CHRISTMAS DAY 15 - YES, VIRGINIA, THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS

This weekend was all about getting ready for Christmas, and with the help of some fabulous friends the tree is up, the house is decorated, and a new and very special Christmas Song plays at my house constantly.

   Along with taking my Christmas Photo with the puppies, I wrote my own Letter to Santa this year (I’ll post them both tomorrow). And as I was writing to Santa, I remembered this darling 117-year-old letter from a sweet young girl.

   I do believe in Santa Claus. Every time I see someone doing something nice for someone, I know that he is real – because he exists in each one of us.

YES, VIRGINIA, THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS

By Francis P. Church, editorial from the “New York Sun”, Sept. 21, 1897

Dear Editor:

          I am 8 years old.

          Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.

          Papa says, “If you see it in ‘The Sun’ it’s so.”

          Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

                             Virginia O’Hanlon

                             115 West 95th Street

                             New York City

   Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.  He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy.  Alas!  How dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus!  It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias.

   There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence.  We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight.  The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.  Not believe in Santa Claus!  You might as well not believe in fairies!  You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove?  Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus.  The most real things in the world are those that no children or men can see.  Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn?  Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there.  Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen or unseeable in the world……

   No Santa Claus!  Thank God he lives, and he lives forever.  A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

CHRISTMAS DAY 14 - IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE

IT'S A WONDEFUL LIFE

by Gena Roe

Today I watched my favorite movie of all time: “It’s a Wonderful Life”. It shows the life, starting with childhood, of an ordinary man just living his life the best he can. He’s a good man, with a good family, and good friends – and then he falls on hard times. He becomes despondent, and in a moment of weakness considers taking his own life – and at that very moment he is given an incredible gift: he gets to see how the world would be if he had never lived. Through this he can see the amazing influence his life has had and the blessing he has been in the lives of those around him – simply by being a good man and living a good life.

   At the beginning of the movie it starts out with the prayers of family and friends of George Bailey, praying to God on George’s behalf. I know that feeling, that feeling of utter despair. I too have doubted whether life was worth living and I too have doubted my contributions to this world. And too I have felt the prayers of family and friends on my behalf – especially this past year. And just as these prayers for George were answered, so were the prayers for me answered also. Not that I’m anything close to a George Bailey, but I’m a good person living a good life – and I am blessed with amazing family and friends that surround me, care about me, and watch over me – and pray for me.

   What a tremendous gift it would be to see the influence we each have in this world, in the lives of those around us. And although we aren’t going to have our own “Clarence” appear to show us our impact, it is a gift we can GIVE this time of year. One of the greatest gifts we can give is the Gift of Gratitude. We can express to those we love the amazing impact that they have had on our lives – and what a great gift that would be, to both them and to ourselves.

   Because the truth of the matter is that it IS a Wonderful Life. We don’t need a Clarence to show us. We are blessed to all be in this big beautiful world together, all at this precise moment – so that we can enhance and enrich each other’s lives. And we do! I know that my life is so richly blessed by the amazing people that impact my life every single day. And I hope, even if only from reading my blog, that I am somehow making a moment of your life better too.

The Opening Scene from "It's a Wonderful Life"

(This is just the first 2-minutes of the film)

CHRISTMAS DAY 13 - THE EMPTY BOX

THE EMPTY BOX -- author unknown

Even though it was only September, the air was crisp and the children were already whispering about Christmas plans and Santa Claus. It made the already long months until Christmas seem even longer. With each passing day the children became more anxious, waiting for the final school bell. Upon its ringing everyone would run for coats, gloves and the classroom door, racing to see who would be the first one home: everyone except David.

   David was a small boy with messy brown hair and tattered clothes. I had often wondered what kind of home life David had and often asked myself what kind of mother could send her son to school dressed so inappropriately for the cold winter months without coat, boots, or gloves. But something made David special. It wasn’t his intelligence or manners for they were as lacking as his winter clothes, but I can never recall looking at David and not seeing a smile. He was always willing to help and not a day passed that David didn’t stay after school to straighten chairs and clean erasers. We never talked much, he would just simply smile and ask what else he could do, then thank me for letting him stay and slowly head for home.

