking chair and picked up his well worn Bible.
    “Now it came to pass in those days that there went out a decree . . . And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped in him swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn. Now there were in the same country shepherds–”
    A slight noise distracted Old Sawyer and he looked up. “Did I shut the barn door? I’m sure I did.”
    Everything was hushed and still and the old rancher was about to return to his reading when another noise again came to his sharp ears.
    “Somethin’s out there.” Setting aside his worn Bible, he rose and shuffled into the dark kitchen. Peering out the window, he thought he caught a glimmer of light in the barn. “Now who would be prowlin’ ‘round my barn at a time like this?”
    It took but a few moments for his to pull on his coat, shove his feet into his boots and grab his rifle. Putting his hat on his head, he quietly opened the door and slipped outside, thankful he’d oiled the hinges in the fall when they started to squeak. He held no lantern to light his way but the moon shown and bright stars twinkled in the heavens.
    All was calm.
    The barn door was shut but not latched when Old Sawyer reached it. For a moment he hesitated, listening. He caught the sound of a low moan. Something wasn’t right.
    Keeping his rifle ready in one hand, he used the other and opened the door. “Who’s in here an’ what’re ya doin’?”
    A slight gasp and then a deep sigh broke the momentary silence. “Please, sir,” a man’s voice said, “we don’t mean you any harm, but we saw your candles in the windows and well–”
    A new voice, younger but still male broke in, “They looked so friendly like an’ the night was so cold, and our brother got hurt–”
    Old Sawyer’s hand found a lantern that always hung near the door but had seldom been used. Leaning his rifle against the wall beside him, he struck a light. Three faces, younger than he’d expected to see, looked up at him from the corner of the barn. One face was pale and the old man’s eyes noticed the stained bandage on his leg. “Who are ya?”
    “The Tyler boys, sir.” It was the older one who spoke. “We–well, we own the Ewe-T ranch.”
    “Yer the sheep ranchers, huh?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Old Sawyer’s brows knitted as the brother he guessed to be the youngest cringed. “What’re ya doin’ out this way on Christmas Eve? Have a run in with some cattle ranchers?”
    “Yes, sir. Or no, sir. That is–” The older one seemed to be having trouble speaking.
    With an effort, the injured brother raised himself up on one elbow. “We didn’t start anythin’. The others just come on us sudden an’ were shootin’ an’ we managed to get away, but they set fire to our house. We . . . were . . .” Clearly exhausted, the man fell back into his brother’s arms. his eyes closed.
    “We were goin’ to the sheriff,” the younger one added, looking worried. “But Mark can’t make it, an’ Titus ain’t sure the sheriff’ll help us, an’ the other men might be chasin’ us.”
    “Huh.” Old Sawyer grunted. “Maybe I don’t like sheep, an’ maybe I don’t hanker ta harbor any sheep-men in my barn for anyone that’s chasin’ ya ta find an’ upset my animals.”
    Titus spoke up. “I’m sorry, sir, for causin’ you trouble. We’ll be on our way.”
    “You’ll be on yer way up ta the house. It’s Christmas Eve an’ I’ve got room in my house. An’ I reckon if it were shepherds the news of the Savior’s birth was first told to, than I can give other such men shelter in my house. Now help yer brother there, an’ let’s get out a the barn.”

I'd love to know what you think of the story so far.

Just a Bunch of Shepherds - Part 1

 Good morning,

Are you enjoying your December so far? I can't figure out how it could be the 10th already! I don't think it should even be the 10th of November, let alone December. What do you think?

This week has actually not been as busy as other weeks have been. I finally feel like I'm catching up on things which is so nice. And I've had time to read and even time to write! I haven't gotten back into writing 1k words every day, but compared to what I have been writing, I'm not doing badly. Plus the story I'm working on needs some research.

Today's story was going to be the first part of the Christmas story we put in our Christmas cards this year, but I was informed by my editor that it needed to be longer. Well, I haven't made it longer yet, but I thought I'd share it anyway. I hope you enjoy it.

