12 Days of Christ-mas, The Meaning When most people hear of "The 12 days of Christ-mas" they think of the song. This song had its origins as a teaching tool to instruct young people in the meaning and content of the Christian faith. From 1558 to 1829 Roman Catholics in England were not able to practice their faith openly so they had to find other ways to pass on their beliefs. The song "The Twelve Days of Christ-mas" is one example of how they did it. "The 12 Days of Christ-mas" is in a sense an allegory. Each of the items in the song represents something of religious significance. The hidden meaning of each gift was designed to help young Christians learn their faith. The song goes, "On the first day of Christ-mas my true love gave to me..." The "true love" represents God and the "me" who receives these presents is the Christian. The "partridge in a pear tree" was Jesus Christ who died on a tree as a gift from God. The "two turtle doves" were the Old and New Testaments - another gift from God. The "three French hens" were faith hope and love - the three gifts of the Spirit that abide(I Corinthians 13). The "four calling birds" were the four Gospels which sing the song of salvation through Jesus Christ. The "five golden rings" were the first five books of the Bible also called the "Books of Moses." The "six geese a-laying" were the six days of creation. The "seven swans a swimming" were "seven gifts of the Holy Spirit." (I Corinthians 12:8-11, Romans 12, Ephesians 4, 1 Peter 4:10-11) The "eight maids a milking" were the eight beatitudes. The "nine ladies dancing" were nine fruits of the Holy Spirit.(Galatians 5:22-23) The "ten lords a-leaping" were the Ten Commandments. The "eleven pipers piping" were the eleven faithful disciples. The "twelve drummers drumming" were the twelve points of the Apostles' Creed. So the next time you hear "The 12 Days of Christ-mas" consider how this otherwise non-religious sounding song had its origins in the Christian faith. (primary source of this information was an article in the Anderson Independent-Mail newspaper Anderson, SC Jan. 21, 1996 by Dr. William Hunter)

Angel On A Doorstep by Shirley Bachelder When Ben delivered milk to my cousin's home one morning, he wasn't his usual sunny self. The slight, middle-aged man seemed in no mood for talking. It was late November 1962, and as a newcomer to Lawndale, Calif., I was delighted that milkmen still brought bottles of milk to doorsteps. In the weeks that my husband, kids and I had been staying with my cousin while house hunting, I had come to enjoy Ben's jovial repartee. Today, however, he was the epitome of gloom as he dropped off his wares from his wire carrier. It took slow, careful questioning to extract the story from him. With some embarrassment, he told me two customers had left town without paying their bills, and he would have to cover the losses. One of the debtors owed only $10, but the other was $79 in arrears and had left no forwarding address. Ben was distraught at his stupidity for allowing this bill to grow so large. "She was a pretty woman," he said, "with six children and another on the way. She was always saying, `I'm going to pay you soon, when my husband gets a second job. I believed her. What a fool I was! I thought I was doing a good thing, but I've learned my lesson. I've been had!" All I could say was, "I'm so sorry." The next time I saw him, his anger seemed worse. He bristled as he talked about the messy young ones who had drunk up all his milk. The charming family had turned into a parcel of brats. I repeated my condolences and let the matter rest. But when Ben left, I found myself caught up in his problem and longed to help. Worried that this incident would sour a warm person, I mulled over what to do. Then, remembering that Christ-mas was coming, I thought of what my grandmother used to say: "When someone has taken from you, give it to them, and then you can never be robbed." The next time Ben delivered milk, I told him I had a way to make him feel better about the $79. "Nothing will do that," he said, "but tell me anyway." "Give the woman the milk. Make it a Christ-mas present to the kids who needed it." "Are you kidding?" he replied. "I don't even get my wife a Christ-mas gift that expensive." "You know the Bible says, "I was a stranger and you took me in. You just took her in with all her little children." "Don't you mean she took me in? The trouble with you is, it wasn't your $79." I let the subject drop, but I still believed in my suggestion. We'd joke about it when he'd come. "Have you given her the milk yet?" I'd say. "No," he'd snap back, "but I'm thinking of giving my wife a $79 present, unless another pretty mother starts playing on my sympathies." Every time I'd ask the question, it seemed he lightened up a bit more. Then, six days before Christ-mas, it happened. He arrived with a tremendous smile and a glint in his eyes. "I did it!" he said. "I gave her the milk as a Christ-mas present. It wasn't easy, but what did I have to lose? It was gone, wasn't it?" "Yes," I said, rejoicing with him. "But you've got to really mean it in your heart." "I know. I do. And I really feel better. That's why I have this good feeling about Christ-mas. Those kids had lots of milk on their cereal just because of me." The holidays came and went. On a sunny January morning two weeks later, Ben almost ran up the walk. "Wait till you hear this," he said, grinning. He explained he had been on a different route, covering for another milkman. He heard his name being called, looked over his shoulder and saw a woman running down the street, waving money. He recognized her immediately --the woman with all the kids, the one who didn't pay her bill. She was carrying an infant in a tiny blanket, and the woman's long brown hair kept getting in her eyes. "Ben, wait a minute!" she shouted. "I've got money for you." Ben stopped the truck and got out. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I really have been meaning to pay you." She explained that her husband had come home one night and announced he'd found a cheaper apartment. He'd also gotten a night job. With all that had happened, she'd forgotten to leave a forwarding address. "But I've been saving," she said. "Here's $20 toward the bill." "That's all right," Ben replied. "It's been paid." "Paid!" she exclaimed. "What do you mean? Who paid it?" "I did." She looked at him as if he were the Angel Gabriel and started to cry. "Well," I asked, "what did you do?" "I didn't know what to do, so I put an arm around her. Before I knew what was happening, I started to cry, and I didn't have the foggiest idea what I was crying about. Then I thought of all those kids having milk on their cereal, and you know what? I was really glad you talked me into this." "You didn't take the $20?" "Heck no," he replied indignantly. "I gave her the milk as a Christ-mas present, didn't I?"