   Weeks passed and the excitement over the coming Christmas grew into restlessness until the last day of school before the holiday break. I can’t recall a more anxious group of children as that final bell rang and they scattered out the door. I smiled in relief as the last of them hurried out. Turning around I saw David quietly standing by me desk. “Aren’t you anxious to get home, David?” I asked. “No,” he quietly replied. Ready to go home myself I said, “Well, I think the chairs and erasers will wait, why don’t you hurry home.” “I have something for you,” he said and pulled from behind his back a small box wrapped in old paper and tied with string. Handing it to me he said anxiously, “Open it!” I took the box from him, thanked him and slowly unwrapped it. I lifted the lid and to my surprise saw nothing. I looked at David’s smiling face and back into the empty box and said, “The box is nice, but David, it’s empty.” “Oh, no it isn’t,” said David, “it’s full of love. My mom told me before she died that love was something you couldn’t see or touch unless you know it’s there….can you see it?” Tears filled my eyes as I looked at the proud dirty face I had rarely given attention to. “Yes, David, I can see it,” I replied. “Thank you.”

CHRISTMAS DAY 12 - THE PERFECT CHRISTMAS TREE

One of my favorite things when I was a kid was going to get our Christmas Tree. We always went to Louie Skylar’s lot, and his boys were always there working with him. Louie was a very rough-around-the-edges sort of guy – and one with the biggest heart ever. My parents were fiercely loyal to only buy a tree from Louie – and in return, Louie always found the perfect tree for us.

   My mom LOVED flocked Christmas Trees. Maybe because we were in Oakland, California, and it was the closest to her Preston Idaho Winters she could possibly get. After walking up and down the aisles to check out all of the trees, Louie and Dad would select the best tree they could find – and Mom would always say “It’s Perfect!”  Louie would have one of the guys take it into a big tented area and blast the tree with the gooey white stuff that dried into flocking. Then they would tie that big, enormous, messy, flocked tree into the trunk of Dad’s Buick and we’d take it home.

   Our Christmas Tree might not have been “technically” perfect, but they were always perfect for us. And if I could, I would still be going to Louie’s Tree Lot – he’s in his 90’s now, but I’ll bet he still has a candy cane in his pocket just for me.

WHY CHRISTMAS TREES ARE NOT PERFECT

Author Unknown

They say that if you creep into an evergreen forest late at night you can hear the trees talking.  In the whisper of the wind you’ll catch the older pines explaining to the younger ones why they’ll never be perfectly shaped.

   There will always be a bent branch here, a gap there….

   Long, long ago evergreens were perfect, with each taking pride in branches sloping evenly from crown to skirt.

   This was particularly true in a small kingdom deep in Europe beyond the Carpathian Mountains.

   On the first Saturday of Advent the Queen’s woodsmen would search the royal evergreen forest for the most perfect tree.  It would then reign in honor in the great castle hall, shimmering with silver balls and gold angels that sparkle in the light of thousands of candles.  While a huge Yule log crackled in the fire, the royal family and villagers would dance and sing around the tree in celebration.

   Out in the hushed forest every evergreen vied for this honor, each endeavoring to form its branches and needles to perfection.  All strained at the task, fully concentrating on their form and appearance.

   One cold night, when a bright white moon glittered on the crusty snow as if it were strewn with millions of diamonds, a small rabbit limped into a grove of evergreens, its sides heaving in panic.  Beyond the hill rose the yelping of village dogs in the thrill of the hunt.

   The rabbit, eyes wide with fright, frantically searched for cover but found nothing among the dark trunks extending upward into branches that were artfully lifted from the snow.

   Faster and faster the rabbit circled as the excited yelping sounded louder and louder.  The trees looked askance at this interruption of their evening (when growing was at its best).

