He Became Man And Dwelt Among Us by Louis Cassells Once upon a time, there was a man who looked upon Christ-mas as a lot of humbug. He wasn't a scrooge. He was a kind and decent person, generous to his family, upright in all his dealings with other men. But he didn't believe all that stuff about incarnation which churches proclaim at Christ-mas. And he was too honest to declare that he did. "I am truly sorry to distress you," he told his wife, who was a faithful churchgoer. "But I simply cannot understand this claim that God became man. It doesn't make any sense to me." On Christ-mas Eve, his wife and children went to church for the midnight service. He declined to accompany them. "I'd feel like a hypocrite," he explained. "I'd much rather stay at home. But I'll wait up for you." Shortly after his family drove away in the car, snow began to fall. He went to the window and watched the flurries getting heavier and heavier. "If we must have Christ-mas," he thought, "It's nice to have a white one." He went back to his chair by the fireside and began to read his newspaper. A few minutes later, he was startled by a thudding sound, It was quickly followed by another, then another. He thought that someone must be throwing snowballs at his living room window. When he went to the front door to investigate, he found a flock of birds huddled miserably in the snow. They'd had been caught in the storm, and in a desperate search for shelter had tried to fly through his window. "I can't let these poor creatures lie there and freeze," he thought. "But how can I help them?" Then he remembered the barn where the children's pony was stabled. It would provide a warm shelter. He put on his coat and galoshes and tramped through the deepening snow to the barn. He opened the doors wide and turned on a light. But the birds didn't come in. "Food will bring them in," he thought. So he hurried back to the house for bread crumbs, which he sprinkled on the snow to make a trail into the barn. To his dismay, the birds ignored the bread crumbs and continued to flop around helplessly in the snow. He tried shoeing them in the barn by walking around and waving his arms. They scattered in every direction except into the warm, lighted barn. "They find me a strange and terrifying creature," he said to himself. "And I can't seem to think of any way to let them know they can trust me. If only I could be a bird myself for a few minutes, perhaps I could lead them to safety..." Just at that moment, the church bells began to ring. He stood silently for a while, listening to the bells pealing the glad tidings of Christ-mas. Then he sank to his knees in the snow. "Now I do understand," he whispered. "Now I see why you had to do it.

Legend of the Candy Cane A Candy maker in Indiana wanted to make a candy that would be a witness, so he made the Christ-mas Candy Cane. He incorporated several symbols for the birth, ministry, and death of Jesus Christ. He began with a stick of pure white, hard candy. White to symbolize the Virgin Birth and the sinless nature of Jesus, and hard to symbolize the Solid Rock, the foundation of the Church, and firmness of the promises of God. The candy maker made the candy in the form of a "J" to represent the precious name of Jesus, who came to earth as our Savior. It could also represent the staff of the "Good Shepherd" with which he reaches down into the ditches of the world to life out the fallen lambs who, like all sheep, have gone astray. Thinking that the candy was somewhat plain, the candy maker stained it with red stripes. He used three small stripes to show the stripes of the scourging Jesus received by which we are healed. The large red stripe was for the blood shed by Christ on the cross so that we could have the promise of eternal life. Unfortunately, the candy became known as a Candy Cane - a meaningless decoration seen at Christ-mas time. But the meaning is still there for those who "have eyes to see and ears to hear". I pray that this symbol will again be used to witness To The Wonder of Jesus and His Great Love that came down at Christ-mas and remains the ultimate and dominant force in the universe today.

A Lesson From My Daughter Author Unknown We often learn lessons from our children. Some time ago, a friend of mine punished his 3 year old daughter for wasting a roll of gold wrapping paper. Money was tight, and he became infuriated when the child tried to decorate a box to put under the tree. Nevertheless the little girl brought the gift to her father the next morning and said, " This is for you daddy," He was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared again when he found that the box was empty. He yelled at her, "Don't you know that when you give someone a present, there's supposed to be something inside of it?" The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes, "Oh, Daddy, It's not empty, I blew kisses into the box. All for you, Daddy." The father was so crushed. He put his arms around his little girl, and begged for her forgiveness. My friend told me he kept that box by his bed for years. Whenever he was discouraged, he would take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there. In a very real sense, each of us as parents have been given a golden container filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children. There is no more precious possession anyone could hold...