By the way, I am hoping to post more often than just on Friday's this month. What would you all like to see? 

• Christmas decorations
• Christmas stories
• Recipes
• Tidbits about Christmas traditions
• Story prompts
• Other ideas

Let me know in the comments below what you'd like to see.

 And now, enjoy part 1 of this story.

Just a Bunch of Shepherds

Part 1

 

    The wind was blustery and cold. Frost lay heavy on the ground as the rancher, his face leathered by years of working in the burning sun and biting cold, tramped from his snug house out to the barn to begin the morning chores. The lantern he carried didn’t shed much light but it was enough. Old Sawyer, as folks called him, didn’t really need the lantern; he knew his entire ranch like he knew the layout of his home, but it was cozy somehow. Perhaps it was the suggestion of warmth and comfort as the flame flickered and glowed. Perhaps it was memories of the many hands which had carried the lantern. Whatever the reason, he always carried it on dark mornings.
    Reaching the barn, Old Sawyer opened the door which creaked a little and stepped inside. The barn was warm compared to the biting wind outside. A horse nickered.
    “I’m comin’, Tunia,” he said, his voice low and gravely. “Looks like we’re goin’ to have a cold Christmas tomorra.”
    One of the barn cats rubbed against his leg with a meow. The lone milk cow mooed, and another horse stamped in his stall.
    “I know,” the old man went on, taking down the bucket and stool so he could get to milking. “It ain’t much of a Christmas we’ll be havin’ this year with my Bessie passin’ away in the spring. But the Good Lord didn’t have much that first Christmas neither.” As he began to milk, he kept up a one sided conversation with the animals as he was in the habbit of doing. “I’m plannin’ on havin’ a nice dinner tomorra, and I think I’ll sit and read the Christmas story tonight by the fire. Or maybe I’ll read it in the mornin’. No, I reckon tonight’ll be better seein’ as how chores keep an old man like me busy even if it will be Christmas Day.”
    The cat rubbed up against him and he squirted a stream of milk into her mouth chuckling a little as he did so.
    “Stan used to do that. Remember that, Millie?”
    The cow continued to chew her cud but a gentle flip of her tail seemed to indicate that she was listening.
    “Yep,” Old Sawyer went on, “he used to milk the cows and send streams of milk to the couple cats we’d keep ‘round the place. They’d all sit and wait for him in the mornin’s.” He gave a sigh as he stood up slowly with the full pail of milk. “None of the other boys could do it like Stan could.”
    As he fed the animals and went out to break the ice in the trough, he found memories of his children and wife in almost every action.
    “Sarah Lou did love the chickens. She never lost a single one when her ma put her in charge of taking care of ‘em. Katie May was always forgettin’ to shut the gate, or couldn’t find the hidden nests, but she was plum handy in the garden an’ always knew where to find the wild berries.” A fond smile wrinkled up the old man’s eyes.
    Walking back to the house with the lantern and pail of milk, Old Sawyer watched his breath show in little clouds of white. “Cold enough for snow. But it don’t look like we’ll be gettin’ any.” He looked toward the east where the sky was turning a pale pink. “Jest cold, I reckon.”
    Before long he was busy in the kitchen fixing his breakfast. “It jest ain’t the same, Bessie,” he said, looking at the tin type hanging on the wall. “Ain’t the same at all ‘thout you bein’ here. Won’t seem much like Christmas, me bein’ alone.”
    Sitting down to eat his solitary breakfast and drink his one cup of coffee, Old Sawyer wondered what his children were doing that day. All had moved away. The girls had gotten married and one lived in the city and the other on a ranch two days ride away. As for his sons, only three were still alive. Stan had married but had died in a train accident many years before. The others were scattered across the country from California to New York and down south to Texas.
    “Dear Lord,” he prayed, “bless ‘em, where ever they be an’ whatever they are doin’. Don’t let ‘em wander from You. And Lord, if’n there’s someone in need a me this Christmas I’d be right grateful if’n ya’d let me know.”