Bible Prophecies Fulfilled in Christ's Birth Isaiah 7:14: Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel. Matthew 1:22-23: All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: 'The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel which means, 'God with us.' Micah 5:2: But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, though you are small among the clans of Judah, out of you will come for me one who will be ruler over Israel, whose origins are from of old, from ancient times. Matthew 2:1: After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the time of King Herod, Magi from the east came to Jerusalem. Jeremiah 31:15: This is what the Lord says: 'A voice is heard in Ramah, mourning and great weeping, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because her children are no more.' Matthew 2:16-18: When Herod realized that he had been outwitted by the Magi, he was furious, and he gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under, in accordance with the time he had learned from the Magi. Then what was said through the prophet Jeremiah was fulfilled: 'A voice is heard in Ramah, weeping and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more.' Hosea 11:1: When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Egypt I called my son. Matthew 2:14-15: So he got up, took the child and his mother during the night and left for Egypt, where he stayed until the death of Herod. And so was fulfilled what the Lord had said through the prophet: 'Out of Egypt I called my son.' Other General Prophecies Concerning His Life Isaiah 9:6-7: For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and peace there will be no end. He will reign on David's throne and over his kingdom, establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that time on and forever. The zeal of the Lord Almighty will accomplish this. Genesis 22:17-18: [Spoken to Abraham]: I will surely bless you and make your descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as the sand on the seashore. Your descendants will take possession of the cities of their enemies, and through your offspring all nations on earth will be blessed, because you have obeyed me." Psalm 72:17: May his name endure forever; may it continue as long as the sun. All nations will be blessed through him, and they will call him blessed.

Billy Miske's Last Fight by Dorothy Kilgallen and Richard Kollmar On an afternoon in 1923, as the first snow of the winter fell on the city of St. Paul, Billy Miske got to thinking about Christ-mas. As you may remember, Miske was one of the best heavyweight prize fighters of his day. In his ring career of more that 100 bouts he fought Jack Dempsey. Tommy Gibbons and Harry Greb. Only one opponent -Dempsey - ever scored a knockout against him. He was 29 years old, blond and blue eyed, muscular and graceful. He looked like a champion. But he was dying, and he knew it. It was a well kept secret. The only persons who knew of his condition were Jack Reddy, his manager; George Barton, a sports writer on the Minneapolis Tribune; and Dr. Andrew Sivertsen, who five years before had said, "I won't lie to you, Billy - you have Bright's disease. If you quit fighting and take care of yourself you may live five years." Billy did not quit. To his wife, Marie, he reported casually that he had "a little kidney trouble," which would be all right with diet and doctoring. Such was his courage and unfailing gaiety that she never suspected that his ailment was more serious than he had admitted. He climbed into the ring 70 times after the death sentence was pronounced. He made money, and because he knew his fighting days were numbered he put all his savings into an automobile sales business in partnership with a friend. The business was to be security for Marie and the children when he was gone. But within two years the venture was on the verge of bankruptcy. The day after his third fight with Jack Dempsey he used his entire purse - $18,000 to pay debts owed by the partnership. From then on there were fewer fights and he was paid less money for them. It was a painful struggle for him to train enough to keep appearances for the sports writers. In January, 1923 Billy knocked out Harry Foley in one round, but when it was over he felt terrible. The doctor had no trouble persuading him to stay home and rest; for weeks he didn't have enough strength to walk around the block. All through the spring, summer and autumn he hung around the house, resting, keeping to his milk diet, playing with the children, while Marie did the housework and worried about the bills. Now, as he walked the streets on the day of the first snowfall, looking at the store windows, Billy worried, too. The snow made him think how close it was to Christ-mas, and how bleak the day would be for Marie and the children unless he made some money quickly. He could not bear that Christ-mas should be anything but the way it had always been in the past - warm and safe and bright and abundant, something to remember. He knew of only one way to get money fast. It was simple. Hard, but simple. He walked rapidly to Jack Reddy's office. "Jack," he said, "get me a fight." The manager looked at him unbelievingly. "You're a sick man, Billy," he said. "Remember, I know all about you. I won't put you in the ring. I wouldn't have it on my conscience. Billy leaned forward in agonized earnestness. "Please, Jack, I'm flat broke. You know I lost everything in the automobile business. You know about the doctor bills. We've even sold most of our furniture. You've got to get me one more fight so I can give my family a happy Christ-mas. Reddy argued, pleaded, reasoned. He offered to lend or give the fighter money if he would stay out of the ring. But Billy repeated stubbornly, "No, Jack; get me a fight before Christ-mas." In the end the manager gave in. A few days