A Letter to Mama as written and recorded by Lee Smith Dear Mama, I just wanted to write and tell you that I probably won't be with you this Christ-mas. I'll miss your precious smile and that pinch on the cheek. This is the first Christ-mas I've not been with you. It just won't be the same. You'd be proud of me, Mama, I've decorated the tree just like you taught me. That old faded Christ-mas goose we used each year when I was a boy, ...it's in the same spot, as always. I remember hanging it there 'cause I couldn't reach any higher. And then you'd pick me up to place the angel on top. I was so tall in your loving arms. The candles are lit, Mama, and there's a rose in the Christ-mas vase, just for you. But there aren't as many presents under the tree this year. It's cold outside here and I can just see you with that little knit hat and scarf and those little gloves you wore to church every Sunday. I'll miss the little toys you used to give me each year. They meant as much to me as a grown man as they did when I was a little boy. Those little miniature trucks and cars and, remember that year you gave me the Ronald McDonald watch. I still have every one of them. I'd give anything to have some of your homemade divinity or chocolate cake. ...You know, the one you baked just for me, 'cause that first piece was always mine. They're singing Christ-mas Carols on the radio, Mama. Remember how we always sang "Silent Night" after we opened all the presents on Christ-mas Eve? Remember that year in New England that all of us went out Christ-mas Caroling in the snow? It was so cold. Mama, it won't be the same this year, but I'll always cherish the memory of the love and strength that you taught and gave us all year long, but especially that you gave us at Christ-mas time. That memory is your gift to me this year, Mama, and my gift to you is that I'll share it with others. Now I can't help but be sad this Christ-mas, Mama, but I'm happy for you 'cause this will be your best Christ-mas ever ...in Heaven. I love you, Mama. Merry Christ-mas. Your son,

TheLittle Match Girl by Hans Christian Andersen Once upon a time . . . a little girl tried to make a living by selling matches in the street. It was New Year's Eve and the snow clad streets were deserted. From brightly lit windows came the tinkle of laughter and the sound of singing. People were getting ready to bring in the New Year. But the poor little match seller sat sadly beside the fountain. Her ragged dress and worn shawl did not keep out the cold and she tried to keep her bare feet from touching the frozen ground. She hadn't sold one box of matches all day and she was frightened to go home, for her father would certainly be angry. It wouldn't be much warmer anyway, in the draughty attic that was her home. The little girl's fingers were stiff with cold. If only she could light a match! But what would her father say at such a waste! Falteringly she took out a match and lit it. What a nice warm flame! The little match seller cupped her hand over it, and as she did so, she magically saw in its light a big brightly burning stove. She held out her hands to the heat, but just then the match went out and the vision faded. The night seemed blacker than before and it was getting colder. A shiver ran through the little girl's thin body. After hesitating for a long time, she struck another match on the wall, and this time, the glimmer turned the wall into a great sheet of crystal. Beyond that stood a fine table laden with food and lit by a candlestick. Holding out her arms towards the plates, the little match seller seemed to pass through the glass, but then the match went out and the magic faded. Poor thing: in just a few seconds she had caught a glimpse of everything that life had denied her: warmth and good things to eat. Her eyes filled with tears and she lifted her gaze to the lit windows, praying that she too might know a little of such happiness. She lit the third match and an even more wonderful thing happened. There stood a Christmas tree hung with hundreds of candles, glittering with tinsel and coloured balls. "Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed the little match seller, holding up the match. Then, the match burned her finger and flickered out. The light from the Christmas candles rose higher and higher, then one of the lights fell, leaving a trail behind it. "Someone is dying," murmured the little girl, as she remembered her beloved Granny who used to say: "When a star falls, a heart stops beating!" Scarcely aware of what she was doing, the little match seller lit another match. This time, she saw her grandmother. "Granny, stay with me!" she pleaded, as she lit one match after the other, so that her grandmother could not disappear like all the other visions. However, Granny did not vanish, but gazed smilingly at her. Then she opened her arms and the little girl hugged her crying: "Granny, take me away with you!" A cold day dawned and a pale sun shone on the fountain and the icy road. Close by lay the lifeless body of a little girl surrounded by spent matches. " Poor little thing!" exclaimed the passersby. "She was trying to keep warm!" But by that time, the little match seller was far away where there is neither cold, hunger nor pain.