   And then a small pine shuddered.  Of all the young trees, it had the promise of being the finest of the forest.  Everything about it from its deep sea-green color to the curl of its branches was perfect.

   But now…its lower branches began to dip, down, down, to the ground.  And in that instant before the dogs broke into the clearing, the rabbit found safely within the evergreen screen.  In the morning the rabbit found its burrow.  But the little pine could not quite lift its branches.  But no matter, perhaps a little irregularity in a tree so beautiful would not be noticed.

   Then a powerful blizzard lashed the land.  The villagers slammed shutters closed while the birds and animals huddled in nests and dens.  A small wren, blown astray desperately sought sanctuary in the evergreens.  But each she approached clenched its branches tight like a fist.

   Finally, in exhaustion, she fell into the little pine.  The pine’s heart opened and so did its branches, and the wren slept within them, warm and secure.  But the pine had difficulty rearranging its branches.  There would be a gap evermore.

   Weeks passed and winter deepened, bringing a gale as never before experienced in the mountains.  It caught a small fawn who had wandered from its mother.  Head down and blinded by snow, it inched into the evergreens seeking a windbreak.  But the trees held their branches open so the wind could whistle through them without dangerously bending or breaking their limbs.

   Again the little pine took pity and tightly closed its branches, forming an impenetrable wall behind which the fawn huddled out of the gale.  But alas, when the wind ceased, the small pine had been severely and permanently bent out of shape.

   A tear of pine gum oozed from a branch tip.  Now it could never hope for the honor it had longed for since a seedling.

   Lost in despair, the little pine did not see the good Queen come into the forest.  She had come to choose the finest tree herself.

   As her royal sleigh slowly passed through the forest, her practiced eye scanned the evergreens now preening themselves.  When she saw the little pine, a flush of anger filled her.  What right had a tree with such defects to be in the royal forest?  Reminding herself to have a woodsman dispose of it, she drove on, but then she stopped and glanced back at it.  As she gazed on it, she noticed the tracks of small animals that had found shelter under it and a downy feather within its branches where a bird had nested.  And as she studied the gaping hole in its side and its wind-whipped trunk, understanding filled her heart.

  “This one” she said.  Her attendants gasped.  And to the astonishment of the forest, the little pine was borne to the great hall.  And everyone who danced and sang around it said it was the finest Christmas tree ever.  For in looking at its gnarled and worn branches many saw the protecting arm of their father, others the comforting touch of their mother, and some, as did the Queen, saw the love of Christ expressed on earth.

   So, if you walk among the evergreens today, you will find, along with rabbits, birds and other happy living things, drooped branches providing cover, gaps offering nesting places, forms bent from wrestling winter winds.

   For as have many of us, the trees have learned that the scars suffered for the sake of others make one beautiful in the eyes of God.

CHRISTMAS DAY 11 - CHRIST'S HANDS by Gena Roe

Christ’s Hands by Gena Roe, December 12, 2014

This evening I had the wonderful opportunity of going to Temple Square to enjoy the Christmas lights. It’s truly spectacular on Temple Square and the adjoining plaza. We stopped to look at the life-size Nativity and listen to the narration and music. And it was the perfect evening to be out in the mildly cool air to really drink in the Christmas atmosphere.

   We turned and headed inside the North Visitor’s Center, and up the ramp to the Christus – the beautiful white marble statue of the Resurrected Jesus. And as I stood there at His feet, I remembered a very different time in that very room.

   My family moved to Utah my senior year in high school, and almost immediately my parents were called to be missionaries on Temple Square. For 7 years they served every week, and Temple Square became a central focus in their lives and in their hearts. Not long after they began their mission, Mom came home from Temple Square very upset – and it was obvious that she had been crying. Apparently someone had taken a hammer to the Christus Statue – and broke off the hands.

   Mom told me that they had closed off that section of the Visitor’s Center until the statue could be repaired, but that as a missionary she was able to go up and see it. She described the view she had seen: the statue standing there, surrounded by the beautiful heavens – but that at the ends of each arm were large cloths, draping to cover the damage. My mom was crushed to think that someone had done something to “her” statue.