later he arranged a match with Bill Brennas, to be held at Omaha. Brennan was a tough fighter. He had battled Dempsey in New York and was ahead on points up to the - 12th round, when Dempsey knocked him out. Word of the coming Miske-Brennan bout soon reached George Barton. Knowing of Miske's condition, he angrily reached for the telephone and called Jack Reddy. "Are you so hungry for a buck that you'd risk Billy Miske's life for it?" he said. "You know he isn't in any shape to fight. I'm going to write a story blasting you as you deserve to be blasted." "There's an angle you don't know about, George, Reddy answered. "Hold it until I get Billy and bring him over to your office so he can explain." In a half hour they were there, and Billy was telling Barton about the debts, the children and Christ-mas. When he had finished, Billy leaned forward with his big hands clasped between his knees. "George," he said, "you've always been my friend. Do one more thing for me. Don't write anything about me being sick." Barton said, "Billy, do you realize if you fight you may die in the ring?" Billy nodded. "I'm a fighter, George. I might as well die in the ring as sitting in a rocking chair waiting for it." That ended the talk. Barton agreed to keep the secret. Billy was far too ill to train for the fight. When newspapermen and boxing fans asked why he wasn't working out as usual at the Rose Room gymnasium in St. Paul, Reddy explained that Miske had a gym rigged up at his summer place on Lake Johanna and would do all his training there before leaving for Omaha to work out in public. Actually Billy was spending most of his time in bed, saving his strength. He left for Omaha only a few days before the fight. Oddly, he was still a fine looking specimen; the illness that was destroying him had not caused him to lose weight or become haggard. Possibly the examination of fighters was merely cursory in those days, or it may be that only a test for kidney ailments (which was not given) would have revealed Miske's condition. At any rate, he had no trouble passing whatever examination there was. The fight had a fiction story quality. In the opening round of the match sports writers at the ringside noticed that Brennan appeared much slower than he had been when he made such a good showing against Dempsey, while Miske was fast and smooth. For 121 minutes Billy was not a dying man, even to himself; he was Billy Miske, "the St. Paul Thunderbolt." It was all there - the aggressiveness, the nimble footwork, the "nitroglycerin" punches. For the first two rounds the fighting was at close range, with Brennan doing considerable backing away. In the third round Billy hooked Brennan with a left and Brennan went down, helpless. The bell saved him as the referee reached the count of five. Brennan's seconds dragged him back to his corner and worked over him, but when he came out for the next round he was obviously still dazed by Miske's powerful punch in the third. Just as he got to the center of the ring Miske met him with a terrific right to the jaw, and lie crumpled to the canvas. He tried valiantly to get up, but couldn't, and was counted out. As Billy Miske's arm was raised in the victor's salute he smiled, for the last time, at the crowd. He received $24,000 for the fight. He took the purse back to St. Paul and began to do the things he most wanted to do before the end came. He bought furniture to fill the rooms that had been empty since he and Marie sold everything except the beds, a kitchen table and a few chairs. He went on his last duck hunting trip. Then, as the shop windows began to glow with Christ-mas red and green tinsel, he went downtown again. He bought a piano for Marie; she had a lovely contralto voice and had always wanted a piano of her own. He had a fine time choosing gifts for the children - a bicycle and a red coaster for each of the boys, dolls and a teddy bear for little Donna. There was enough money left for a Christ-mas check for his parents, paid for a Christ-mas feast, and something Marie could put aside for the need that would come. His shopping finished, Billy went home exhausted and went to bed. The intense suffering had begun, but he was able to conceal it by staying in his room during the worst hours. He managed to smile and make cheerful conversation every time Marie or the children came near. Marie still had no inkling that his illness was more than a bothersome passing ailment. She trimmed the tree alone that Christ-mas Eve. After midnight, when she finished, Billy came downstairs in his pajamas and bathrobe to admire it. Standing by his wife's side, he took her hand and looked for a long time. "It's the prettiest tree we've ever had," he said. Marie's heart swelled as she looked up at him. "Billy, you're so good to us." He grinned. "Merry Christ-mas, honey," he said, bending over to kiss her. "It is going to be a Merry Christ-mas, isn't it!" He was in his place at the head of the table at Christ-mas dinner, looking the picture of happy, carefree young father with his family around him. In the gaiety and excitement of the children's delight over the tree and the toys, only Marie noticed that Billy ate very little. When he caught her watching him he winked as if he were enjoying it like a hungry kid. "Gee, honey," he said, "you're a swell cook!" The day after Christ-mas he was in agony. Waiting until Marie was rattling dishes in the kitchen, he got out of bed, stumbled to the telephone and called Jack Reddy. "For God's sake, Jack, come and get me," he whispered. "I can't stand the pain any longer." Reddy came with his car. Marie, terrified, helped her husband into the back seat, and Reddy drove to the hospital. As Marie sat in the car, holding Billy in her arms, feeling him tremble with the pain, he told her the truth at last. Six days later, on the morning of the New Year, Billy Miske died.