Luke 2:1-52 In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be enrolled. This was the first enrollment, when Quirin'i-us was governor of Syria. And all went to be enrolled, each to his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the city of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be enrolled with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child. And while they were there, the time came for her to be delivered. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn. And in that region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with fear. And the angel said to them, "Be not afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of a great joy which will come to all the people; for to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a babe wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger." And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among men with whom he is pleased!" When the angels went away from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us." And they went with haste, and found Mary and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger. And when they saw it they made known the saying which had been told them concerning this child; and all who heard it wondered at what the shepherds told them. But Mary kept all these things, pondering them in her heart. And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them. And at the end of eight days, when he was circumcised, he was called Jesus, the name given by the angel before he was conceived in the womb. And when the time came for their purification according to the law of Moses, they brought him up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord (as it is written in the law of the Lord, "Every male that opens the womb shall be called holy to the Lord") and to offer a sacrifice according to what is said in the law of the Lord, "a pair of turtledoves, or two young pigeons." Now there was a man in Jerusalem, whose name was Simeon, and this man was righteous and devout, looking for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him. And it had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he should not see death before he had seen the Lord's Christ. And inspired by the Spirit he came into the temple; and when the parents brought in the child Jesus, to do for him according to the custom of the law, he took him up in his arms and blessed God and said, "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word; for mine eyes have seen thy salvation which thou hast prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to thy people Israel." And his father and his mother marveled at what was said about him; and Simeon blessed them and said to Mary his mother, "Behold, this child is set for the fall and rising of many in Israel, and for a sign that is spoken against (and a sword will pierce through your own soul also), that thoughts out of many hearts may be revealed." And there was a prophetess, Anna, the daughter of Phan'u-el, of the tribe of Asher; she was of a great age, having lived with her husband seven years from her virginity, and as a widow till she was eighty four. She did not depart from the temple, worshiping with fasting and prayer night and day. And coming up at that very hour she gave thanks to God, and spoke of him to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem. And when they had performed everything according to the law of the Lord, they returned into Galilee, to their own city, Nazareth. And the child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him. Now his parents went to Jerusalem every year at the feast of the Passover. And when he was twelve years old, they went up according to custom; and when the feast was ended, as they were returning, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem. His parents did not know it, but supposing him to be in the company they went a day's journey, and they sought him among their kinsfolk and acquaintances; and when they did not find him, they returned to Jerusalem, seeking him. After three days they found him in the temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions; and all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers. And when they saw him they were astonished; and his mother said to him, "Son, why have you treated us so? Behold, your father and I have been looking for you anxiously." And he said to them, "How is it that you sought me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house?" And they did not understand the saying which he spoke to them. And he went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was obedient to them; and his mother kept all these things in her heart. And Jesus increased in wisdom and in stature, and in favor with God and man.

Mary's Dream Author Unknown I had a dream, Joseph. I don't understand it, not really, but I think it was about a birthday celebration for our son. I think that was what it was all about. The people had been preparing for it for about six weeks. They had decorated the house and bought new clothes. They'd gone shopping many times and bought elaborate gifts. It was peculiar, though, because the presents weren't for our Son. They wrapped them in beautiful paper and tied them with lovely bows and stacked them under a tree -- yes, a tree, Joseph, right in their house! They'd decorated the tree also. The branches were full of glowing balls and sparkling ornaments. There was a figure on the top of the tree. It looked like an angel might look. Oh, it was beautiful. Everyone was laughing and happy. They were all excited about the gifts. They gave the gifts to each other, Joseph, not to our son... I don't think they even knew him, they never mentioned His name. Doesn't it seem odd for people to go to all that trouble to celebrate someone's birthday if they don't know him? I had the strangest feeling that if our son had gone to this celebration he would have been intruding. Everything was so beautiful, Joseph, and everyone so full of cheer, but it made me want to cry. How sad for Jesus not to be wanted at his own birthday celebration. I'm glad it was only a dream. How terrible, Joseph, if it had been real.