   Dad shared that he had spoken with their Temple Square Mission President, who had assured them that the statue would be repaired immediately – and then added: “He has no hands but thine.”

   That has stayed with me for over 30 years now. Because I’ve always known the story of the Christus Hands, I looked closely at the wrists of the statue this evening, and could see the barely visible lines from the amazing repair job. And standing there tonight I could hear my dad’s voice: He has no hands but thine.

   And that really is what this Christmas season is for – to remember the tiny baby, the life He lived, His example for how we should live our lives. More than just one day out of the year for giving, hopefully we are finding ways throughout the year to give gifts to those we love – and to those we don’t even know. Because it is truly our duty to be His Hands, for He has no hands but ours.

His Hands 

CHRISTMAS DAY 10 - HOW THE GRINCH STOLE CHRISTMAS

How the Grinch Stole Christmas is a charming children’s Christmas book by Theodor "Dr. Seuss" Geisel. Long before Jim Carey and Ron Howard did their movie, there was the cartoon version (featuring the voice of Boris Karloff) that’s nearly as old as I am (it came out in 1966). But the book, the poem goes back even further.

   Dr. Seuss began work on How the Grinch Stole Christmas around the beginning of 1957. He had recently completed The Cat in the Hat (also 1957) and was in the midst of founding Beginner Books with Phyllis and Bennett Cerf and his wife, Helen Palmer Geisel. Helen, who had ongoing medical problems and had suffered a small stroke in April 1957, acted as an unofficial editor, as she had with previous Dr. Seuss books. Geisel wrote the book quickly and was mostly finished with it within a few weeks. According to some, "It was the easiest book of his career to write, except for its conclusion." Dr. Seuss himself said, "I got hung up getting the Grinch out of the mess. I got into a situation where I sounded like a second-rate preacher or some biblical truisim... Finally in desperation... without making any statement whatever, I showed the Grinch and the Whos together at the table, and made a pun of the Grinch carving the 'roast beast.' ... I had gone through thousands of religious choices, and then after three months it came out like that."

   The book debuted in December 1957, in both a book and magazine version. This fabulous author of children’s books never won the Caldecott Medal nor Newberry Medal – two of the highest honors for children’s literature. Nor did he and his wife ever have any children of their own. He dedicated the book “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” to Theodor "Teddy" Owens, the one-year-old son of his niece, Peggy Owens.

HOW THE GRINCH STOLE CHRISTMAS

by Dr. Seuss

Every Who down in Who-ville liked Christmas a lot…

But the Grinch, who lived just north of Who-ville, did NOT!

The Grinch hated Christmas!  The whole Christmas season!

Now, please don’t ask why.  No one quite knows the reason.

It could be his head wasn’t screwed on just right.

It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight.

But I think that the most likely reason of all

May have been that his heart was two sizes too small.

But,

Whatever the reason,

His heart or his shoes,

He stood there on Christmas Eve, hating the Whos,

Staring down from his cave with a sour, Grinchy frown

At the warm lighted windows below in their town.

For he knew every Who down in Who-ville beneath

Was busy now, hanging a mistletoe wreath.

“And they’re hanging their stockings!” he snarled with a sneer.

“Tomorrow is Christmas!  It’s practically here!”

Then he growled, with his Grinch fingers nervously drumming,

I MUST find some way to stop Christmas from coming!”

For, tomorrow, he knew….all the Who girls and boys

Would wake bright and early.  They’d rush for their toys!

And then!  Oh, the noise!  Oh, the Noise!  Noise!  Noise!  Noise!

That’s one thing he hated!  The NOISE!  NOISE!  NOISE!  NOISE!

Then the Whos, young and old, would sit down to a feast.

And they’d feast!  And they’d feast!

And they’d FEAST!  FEAST!  FEAST!  FEAST!