    The morning slipped into afternoon. Old Sawyer saddled up Petunia and rode out to check on the cattle. He’d sold off much of his stock in the fall but he still had enough to keep himself busy. As he returned to the barn, he looked across the yard toward the house.
    “It’s a sad lookin’ place, ain’t it, ‘Tunia? No lights in the windows an’ it bein’ Christmas Eve an’ all. I reckon maybe I’ll put some candles in the windows like my Bessie used ta do.” He dismounted. “I weren’t goin’ ta, seein’ it’s only me that’d see ‘em, but–” He stopped and looked again at the house.
    The windows were dark and no friendly smoke rose from the chimney. Not a trace of Christmas cheer could be seen.
    Old Sawyer sighed.
    His horse nudged his shoulder, and the older man nodded as he led Petunia inside the warm barn. “I reckon yer right, ‘Tunia. Someone might come down the road an’ it might put a spark a cheer in ‘em an’ remind ‘em of the Savior Who came an’ brought light to this dark old world.” As he talked, he unsaddled his horse, brushed her down, and then said as he started on the evening chores. “That house is a might too big for a lone feller like me. Maybe I should think of movin’. But I ain’t young like I used ta be.”

Do you put candles in the windows?

Does this month seem to be flying?

What do you want to see on this blog?

Christmas Giveaway

 I don't have a lot of time, but I did want to share with you that there is a Christmas giveaway happening right now for my audio book His Law is Love hosted by Kylie Hunt over at Kylie Hunt - The Film Director's Wife.

Click on the image to enter.

Head over and enter! And check back here because if I have time I might post again before Friday.

Christmas Dinner

 Good morning and Happy December!

I actually forgot that today was Friday until I was going to bed last night and realized that not only is it Friday but it's December and I had nothing picked or planned to post. So, after digging through my older posts, I found something for you. But we'll get to that later.

This week was another one where the days ran together and yet a lot got done.

Last Friday– We worked on organizing and cleaning up the back room in our house (that was my writing room and then became Sis's sewing room, and is now storage) so we could get the Christmas boxes out and put them in there. Then my youngest 3 nieces and nephew came over all afternoon. They got to help me set up the Christmas tree and decorate it. (Yes, I did adjust some of the ornaments after they were gone.)

Saturday– I spent most of the morning putting some cube shelves together for my sister's sewing room. Then I picked up my oldest niece and she helped me start decorating. We got the stairs and some of the living room done.

Sunday– I had music practice before church and then played for prelude. Then my sister and I worked with the kids in Children's Church on the Christmas song we're teaching them for the Christmas program. I then taught Children's Church. After lunch I read, and then we all spent around 1 1/2 hours wrapping presents. That was rather fun. We decided to give each person (these are all my brother's family's gifts) a different wrapping paper, so all my brother's gifts were wrapped in one thing, my sis-in-law in another, and each kid in a different paper. 

Monday– I finished wrapping the presents, cleaned some things, put some things away, and I'm not sure what else.

Tuesday– My oldest niece came over again. This time for most of the day and we got the decorating done except for outside. It wasn't even the 1st of December and the house was decorated and the gifts wrapped! Lovely!

Wednesday– I spend 2 hours trying to put a cabinet together but the directions were awful! They told you to put some pieces on the wrong place so they were upside down, and another piece they didn't tell you there was a front and back to it. Then I had a lot of Camp stuff to do in the afternoon with the Camp party. And then I worked nursery.

Thursday– Yesterday I fixed the cabinet that was messed up and built another thing. I worked on some different things, raked leaves, and reviewed a few stories.

Today– I'm going to do some cleaning! And I don't know what.

Anyway, this was long. Here's a short story for you to read. It was based on a Christmas song that just had me wanting to write a story. Enjoy!