Christ-mas Day in the Morning by Pearl S. Buck He woke suddenly and completely. It was four o'clock, the hour at which his father had always called him to get up and help with the milking. Strange how the habits of his youth clung to him still! Fifty years ago, and his father had been dead for thirty years, and yet he waked at four o'clock in the morning. He had trained himself to turn over and go to sleep, but this morning it was Christ-mas, he did not try to sleep. Why did he feel so awake tonight? He slipped back in time, as he did so easily nowadays. He was fifteen years old and still on his father's farm. He loved his father. He had not known it until one day a few days before Christ-mas, when he had overheard what his father was saying to his mother. "Mary, I hate to call Rob in the mornings. He's growing so fast and he needs his sleep. If you could see how he sleeps when I go in to wake him up! I wish I could manage alone." "Well, you can't Adam." His mother's voice as brisk, "Besides, he isn't a child anymore. It's time he took his turn." "Yes," his father said slowly. "But I sure do hate to wake him." When he heard these words, something in him spoke: his father loved him! He had never thought of that before, taking for granted the tie of their blood. Neither his father nor his mother talked about loving their children they had no time for such things. There was always so much to do on the farm. Now that he knew his father loved him, there would be no loitering in the mornings and having to be called again. He got up after that, stumbling blindly in his sleep, and pulled on his clothes, his eyes shut, but he got up. And then on the night before Christ-mas, that year when he was fifteen, he lay for a few minutes thinking about the next day. They were poor, and most of the excitement was in the turkey they had raised themselves and mince pies his mother made. His sisters sewed presents and his mother and father always bought something he needed, not only a warm jacket, maybe, but something more, such as a book. And he saved and bought them each something, too. He wished, that Christ-mas when he was fifteen, he had a better present for his father. As usual he had gone to the ten cent store and bought a tie. It had seemed nice enough until he lay thinking the night before Christ-mas. He looked out of his attic window, the stars were bright. "Dad," he had once asked when he was a little boy, "What is a stable?" "It's just a barn," his father had replied, "like ours." Then Jesus had been born in a barn, and to a barn the shepherds had come... The thought struck him like a silver dagger. Why should he not give his father a special gift too, out there in the barn? He could get up early, earlier than four o'clock, and he could creep into the barn and get all the milking done. He'd do it alone, milk and clean up, and then when his father went in to start the milking he'd see it all done. And he would know who had done it. He laughed to himself as he gazed at the stars. It was what he would do, and he mustn't sleep too sound. He must have waked twenty times, scratching a match each time to look at his old watch, midnight, and half past one, and then two o'clock. At a quarter to three he got up and put on his clothes. He crept downstairs, careful of the creaky boards, and let himself out. The cows looked at him, sleepy and surprised. It was early for them too. He had never milked all alone before, but it seemed almost easy. He kept thinking about his father's surprise. His father would come in and get him, saying that he would get things started while Rob was getting dressed. He'd go to the barn, open the door, and then he'd go get the two big empty milk cans. But they wouldn't be waiting or empty, they'd be standing in the milk house, filled. "What the...," he could hear his father exclaiming. He smiled and milked steadily, two strong streams rushing into the pail, frothing and fragrant. The task went more easily than he had ever known it to go before. Milking for once was not a chore. It was something else, a gift to his father who loved him. He finished, the two milk cans were full, and he covered them and closed the milk house door carefully, making sure of the latch. Back in his room he had only a minute to pull off his clothes in the darkness and jump into bed, for he heard his father up. He put the covers over his head to silence his quick breathing. The door opened. "Rob!" His father called. "We have to get up, son, even if it is Christ-mas." "Aw-right," he said sleepily. The door closed and he lay still, laughing to himself. In just a few minutes his father would know. His dancing heart was ready to jump from his body. The minutes were endless ten, fifteen, he did not know how many and he heard his father's footsteps again. The door opened and he lay still. "Rob!" "Yes, Dad" His father was laughing, a queer sobbing sort of laugh. "Thought you'd fool me, did you?" His father was standing by his bed, feeling for him, pulling away the cover. "It's for Christ-mas, Dad!" He found his father and clutched him in a great hug. He felt his father's arms go around him. It was dark and they could not see each other's faces. "Son, I thank you. Nobody ever did a nicer thing" "Oh, Dad, I want you to know I do want to be good!" The words broke from him of their own will. He did not know what to say. His heart was bursting with love. He got up and pulled on his clothes again and they went down to the Christ-mas tree. Oh what a Christ-mas, and how his heart had nearly burst again with shyness and pride as his father told his mother and made the younger children listen about how he, Rob, had got up all by himself. "The best Christ-mas gift I ever had, and I'll remember it, son every year on Christ-mas morning, so long as I live." They had both remembered it, and now that his father was dead, he remembered it alone: that blessed Christ-mas dawn when, alone with the cows in the barn, he had made his first gift of true love. This Christ-mas he wanted to write a card to his wife and tell her how much he loved her, it had been a long time since he had really told her, although he loved her in a very special way, much more than he ever had when they were young. He had been fortunate that she had loved him. Ah, that was the true joy of life, the ability to love. Love was still alive in him, it still was. It occurred to him suddenly that it was alive because long ago it had been born in him when he knew his father loved him. That was it: Love alone could awaken love. And he could give the gift again and again. This morning, this blessed Christ-mas morning, he would give it to his beloved wife. He I could write it down in a letter for her to read and keep forever. He went to his desk and began his love letter to his wife: My dearest love... Such a happy, happy, Christ-mas!