They would feast on Who-pudding, and rare Who-roast-beast

Which was something the Grinch couldn’t stand in the least!

And THEN they’d do something he liked least of all!

Every Who down in Who-ville, the tall and the small,

Would stand close together, with Christmas bells ringing.

They’d stand hand-in-hand.  And the Whos would start singing!

They’d sing!  And they’d sing!  AND they’d SING!  SING!  SING!  SING!

And the more the Grinch thought of this Who-Christmas-Sing,

The more the Grinch thought, “I must stop this whole thing!

“Why, for fifty-three years I’ve put up with it now!

“I MUST stop this Christmas from coming…but HOW?”

Then he got an idea!  An awful idea!

THE GRINCH GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

“I know just what to do!”  The Grinch laughed in his throat.

And he made a quick Santy Claus hat and a coat.

And he chuckled, and clucked, “What a great Grinchy trick!

“With this coat and this hat,  I look just like Saint Nick!”

“All I need is a reindeer……”

The Grinch looked around.

But, since reindeer are scarce, there was none to be found.

Did that stop the old Grinch..?

No!  The Grinch simply said,

“If I can’t find a reindeer, I’ll make one instead!”

So he called his dog, Max.  Then he took some red thread

And he tied a big horn on the top of his head.

THEN

He loaded some bags and some old empty sacks

On a ramshackle sleigh and he hitched up old Max.

Then the Grinch said, “Giddap!” and the sleigh started down

Toward the homes where the Whos lay a-snooze in their town.

All their windows were dark.  Quiet snow filled the air.

All the Whos were all dreaming sweet dreams without care

When he came to the first little house on the square.

“This is stop number one,” the old Grinchy Claus hissed

And he climbed to the roof, empty bags in his fist.

Then he slid down the chimney.  A rather tight pinch.

But, if Santa could do it, then so could the Grinch.

He got stuck only once, for a moment or two.

Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue

Where the little Who stockings all hung in a row.

“These stockings,” he grinned, “are the first things to go!

Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile most unpleasant,

Around the whole room, and he took every present!

Pop guns!  And bicycles!  Roller skates!  Drums!

Checkerboards!  Tricycles!  Popcorn!  And plums!

And he stuffed them in bags.  Then the Grinch, very nimbly,

Stiffed all the bags, one by one, up the chimbley!

Then he slunk to the ice box.  He took the Whos’ feast!

He took the Who-pudding!  He took the roast beast!

He cleaned out that icebox as quick as a flash.

Why, that Grinch even took their last can of Who-hash!

Then he stuffed all the food up the chimney with glee.

“And NOW!” grinned the Grinch, “I will stuff up the tree!”

And the Grinch grabbed the tree, and he started to shove

When he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove.

He turned around fast, and he saw a small Who!

Little Cindy-Lou Who, who was not more than two.

The Grinch had been caught by this tiny Who daughter

Who’d got out of bed for a cup of cold water.

She stared at the Grinch and said, “Santy Claus, why,

“Why are you taking our Christmas tree?  WHY?”

But, you know, that old Grinch was so smart and so slick

He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!

“Why, my sweet little tot,” the fake Santy Claus lied,

“There’s a light on this tree that won’t light on one side.

“So I’m taking it home to my workshop, my dear.

“I’ll fix it up there.  Then I’ll bring it back here.”

And his fib fooled the child.

Then he patted her head

And he got her a drink and he sent her to bed.

And when Cindy-Lou Who went to bed with her cup,

HE went to the chimney and stuffed the tree up!

Then the last thing he took was the log for their fire!

Then he went up the chimney, himself, the old liar.

On their walls he left nothing but hooks and some wire.

And the one speck of food that he left in the house

Was a crumb that was even too small for a mouse.

THEN

He did the same thing to the other Whos’ houses

Leaving crumbs much too small for the other Whos’ mouses!

It was quarter past dawn….

All the Who’s, still a-bed,

All the Who’s, still a-snooze when he packed up his sled,

Packed it up with their presents!  The ribbons!  The wrappings!