Matthew 2:1-23 Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, saying, "Where is he who has been born king of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the East, and have come to worship him." When Herod the king heard this, he was troubled, and all Jerusalem with him; and assembling all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Christ was to be born. They told him, "In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it is written by the prophet: 'And you, O Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who will govern my people Israel.'" Then Herod summoned the wise men secretly and ascertained from them what time the star appeared; and he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, "Go and search diligently for the child, and when you have found him bring me word, that I too may come and worship him." When they had heard the king they went their way; and lo, the star which they had seen in the East went before them, till it came to rest over the place where the child was. When they saw the star, they rejoiced exceedingly with great joy; and going into the house they saw the child with Mary his mother, and they fell down and worshiped him. Then, opening their treasures, they offered him gifts, gold and frankincense and myrrh. And being warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they departed to their own country by another way. Now when they had departed, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, "Rise, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there till I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him." And he rose and took the child and his mother by night, and departed to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfil what the Lord had spoken by the prophet, "Out of Egypt have I called my son." Then Herod, when he saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, was in a furious rage, and he sent and killed all the male children in Bethlehem and in all that region who were two years old or under, according to the time which he had ascertained from the wise men. Then was fulfilled what was spoken by the prophet Jeremiah: "A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they were no more." But when Herod died, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt, saying, "Rise, take the child and his mother, and go to the land of Israel, for those who sought the child's life are dead." And he rose and took the child and his mother, and went to the land of Israel. But when he heard that Archelaus reigned over Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go there, and being warned in a dream he withdrew to the district of Galilee. And he went and dwelt in a city called Nazareth, that what was spoken by the prophets might be fulfilled, "He shall be called a Nazarene."

Merry Christ-mas, Mrs. Moring by Henry Hurt Danny Moring had settled down to watch the eleven o'clock news in the den of his quiet home in Charleston, S.C. His children were tucked in bed. His wife, Allyson, who had complained of a bad case of the flu, was asleep at the other end of the house. Her illness was so severe fever, chills, cramps, vomiting that she had isolated herself so she would not pass along the bug to the rest of the family. Suddenly Danny heard an odd scuffling noise in the kitchen. He went to look. There lay Allyson, curled on the floor in a fetal position. She had pulled herself all the way from their bedroom and now reached toward him, her face distorted in pain. "Danny, help me. I'm dying," she gasped, her teeth chattering. "I really am." Her husband was stunned. Allyson, 36, had enjoyed wonderful health, excepting recent surgery for a ruptured spinal disc. Only the day before, she, Danny and their children Elizabeth, nine, and Robert, one had returned home from a Thanksgiving weekend camping trip. Danny looked down at Allyson; the skin on her fingers and toes was turning purple. He carried her back to their bedroom and called 911. Then he stroked the wet, dark hair plastered to her face and hugged her icy body to him. "I've never hurt like this," Allyson whimpered. "It's like pins sticking me all over." Minutes later, when the emergency crew arrived, Allyson's blood pressure was undetectable. She was placed on a gurney and carried from the house. Standing in the doorway as the ambulance sped off into the night, Danny felt weak. Of all people, how could this be happening to Allyson? Danny phoned his father to come stay with the children, who were sound asleep. In his mind he could see them, snuggled in bed, innocent to the fact that the very heart of their lives had been plucked out and taken away. Lit by a Smile. "Stick your tongues way out," Allyson Moring had said to her teen aged students at choral practice a few days before she fell ill. "Let's do our warm ups." Then, Mrs. Moring, as her pupils called her, exuberantly jutted her own tongue out and led the vocalizing. Awful guttural noises, mixed with nervous giggles, resounded through the music room. "Now we're ready!" Mrs. Moring said, convinced that nasal cavities were opened, voice ranges extended and, perhaps most important, egos leveled by laughter. Her gaze swept the 50 youthful faces, and she hooked her arms into the air. She gave a crisp flick of her hands, and young voices rose in sweet unison. With her high spirits and smiling slate blue eyes, Mrs. Moring had won over the hearts of her charges at Bishop England High School. They loved to watch her drive into the parking lot, her head bobbing energetically as she filled the car with her own rendition of "I Could Have Danced All Night." Even at her most intense moments of conducting, her face was lit by a half smile. Since her earliest days, Allyson, oldest of five girls in a family of six children, had