The Christ-mas Scout by Samuel D. Bogan If there are poor among you, in one of the towns of the land the Lord your God is giving you, do not be selfish or greedy toward them. But give freely to them, and freely lend them whatever they need. Deut. 15:7-8 In spite of the fun and laughter, 13-year-old Frank Wilson was not happy. It was true that he had received all the presents he wanted. And he enjoyed these traditional Christ-mas Eve reunions of relatives -- this year at Aunt Susan's -- for the purpose of exchanging gifts and good wishes. But Frank was not happy because this was his first Christ-mas without his brother, Steve, who, during the year, had been killed by a reckless driver. Frank missed his brother and the close companionship they had together. Frank said good bye to his relatives and explained to his parents that he was leaving a little early to see a friend: from there he could walk home. Since it was cold outside, Frank put on his new plaid jacket. It was his favorite gift. The other presents he placed on his new sled. Then Frank headed out, hoping to find the patrol leader of his Boy Scout troop. Frank always felt understood by him. Though rich in wisdom, he lived in the Flats, the section of town where most of the poor lived, and his patrol leader did odd jobs to help support his family. To Frank's disappointment, his friend was not at home. As Frank hiked down the street toward home, he caught glimpses of trees and decorations in many of the small houses. Then, through one front window, he glimpsed a shabby room with the limp stockings hanging over an empty fireplace. A woman was seated near them weeping. The stockings reminded him of the way he and his brother had always hung theirs side by side. The next morning, they would be bursting with presents. A sudden thought struck Frank -- he had not done his "good turn" for the day. Before the impulse passed, he knocked on the door. "Yes?" the sad voice of the woman inquired. "May I come in?" "You are very welcome," she said, seeing his sled full of gifts, and assuming he was making a collection, "but I have no food or gifts for you. I have nothing for my own children." "That's not why I am here," Frank replied. "Please choose whatever presents you'd like for your children from this sled." "Why, God bless you!" the amazed woman answered gratefully. She selected some candies, a game, the toy airplane and a puzzle. When she took the new Scout flashlight, Frank almost cried out. Finally, the stockings were full. "Won't you tell me your name?" she asked, as Frank was leaving. "Just call me the Christ-mas Scout," he replied. The visit left the boy touched, and with an unexpected flicker of joy in his heart. He understood that his sorrow was not the only sorrow in the world. Before he left the Flats, he had given away the remainder of his gifts. The plaid jacket had gone to a shivering boy. But he trudged homeward, cold and uneasy. Having given his presents away, Frank now could think of no reasonable explanation to offer his parents. He wondered how he could make them understand. "Where are your presents, son?" asked his father as he entered the house. "I gave them away." "The airplane from Aunt Susan? Your coat from Grandma? Your flashlight? We thought you were happy with your gifts." "I was -- very happy," the boy answered lamely. "But, Frank, how could you be so impulsive?" his mother asked. "How will we explain to the relatives who spent so much time and gave so much love shopping for you?" His father was firm. "You made your choice, Frank. We cannot afford any more presents." His brother gone, his family disappointed in him, Frank suddenly felt dreadfully alone. He had not expected a reward for his generosity. For he knew that a good deed always should be its own reward. It would be tarnished otherwise. So he did not want his gifts back, however, he wondered if he would ever again truly recapture joy in his life. He thought he had this evening, but it had been fleeting. Frank thought of his brother and sobbed himself to sleep. The next morning, he came downstairs to find his parents listening to Christ-mas music on the radio. Then the announcer spoke: "Merry Christ-mas, everybody! The nicest Christ-mas story we have this morning comes from the Flats. A crippled boy down there has a new sled this morning, another youngster has a fine plaid jacket, and several families report that their children were made happy last night by gifts from a teenage boy who simply referred to himself as the Christ-mas Scout. No one could identify him, but the children of the Flats claim that the Christ-mas Scout was a personal representative of Jesus Himself." Frank felt his father's arms go around his shoulders, and he saw his mother smiling through her tears. "Why didn't you tell us? We didn't understand. We are so proud of you, son." The carols came over the air again filling the room with music. "...Praises sing to God the King, and peace to men on Earth."

A Christ-mas Story And so it came to pass that early on a mild morning, in spite of the dark months behind them, their hearts woke now to the delights of a journey and the new sweet intimacy that enfolded them. When the sun rose over a sky of pink and gold, Mary laughed with pleasure. "It is more beautiful than I have words to say, " she murmured. And at night through all the darkness, Joseph kept watch beside his beloved. The second day was more filled with interest than the first. They glimpsed the mountains of Gilbon where King Saul had perished; they saw the rich pastures of Dothan where Joseph had found his brethren so many, many years before. And at evening the winding road brought them into Samaria. They rested the night in a little shelter beside Jacob's well on the outskirts of Sychar, eating the food from the nap sack and drinking spring water. When they entered Judea on the third day their voices held a note of reverence. It was a hallowed country over which they moved. At Shilah, Mary caught Joseph's arm. "This is the place where Hannah prayed to the Lord for a son. I think I know what she felt. Sometimes when I think of the child that is to be born, I feel a sword piercing my own heart, also. It seems to come from the far, far years. . ." Joseph did not turn to look at her. But it was when they were in the shadow of mishap's lonely height that a sound from Mary made Joseph turn quickly to her. "What is it? " he begged. "Mary, tell me. " When she raised her head, even the lips were drained white. "How far is it yet to Bethlehem? Can we reach there tonight?" "By steady going; if we make no stops, we can get there late this evening instead of tomorrow, but Mary you can go no father. In the next town we shall stop and stay until......" But Mary shook her head. "I must go on, " she said softly. "A few more miles at the end of so many can surely be borne. Support me with your arm, Joseph, and let us not delay. " And so the miles began once more with a man's love and a woman's faith to conquer them. Sometimes through the darkness Joseph heard a stifled moan of pain, then his clasp tightened. Ridge after ridge, valley after valley and then at last the hill to which their journey was bringing them. Bethlehem, with its sweeping terraces and its hanging vines. It was at this last steep ascent that Mary again cried out, for the little animal stumbled on the slippery gray limestone and all but fell. "It is not safe to ride her at times," Joseph spoke anxiously. "I have often heard so. Mary suddenly wept with pain. "What shall I do? I