Christmas Dinner

    It was Christmas day. The air outside was crisp, and the snow sparkled and glittered across the farmyard in the late afternoon sunshine. Inside the house all was warm and cozy. Smells from the kitchen pervaded every nook and cranny of the snug farmhouse, from the living room where the large tree stood looking bare with all the gifts gone, to the farthest corner of the attic where empty boxes stood waiting to be filled once again with the ornaments and decorations of Christmas time.
    Rousing from his afternoon nap, Farmer Jones yawned and stretched. Standing up he sniffed the air and then, tucking his thumbs in his suspenders, he ambled from the living room. “Sure smells good, don’t it?” he remarked to his second son.
    Eighteen-year-old Jeremiah looked up from hanging his coat on the hook. “Sure does. Think Mother has dinner about ready, Pa?”
    “Sure hope so. I’ll go find out.”
    Sauntering down the hall through the dining room and into the kitchen, Farmer Jones sniffed again. The turkey smelled divine! His wife, an apron tied about her ample waist, was bustling here and there, a smudge of flour on her cheek and wisps of her hair curling about her face instead of staying properly in her bun.
    “Mother,” Farmer Jones said, “everybody’s starvin’. Let’s eat.”
    Mother Jones, as she was known far and wide, turned around, a wooden spoon in her hand. “Hold your horses, Father. I’ve got a million courses to get ready, and,” she waved her spoon with a shake of her head. “I’m fixing a treat! I could use some help though.”
    Quickly Father Jones turned around. He heard someone whistling and called out, “Jeremiah, go and help your mother.” Then, catching sight of the thirteen-year-old twins on the stairs, he added, “Jane and Jonah, you too.”
    The clatter of the twins’ feet was heard as they rushed down the stairs. No doubt they had been smelling the feast and were hungry.
    After checking in the living room and the library but not finding his other children, Farmer Jones looked out the front door. “Ah, there’s another one,” he thought to himself, hurrying to the door and swinging it wide open. “Hezekiah!” His shout caused the head of his third son to raise from the wood he had been stacking.
    “Yes, sir?”
    “Go and fetch your brother.”
    “Sure thing, Pa. Which one? And where is he?”
    “Jud. I ‘spect he’s in the barn with his horse.” When Hezekiah nodded, Father started to shut the door and then stuck his head out once more. “Then fetch Amy and Sue.”
    Hezekiah’s brown head nodded as he strode off toward the red barn.
    Patting his round stomach, Father shut the door and sighed. He could smell all those dishes Mother was fixing and he couldn’t wait to sit down with his family and partake. It was a favorite part of the Jones family Christmas day.
    It wasn’t long before Hezekiah and Jud could be heard stomping the snow off their boots on the porch. A gust of cold air came in with the boys and Father, turning from watching Jane, her pretty dark hair tied back with a red ribbon, set the table, saw Hezekiah start up the stairs, no doubt in search of the two youngest Jones girls.
    Things were in a bustle as Jed, and then Hezekiah, Amy, and Sue all joined in to help Mother get the food on. Father stayed out of the way. He was no help in the kitchen and knew it. As each steaming dish was brought to the table, his mouth watered even more. Finally he stationed himself before his chair at the head of the table and Jeremiah set the turkey down before him. It was golden brown and steam rose in a fragrant wave.
    As everyone found their places, the three oldest boys, Jud, Jeremiah and Hezekiah, on one side, Jane and Jonah, Amy and Sue on the other, and Mother at the food, Father smiled.
    “Mother, everybody’s happy. We’ve got a reason to smile.”
    Mother laughed her bright, bubbly laugh which caused smiles and a few giggles among her children. “That’s ‘cause you know that I’m about to serve a Christmas dinner country style.”
    “No doubt, Mother, no doubt. But let’s all sit and bow our heads. I’ll say grace, then we’ll break bread.”