loved music. From the age of five, she had taken piano lessons and later voice lessons. As a teacher, she believed that music could change lives for the better that it could foster emotional development and enhance all the good aspects of life, the serious as well as the frivolous. She believed, too, that it could soothe those parts of life that are most difficult. In every sense, Allyson Moring was an apostle for the power of music. For the 1994 Christ-mas concert Mrs. Moring's group was attempting one of music's most difficult choral pieces, the "Hallelujah" chorus from Handel's Messiah. A challenge even for adults, the selection would be the centerpiece of the concert if the students could get it right. The very first note had to explode from 50 throats in perfect harmony. Then the parts had to follow one another in a cascade of sound, new voices breaking in upon old with exquisite precision. For 16 long weeks, the boys and girls had practiced after school, perfecting simpler selections and struggling with Handel's masterpiece. During Mrs. Moring's absence for back surgery, Katherine Allen, 17, a senior who had taken a course in directing music, filled in. But Katherine, slight of build with long blond hair, had found it hard to manage the large group. Believing she had failed as a conductor, she vowed she would stick to singing and leave directing to others. Allyson Moring returned to choir practice, the success of her surgery marred only by a staph infection, for which she was given antibiotics. She finished the medication on Thanksgiving Saturday. Within hours, she had taken to bed with what she believed to be flu. Last Rites. When Danny Moring reached the hospital, the news was brutally bad. Medicine's oldest enemy, massive systemic infection, also known as sepsis had laid siege to his wife's body. She had gone into septic shock, in which bacteria overwhelm the body's systems, blood vessels begin to leak, and vital organs start shutting down. A doctor took Danny aside and suggested he gather the family. There was little chance that Allyson would survive the night. Gripped by this grim diagnosis, Danny rushed home. There, he sat on the edge of Elizabeth's bed, kissed her lightly on the forehead and nudged the little girl from her sleep. "Where's Mom?" Elizabeth asked. Her eyes were beseeching now, confused, and Danny caught the color in them the precise slate blue of Allyson's. "Mom went to the hospital," Danny said, tears welling in his eyes. "Is Mommy going to die?" she said, her voice wavering. "Lizzie," he said, "she could die, but we're going to ask God to be with us and we're going to pray and pray like we've never prayed before." Elizabeth burst into tears as the two of them hugged each other. They prayed together, Elizabeth's small voice begging God to make her mother well. Then Danny tucked her in. With the light now off, Elizabeth cried in her pillow until sleep brought her peace. Back at the hospital, among the doctors watching over Allyson was her father, pediatrician Allen Harrell. As her mother and sisters stood around her bed, Danny and Dr. Harrell each took one of Allyson's hands. The Morings' parish priest, Father Timothy Watters, stood by. Allyson Moring's eyes opened for a moment. She looked around at her family and at Father Watters. Her father gently said to her, "Allyson, honey, you're very sick. It would give us all strength if Father Watters gave you the last rites." He rubbed her icy hand. "Am I going to die?" Allyson asked. "Honey," her father said, gently squeezing her hand, "this is to give us the strength we need to go forward." Tears welled in Allyson's eyes, and she closed them. Then the priest touched his fingers to the palms of Allyson's hands and to her forehead, anointing her with oil. Katherine Allen made her way through the bustling corridor as classes changed at Bishop England High School. Suddenly she was face to face with Jessica Boulware, a junior from the choral group. Katherine could tell from Jessica's expression that something was terribly wrong. "It's not true," said Katherine after hearing the news. "There's no way Mrs. Moring could be that sick." "I'm serious," said Jessica. "She's been given the last rites." Speechless, the girls stared at each other, feeling empty and alone. Would Mrs. Moring really die? What would happen to the Christ-mas concert? The next afternoon, the choral group met to talk about Mrs. Moring. The latest medical reports were dire. It would be almost impossible to stage the Christ-mas concert, only ten days away. But, more important, what could they do now for Mrs. Moring? Jessica Boulware had an idea. Joyful Voices. Allyson Moring's infection raged on. At first, in her delirium, she had mumbled about the Christ-mas concert, telling Danny it had to go on. Then she became totally unresponsive, and was kept alive only by a respirator. Her body swelled so horribly with toxic fluids that her eyes disappeared into bloated flesh. Danny was standing vigil at her bedside when two of Allyson's colleagues from Bishop England, Barbara and John McPherson, came to the intensive care unit and handed Danny an audio cassette. "From Allyson's students," Barbara said. Danny inserted the tape into a small player and turned it on. In a sudden burst, the joyful voices of girls and boys singing Christ-mas carols filled the cubicle. Staring into Allyson's face, Danny prayed that she could hear these voices that he knew she loved. Then his own heart jumped as he picked up the high, sweet refrain of one of her favorite songs: "Do you hear what I hear? Do you hear what I hear?" As Danny prayed for God to let Allyson hear, the singers suddenly began the "Hallelujah" chorus. What happened next astounded him. Allyson's eyelids twitched, and he felt a firm squeeze from her