am so wretched I cannot walk, Joseph." But Joseph was already placing his knapsack on the back of the ass. Then he lifted Mary to his arms. "I shall carry you," he said. And Mary was too weak to protest. Her hand crept around his neck. Slowly, carefully, they moved on and up, the little animal following behind. Joseph's great muscles strained to the task. He set his teeth, and prayed, for Mary's life. It had been Joseph's innocent, untraveled thought that, of course, the house of his cousin Matthieas, would give them shelter. It stood only a square from the city gate, the watchman told him. So with a great relief he made his way there and called. It was only a few minutes until Matthieas emerged with a light. He was surprised and delighted to see his kinsman, but he shook his head sorrowfully over his failure to take him in. "You don't seem to realize, Joseph, that Bethlehem is full. You and I are but two out of the thousands that trace their lineage to David. My house is packed to the farthest corner. And your wife. . ." "She must have shelter and privacy. Her need is desperate." "Matthieas turned his light toward the drooping figure of Mary again, sitting on the ass. His face was all pity as he turned to Joseph. "Come, " he said, "I will go with you and see that you are housed. At least I know the city. " The innkeeper, coming out to the courtyard, merely looked at the travelers and waved them brusquely aside. "No room, " he shouted and turned to re-enter the door. But Joseph was quicker. His huge bulk barred the way. "I must have shelter, " he said grimly, "and I must have it here. I am a peaceful man, but desperate needs require desperate actions. Where can I take my wife?" Joseph's great hands shook him with quick frenzy. The innkeeper tried to free himself, sneering up into Joseph's face. "I know of no place but the stable, "he said. "The stable. How dare you insult her so! She must have. . ." But another voice broke in. It was the voice of Mary. And the gentle tones seemed at once to still the striving men. "I think I should like the stable, Joseph. It will be quiet there. The oxen will be asleep. And with a little blanket on the clean sweet hay, we can make a cradle in the manger. " And then the innkeeper looked at Mary's face, patient and piteous in her pain, shining white and spent between the waves of golden hair. He looked and bowed before her. "It is true as I said, my lady, that there is no room in the inn; but I shall give you all the comfort I can, and may God be with you." "He is with me. " Mary answered. And so, laden with the pallet and blankets which the innkeeper brought out to him and carrying one of the lanterns, Joseph led the little ass through the courtyard and onto where the stable awaited them. As they stopped before it, he felt Mary's hand on his shoulder. Her voice was full of awe. "Listen, Joseph, do you not hear it? There is music ringing through the air. Angels voices, unearthly sweet, drifting down from the stars. "Glory, glory, they are singing. Glory, glory to God in the Highest. Oh, Joseph, do you not hear it? " "I hear the voice of an angel, " he said gently. "But look, " Mary cried, trembling. "Look, there to the south, where the sky seems to brood over the hills. I can see the angels in a path of light. Winging, singing. . . . Oh, the beauty and the radiance of it! You do see them, don't you Joseph? You must see the heavenly wonder of it. " "I see the face of. . .an angel. " Joseph said again softly. And Mary turned toward him, her hands outstretched. "Oh, you have heard the music. You have seen the angels. Then at last, at last, you will believe all that I have told you. Tell me you believe." There was no sound for a long moment. No sound but their heart beats in the darkness. And Joseph found words. "I believe. " he said slowly, his voice breaking with love. That what is born of you will be holy. " And with that Mary sighed with a great contentment. "Lift me down, Joseph, and let us hasten to prepare the manger. For now whatever the night may bring, my heart is at rest. " And with misty eyes, Joseph carried his wife into the stable. There was no light within, except the dim lantern. But high overhead, one great golden star kept watch.

The Christ-mas Thorn of Glastonbury A Legend of Ancient Britain There is a golden Christ-mas legend and it relates how Joseph of Arimathea -- that good man and just, who laid our Lord in his own sepulcher, was persecuted by Pontius Pilate, and how he fled from Jerusalem carrying with him the Holy Grail hidden beneath a cloth of samite, mystical and white. For many moons he wandered, leaning on his staff cut from a white thorn bush. He passed over raging seas and dreary wastes, he wandered through trackless forests, climbed rugged mountains, and forded many floods. At last he came to Gaul where the Apostle Philip was preaching the glad tidings to the heathen. And there Joseph abode for a little space. Now, upon a night while Joseph lay asleep in his hut, he was wakened by a radiant light. And as he gazed with wondering eyes he saw an angel standing by his couch, wrapped in a cloud of incense. "Joseph of Arimathea," said the angel, "cross thou over into Britain and preach the glad tidings to King Arvigarus. And there, where a Christ-mas miracle shall come to pass, do thou build the first Christian church in that land." And while Joseph lay perplexed and wondering in his heart what answer he should make, the angel vanished from his sight. Then Joseph left his hut and calling the Apostle Philip, gave him the angel's message. And, when morning dawned, Philip sent him on his way, accompanied by eleven chosen followers. To the water's side they went, and embarking in a little ship, they came unto the coasts of Britain. And they were met there by the heathen who carried them before Arvigarus their king. To him and to his people did Joseph of Arimathea preach the glad tidings; but the king's heart, though moved, was not convinced. Nevertheless he gave to Joseph and his followers Avalon, the happy isle, the isle of the blessed, and he bade them depart straightway and build there an altar to their God. And a wonderful gift was this same Avalon, sometimes called the Island of Apples, and also known to the people of the land as Ynis-witren, the Isle of Glassy Waters. Beautiful and peaceful was it. Deep it lay in the midst of a green valley, and the balmy breezes fanned its apple orchards, and scattered afar the sweet fragrance of rosy blossoms or ripened fruit. Soft grew the green grass beneath the feet. The smooth waves gently lapped the shore, and water lilies floated on the surface of the tide; while in the blue sky above sailed the fleecy clouds. And it was on the holy Christ-mas Eve that Joseph and his companions reached the Isle of Avalon. With them they carried the Holy Grail hidden beneath its cloth of snow white samite. Heavily they toiled up the steep ascent of the hill called Weary-All. And when they reached the top Joseph thrust his thorn staff into the ground. And, lo! a miracle! the thorn staff put forth roots, sprouted and budded, and burst into a mass of white and fragrant flowers! And on the spot where the thorn had bloomed, there Joseph built the first Christian church in Britain. And he made it "wattled all round" of osiers gathered from the water's edge. And in the chapel they placed the Holy Grail. And so, it is said, ever since at Glastonbury Abbey -- the name by which that Avalon is known today -- on Christ-mas Eve the white thorn buds and blooms.