    There was a slight shuffling as each person quickly sat down. Every head, light, dark, and a few browns, bowed reverently as Father gave thanks for the dinner and for Christmas and what it meant. After a hearty “Amen” from everyone present, heads were lifted and eyes sparkled at the knowledge that they were about to partake of Mother’s wonderful cooking.
    “Put your napkins in your lap, girls,” Mother reminded Amy and Sue.
    “While Jud pours cider from the tap,” added Father. “Is it fresh cider, Jud?”
    “Sure is, Pa. I made it yesterday with some of the apples from the cellar since we had such a lot.”
    There was so much food and it was passed along from one person to the next, across the table, clock-wise and counter-clock-wise. Turkey, both dark and white meat, ham, chestnut stuffing, huckleberry muffins, marshmallow yam, and cranberry sauce, rhubarb, and black-eyed peas. It was a feast to fill any hungry boy or girl. Or a dozen of them. Everyone ate and talked and ate some more. Seconds were had by everyone and the four boys even had thirds.
    “I think I’m ‘bout to explode, Mother,” Jane said, leaning back in her chair.
    “Me too,” echoed Amy and Sue.
    “Have a little pickled quince,” Jeremiah offered, holding out the dish.
    “Choose your pie, everyone,” Father instructed. “Pumpkin or mince.”
    No one refused. How could they when it was Mother who had made them? But at last no one could eat another bite.
    Leaning back in his chair, Father looked down the table at his wife and said, “Oh, dinner was grand, to say the least!” Glancing at his children seated on either side of the now ravished table, he added, with a nod toward Mother Jones, “Honor the lady who cooked this feast.”
    “Mother, thank you for the dinner!” Chorused all seven children.
    And Jonah added, “All the fixin’s were great!”
    A broad smile crossed Mother’s face. “Nothin’ to it. I’m mighty glad to do it, seein’ how much you ate! Now I shouldn’t have to feed you until spring.”
    A general laugh filled the dining room and then Jud pushed back his chair. “Well, it’s time to clear it all away. Come on. Jeremiah, get the turkey, or what’s left of it. Hezekiah, the ham platter. The rest of you start collecting the dishes. Mother, you and Father go sit in the living room and just relax.”
    With a smile, Mother stood up. “All right, but don’t you go and break any of my good china now.” It was something she said every year, and none of it had been broken except one saucer when Jeremiah was no larger than the family dog.
    Beaming, Father rose slowly, tucked his thumbs in his suspenders and stood a moment watching his children clear off the table. Then, with a sigh, he ambled slowly into the living room and built up the fire in the large stone fireplace before sinking down into his favorite chair. “That sure was a Christmas dinner, Mother,” he remarked.
    Wearily Mother rested her feet on the footstool and nodded. “It sure was.”

    Before long the children appeared in the doorway, their faces bright and no sign of having stuffed themselves.
    “Jeremiah,” Jane begged, “go and get your fiddle!”
    “Yeah, go get it,” eagerly pleaded Amy and Sue, while his brothers all nodded in agreement.
    “All right.” Jeremiah sauntered into the other room, and they could hear the sounds of the fiddle strings as he tested them. Soon he was back, lightly drawing the bow over the strings in a tune which set each foot to tapping.
    “Come on, Father, let’s dance,” begged Jane, hurrying to her father’s side.
    But Farmer Jones shook his head and patted his full stomach, “I’m too full of turkey and stuffing. Sorry, Janie, I ain’t takin’ a chance. Get one of your brothers to take you for a spin.”
    So, while Mother and Father sat watching, the six children, Jud and Amy, Hezekiah and Sue, and Jane and Jonah danced to the lively tunes Jeremiah brought forth from his fiddle.
    When at last the fiddler ceased and everyone sank laughing onto chairs and sofas, Father said, “It’s been a very, very merry Christmas. We’ve got reason to smile.” He looked around at each shining face “Mother, everybody loved your Christmas dinner country style.”

 Did you have a good week?

Do you have Christmas decorations up?

Have you ever heard the song that goes with this story?