hand. Staring into Allyson's face, he thought he saw a tiny half smile, as thrilling as any smile he had ever seen. Danny Moring wept with relief and knew that he would play the tape over and over. Then someone touched him on the shoulder. It was Allyson's father. "Danny," Dr. Harrell said gently, "I cannot let you get your hopes up. Allyson can't survive without a miracle." But there was no miracle. Pneumonia set in a few days later, and the illness grew worse. "The tape made Mrs. Moring smile!" whooped a girl when Katherine came into the music room the next day. That spark of hope ignited the students. "There's no way we can not have the concert," said Jessica. But who would conduct? All eyes were on Katherine Allen. "Never," said Katherine. "I'm not capable of it." But efforts to find a substitute director failed. One night, Katherine and her mother talked until 1 a.m. Over and over, Katherine insisted, "I'm just not a conductor." But she couldn't stop thinking about Mrs. Moring. She remembered the powerful inspiration the teacher brought to their choral group and the immense satisfaction they felt when she pushed them to their performing limits. The next morning, Katherine announced to her parents, "I've decided to do it." Practice resumed. As a perfectionist, Katherine wrestled with the pitch, the pacing, the soloists. But the greatest challenge was keeping the singers together for the "Hallelujah" chorus. "I can't get the altos to hold their parts," Katherine told her parents in frustration. "I just don't see how it can all work." Her sleep was ravaged by nightmares of her own failure, something as a top student she had rarely experienced. The rehearsals were also clouded by bad news from the hospital. At each grim report, someone would break down crying. Katherine was filled with fear. "This is for Mrs. Morning. "On December 8, Charleston's magnificent Grace Episcopal Church opened its doors for the Bishop England Christ-mas concert. Word had spread about the students who were determined to fulfill their teacher's dream. More than 500 people packed the seats and spilled into the foyer. In another part of the church, Katherine and the chorus went over the difficult parts one last time. Finally, Katherine called for silence. "We are going to pray together for Mrs. Moring," she said. "And then we're going to go out there and make her proud." As she led the group in the Lord's Prayer, Katherine heard sobs. She struggled for composure herself. Then she addressed them for the last time. "We cannot be emotional," she insisted. "It'll ruin the concert. Keep saying 'This is for Mrs. Moring, this is for Mrs. Moring.' It must be the best we've ever done." In the darkened sanctuary of the Gothic church, the chorus, holding candles and singing "O Holy Night," made its way down the aisles. When the singers reached the front, the lights came up. Katherine could see Mrs. Moring's family in the front rows, their faces shining with the same hope the singers felt. Steadying herself, she looked out over the crowd and informed them that their director was deathly ill. "We dedicate this concert to Mrs. Moring in the hope that she will get well," she said. Then Katherine turned and, with great flair, began the performance. As the voices intoned the familiar Christ-mas hymns, her confidence rose. But one thought continued to nag her: Can I keep them together for the finale? When the powerful opening to the "Hallelujah" chorus burst from the organ, Katherine took a deep breath and raised her arms. There was an excruciating pause. Then she flung her arms wide and heard the voices explode, every note in place, warm and confident. Mrs. Moring's students were summoning sounds so pure that Handel's long crescendo of "hallelujahs" seemed to soar to the rafters, touching ears and hearts with the sound of heaven itself. When silence finally fell, the listeners rose and broke into applause, some weeping and others crowding forward to embrace the singers. Exhausted, Katherine felt a hug at her waist. It was the Morings' daughter, Elizabeth, embracing her as tightly as she could. Looking into the child's slate blue eyes, Katherine was overcome with joy. That same night, less than a mile from the church, Danny Moring sat holding his wife's hand, the tape made by her students still playing. Allyson's condition remained hopeless. Danny didn't even know whether the news of the successful Christ-mas concert had penetrated her unconsciousness. But slowly, remarkably, over the next few days, her systems began to stabilize. Lungs and kidneys started functioning. Allyson began to recover. Faith in God's Power. On Christ-mas morning, just 17 days after the concert, Allyson sat quietly in her own living room. Baby Robert squirmed in her lap as Danny and Elizabeth fetched presents from beneath the tree. Allyson was bone thin and exhausted, but her face wore a radiant smile. Why she got well, or even when the precise turning point came, is not important to Allyson Moring. The key fact is that her long, tortured slumber was filled with music. "What I remember is music, music, music the beautiful music and voices that I love." Soon after Mrs. Moring got home, Katherine Allen and Jessica Boulware and several others from the choral group tapped gingerly on her door, bearing gifts and flowers. There was an explosion of emotion as the girls and Mrs. Moring hugged one another. She told the girls what she had told so many that the entire experience has certified her faith in God's power through music and prayer and the wonderful capacity of young people. If the most precious of God's gifts is life, the Morings have realized a blessing every bit as special to them as Allyson's recovery a baby boy born to them in October 1995, named Jonathon Tucker. Merry Christ-mas, Mrs. Moring.