A Christ-mas Thought Author Unknown Bobby was getting cold sitting out in his back yard in the snow. Bobby didn't wear boots; he didn't like them and anyway he didn't own any. The thin sneakers he wore had a few holes in them and they did a poor job of keeping out the cold. Bobby had been in his backyard for about an hour already. And, try as he might, he could not come up with an idea for his mother's Christ-mas gift. He shook his head as he thought, "This is useless, even if I do come up with an idea, I don't have any money to spend." Ever since his father had passed away three years ago, the family of five had struggled. It wasn't because his mother didn't care, or try, there just never seemed to be enough. She worked nights at the hospital, but the small wage that she was earning could only be stretched so far. What the family lacked in money and material things, they more than made up for in love and family unity. Bobby had two older and one younger sister, who ran the household in their mother's absence. All three of his sisters had already made beautiful gifts for their mother. Somehow it just wasn't fair. Here it was Christ-mas Eve already, and he had nothing. Wiping a tear from his eye, Bobby kicked the snow and started to walk down to the street where the shops and stores were. It wasn't easy being six without a father, especially when he needed a man to talk to. Bobby walked from shop to shop, looking into each decorated window. Everything seemed so beautiful and so out of reach. It was starting to get dark and Bobby reluctantly turned to walk home when suddenly his eyes caught the glimmer of the setting sun's rays reflecting off of something along the curb. He reached down and discovered a shiny dime. Never before has anyone felt so wealthy as Bobby felt at that moment. As he held his new found treasure, a warmth spread throughout his entire body and he walked into the first store he saw. His excitement quickly turned cold when salesperson after salesperson told him that he could not buy anything with only a dime. He saw a flower shop and went inside to wait in line. When the shop owner asked if he could help him, Bobby presented the dime and asked if he could buy one flower for his mother's Christ-mas gift. The shop owner looked at Bobby and his ten cent offering. Then he put his hand on Bobby's shoulder and said to him, "You just wait here and I'll see what I can do for you." Bobby waited, he looked at the beautiful flowers and even though he was a boy, he could see why mothers and girls liked flowers. The sound of the door closing as the last customer left, jolted Bobby back to reality. All alone in the shop, Bobby began to feel alone and afraid. Suddenly the shop owner came out and moved to the counter. There, before Bobby's eyes, lay twelve long stem, red roses, with leaves of green and tiny white flowers all tied together with a big silver bow. Bobby's heart sank as the owner picked them up and placed them gently into a long white box. "That will be ten cents young man," the shop owner said reaching out his hand for the dime. Slowly, Bobby moved his hand to give the man his dime. Could this be true? No one else would give him a thing for his dime! Sensing the boy's reluctance, the shop owner added, "I just happened to have some roses on sale for ten cents a dozen. Would you like them?" This time Bobby did not hesitate, and when the man placed the long box into his hands, he knew it was true. Walking out the door that the owner was holding for Bobby, he heard the shop keeper say, "Merry Christ-mas, son." As he returned inside, the shop keepers wife walked out. "Who were you talking to back there and where are the roses you were fixing?" Staring out the window, and blinking the tears from his own eyes, he replied, "A strange thing happened to me this morning. While I was setting up things to open the shop, I thought I heard a voice telling me to set aside a dozen of my best roses for a special gift. I wasn't sure at the time whether I had lost my mind or what, but I set them aside anyway. "Then just a few minutes ago a little boy came into the shop and wanted to buy a flower for his mother with one small dime. When I looked at him, I saw myself, many years ago. I too was a poor boy with nothing to buy my mother a Christ-mas gift. A bearded man, whom I never knew, stopped me on the street and told me that he wanted to give me ten dollars. When I saw that little boy tonight, I knew who that voice was, and I put together a dozen of my very best roses." The shop owner and his wife hugged each other tightly, and as they stepped out into the bitter cold air, they somehow didn't feel cold at all.

A Civil War Fir Tree Author Unknown Back during the Civil War, a mother lived with her two children in a small cottage in the Manassas area, and tried to survive such troubled times. The boy, Jacob, was eight years old, and the little girl, Melissa, was six, and they longed for their father, who had been away for over a year, fighting in the war. The family was very poor, for soldiers from both armies had taken their farm animals, and most of their other food too. They survived on the kindness of their neighbors, who weren't much better off themselves. It is often this way, that those with little to give are the most generous. Now, wars are hard on people, but they're hard on forests too. All the woods around Manassas had been badly hurt by cannon fire and musket fire, and soldiers cutting down trees for fires and fortifications. In the woods near Jacob and Melissa's house, a battle had destroyed many of the great trees, but a very young fir tree had been left standing, untouched, because he was so short that the cannonballs had flown quite over his head. He had been sad to see his elders die such rough deaths, but it is the fate of all trees to die someday, and many trees long to be useful first, being transformed with human help into houses or boats or fences. He dreamt of being cut down to be used as a mast for a fighting ship - what a fine destiny for a tree, he thought! He imagined the sails that would hang from him, and how, even in the worst storm, he would be dependable and never break, and all the sailors would praise him. But he was too little to be a mast, or even to cut for fortifications. And no one wanted him for firewood, since there were so many other trees already broken and ready on the forest floor. So he felt rather useless, and that the whole war might finish, and nothing exciting would happen to him. The weather grew colder, and the tall soldiers who passed the little tree looked hungrier and more tired, and his heart went out to them. But no one noticed him, until one day, a strange woman came to the forest, accompanied by a small boy and a smaller girl, who was bundled up and kept coughing harshly in the cold. "It's such a little one," said the boy, who was Jacob. "It's all that I can carry on my own, said the mother. And then, to the tree's utter delight, she took her ax and chopped him down. "What an adventure!" thought the tree. "Perhaps she makes boats, and will use me as - well, as a very small mast in a smallish kind of boat." Jacob and Melissa's mother dragged the tree back to her cottage, with the children following, and placed him upright in the corner inside. "What am I to be," wondered the tree. But when they took their old toys - for they had few decorations - and bits of ribbon, and began to decorate him, he realized that he had become a Christ-mas tree. Very few families had Christ-mas trees then, but the mother and father had come from Germany where Christ-mas trees were a tradition. Now, on the one hand, thought the little fir tree, there is no finer destiny for any tree than to become a Christ-mas tree, if it's the sort of tree who wants to be transformed into something useful. But on the other hand, he really had wanted to do something exciting and important, with lots of shouting and wind and waves. However, it appeared that he had little choice in the matter, so he drew himself up as tall as he could, straight as the mast on the finest sailing ship, and held out his branches for the toys, being careful not to drop a one. That night, which was Christ-mas eve, the mother explained to Jacob and Melissa that she had no money for presents, but they did have a good dinner from food that their neighbors had shared. Yet Melissa could hardly eat, and she lay down on the couch after dinner, gazing at the tree, still coughing. The mother would have summoned a doctor, but all the doctors had gone to help in the war months before. And in the candlelight, the mother said that even though there were no presents, she could give them stories. So she began telling stories - everyone she could think of - family stories, and stories from the Bible, fairy tales and even one ghost story, as Jacob listened and Melissa finally fell asleep. And the tree listened and remembered every word, because trees have the best memories of all the plants, far better than the ivy, who remembers only what it wants to, or the grass, which forgets everything. The next few days, the family kept the Christ-mas tree up in the main room of the cottage, but he didn't see Melissa much at all, for she was sick in her bed. The mother looked worried all the time, and he wanted to help her, but all he could do was to hold up the toys and stand straight as a mast. He felt his first needles drop, a kind of itchy feeling but not unpleasant, just part of being a Christ-mas tree. The next morning, Jacob and his mother removed the toys from the tree and took him out to the shed. "Don't cut it up yet," said Jacob. "It's such a little tree, it won't do very well for firewood anyway." And the mother agreed, although the family had very little wood left, and she didn't have a lot of time to go chop more. Every minute she was at Melissa's side, for the child had developed a fever and chills. The little fir tree looked around the shed, where he was laying on his side, and met the gaze of a family of mice. "You don't look very good to eat," said the youngest mouse. Even the mice had a hard time during the war, with the grain taken away from the houses. "I don't think I'm the least good to eat," agreed the tree, who had never heard of a tree whose destiny was to be eaten by mice. "But I might be rather useful as a house, and my needles - which are falling all over the floor, I see - will make a warm bed for your whole family." The mice thought that a capital idea, and the family moved into the very heart of the tree. That night, in the silence broken only by a shutter banging in the wind, the youngest mouse couldn't sleep, he was that hungry. "I can't give you food," the little tree told him, "but I know the best stories anyone ever heard." And so the tree told him all the stories he had heard the mother tell Jacob and Melissa, until the mouse fell asleep on the trees needles, and snored a tiny mouse snore. And the tree fell asleep too, because he was drying out, which made him very drowsy. Two days later, all the wood in the shed had been used up. "They'll burn you next," said the father mouse, warningly. "Do you think so," said the tree, who was half asleep all the time now. "How exciting! I'll do my best to make a great fire, if only I can stay awake." And soon, the mother came in, with an ax, and cut the tree up into pieces. She built a great fire, and brought Melissa near to it. "If only the fever will break," she said, and the little fir tree, who was not sure if he was dreaming or awake - plus there were so many pieces of him now - burned as hot as he could, and as long as he could, all through the night, keeping the child warm. The next day, Melissa's fever was gone, and even the cough was better. In the fireplace, nothing was left - not even a morsel - of the little fir tree. He had burned himself into ashes, until he was just a dream of a Christ-mas tree, and a memory and story for the children to tell on future Christ-mas eves.

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Floral background by LuminEssence