The Miracle A Story Of Love The violent grinding of brakes suddenly applied, and the harsh creaking of skidding wheels gradually died away as the big car came to a stop. Eddie quickly picked himself up from the dusty pavement where he had been thrown, and looked around wildly. Agnes! Where was his little sister he had been holding by the hand when they had started to cross the street? The next moment he saw her under the big car that had run them down, her eyes closed, a dark stain slowly spreading on her white face. With one bound the boy was under the car, trying to lift the child. "You'd better not try, son," said a man gently. "Someone has gone to telephone for an ambulance." "She's not...dead, is she, Mister?" Eddie begged in a husky voice. The man stooped and felt the limp little pulse. "No, my boy," he said slowly. A policeman came up, dispersed the collecting crowd, and carried the unconscious girl into a nearby drug store. Eddie's folded coat made a pillow for her head until the ambulance arrived. He was permitted to ride in the conveyance with her to the hospital. Something about the sturdy, shabbily dressed boy, who could not be more than ten years old, and his devotion to his little sister, strangely touched the hearts of the hardened hospital apprentices. "We must operate at once," said the surgeon after a brief preliminary examination. "She has been injured internally, and has lost a great deal of blood." He turned to Eddie who, inarticulate with grief, stood dumbly by. "Where do you live?" Eddie told him that their father was dead, and that his mother did day work he did not know where. "We can't wait to find her," said the surgeon, "Because by that time it might be too late." Eddie waited in the sitting room while the surgeons worked over Agnes. After what seemed an eternity a nurse sought him out. "Eddie," she said kindly, "Your sister is very bad, and the doctor wants to make a transfusion. Do you know what that is?" Eddie shook his head. "She has lost so much blood she cannot live unless someone gives her his. Will you do it for her?" Eddie's wan face grew paler, and he gripped the knobs of the chair so hard that his knuckles became white. For a moment he hesitated; then gulping back his tears, he nodded his head and stood up. "That's a good lad," said the nurse. She patted his head, and led the way to the elevator which whisked them to the operating room a very clean but evil smelling room, with pale green walls and innumerable shiny instruments in glass cases. No one spoke to Eddie except the nurse who directed him in a low voice how to prepare for the ordeal. The boy bit his quivering lip and silently obeyed. "Are you ready?" asked a man swathed in white from head to foot, turning from the table over which he had been bending. For the first time Eddie noticed who it was lying there so still. Little Agnes! And he was going to make her well. He stepped forward quickly. Two hours later the surgeon looked up with a smile into the faces of the young interns and nurses who were engrossed in watching the great man's work. "Fine," he said, "I think she'll pull through." After the transfusion Eddie had been told to lie quietly on a cot in the corner of the room. In the excitement of the delicate operation he had been entirely forgotten. "It was wonderful, Doctor!" exclaimed one of the young interns. "A miracle!" Nothing, he felt in his enthusiastic recognition of the marvels of surgery, could be greater than the miracles of science. "I am .well satisfied," said the surgeon with conscious pride. There was a tug at the sleeve, but he did not notice. In a little while there was another tug, this time more peremptory--and the great surgeon glanced down to see a ragged, pale faced boy looking steadily up into his face. "Say, Doctor," said a husky voice, "When do I die?" The interns laughed and the great surgeon smiled. "Why, what do you mean, my boy?" he asked kindly. "I thought...when they took a guy's blood...he died," muttered Eddie. The smiles faded from the lips of doctors and nurses, and the young intern who had thought there was nothing greater than the miracle of science, caught his breath suddenly. Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life! This ragged lad had climbed to the very height of nobility and sacrifice, and showed them a glimpse of the greatest miracle of all a selfless love! But Eddie must never know this. The lesson was too poignantly beautiful to be wasted. The great surgeon motioned the others for silence. "I think after all you will get well, Eddie," he said gruffly. "You and little Agnes."

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