The tags!  And the tinsel!  The trimmings!  The trappings!

Three thousand feet up!  Up the side of Mt. Crumpit,

He rode with his load to the tiptop to dump it!

“Pooh-Pooh to the Whos!” he was grinch-ish-ly humming.

“They’re finding out now that no Christmas is coming!

“They’re just waking up!  I know just what they’ll do!

“Their mouths will hang open a minute or two

“Then the Whos down in Who-ville will all cry BOO-HOO!

 “That’s a noise,” grinned the Grinch, “that I simply MUST hear!”

So he paused.  And the Grinch put his hand to his ear.

And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.

It started in low.  Then it started to grow…

But the sound wasn’t sad!

Why, this sound sounded MERRY!

It couldn’t be so!

But it WAS merry!  Very!

He stared down at Who-ville!  The Grinch popped his eyes!

Then he shook!  What he saw was a shocking surprise!

Every Who down in Who-ville, the tall and the small,

Was singing!  Without any presents at all!

He HADN’T stopped Christmas from coming!

IT CAME!

Somehow or other, it came just the same!

And the Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,

Stood puzzling and puzzling:  “How could it be so?

“It came without ribbons!  It came without tags!

“It came without packages, boxes or bags!

And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.

Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before!

“Maybe Christmas,” he thought, “doesn’t come from a store.

“Maybe Christmas…..perhaps…..means a little bit more!”

And what happened then…..?

Well…….in Who-ville they say

That the Grinch’s small heart

Grew three sizes that day!

And the minute his heart didn’t feel quite so tight,

He whizzed with his load through the bright morning light

And he brought back the toys!  And the food for the feast!

And he….

…..HE HIMSELF……..!

The Grinch carved the roast beast!

CHRISTMAS DAY 9 - RUDOLPH: THE STORY BEHIND THE STORY

“You know Dasher and Dancer, Prancer and Vixen” – but do you know the story of how one of the most beloved stories was written: a simple Christmas story from a father to his daughter. From the bottom of his heart, and to teach a simple lesson – Rudolph has become as much a part of Christmas as candy canes and Christmas oranges. And so much more than the cute Christmas Special always shown on tv this time of year.

   Now that I know the story behind the story, I think I’ll enjoy Rudolph just a little bit more.

RUDOLPH—THAT AMAZING REINDEER

On a December night in Chicago several years ago, a little girl climbed onto her father’s lap and asked a question.  It was a simple question asked in a child’s curiosity, yet it had a heart-rending effect on Robert May.

   “Daddy,” four-year-old Barbara asked, “Why isn’t my mommy just like everybody else’s mommy?”

   Bob May stole a glance across his shabby two-room apartment.  On a couch lay his young wife, Evelyn, racked with cancer.  For two years she had been bed ridden; for two years all Bob’s income and smaller savings had gone to pay for treatments and medicines.

Bob May and Little Barbara, 1938

   The terrible ordeal had shattered two adult lives.  Now Bob suddenly realized the happiness of his growing daughter was also in jeopardy.  As he ran his fingers through Barbara’s hair, he prayed for some satisfactory answer to her question.

   Bob May knew only too well what it meant to be “different.”  As a child he had been weak and delicate.  With the innocent cruelty of children, his playmates had continually goaded the stunted, skinny lad to tears.  Later, at Dartmouth from which he was graduated in 1926, Bob May was so small that he was always being mistaken for someone’s little brother.

   Nor was his adult life much happier.  Unlike many of his classmates who floated from college into plush jobs, Bob became a lowly copywriter for Montgomery Ward, the big Chicago mail-order house.  Now at age 33, Bob was deep in debt, depressed, and sad.

   Although Bob didn’t know it at the time, the answer he gave the tousled haired child on his lap was to bring him to fame and fortune.  It was also to bring joy to countless thousands of children like his own Barbara.   On that December night in the shabby Chicago apartment, Bob cradled his little girl’s head against his shoulder and began to tell a story:

   "Once upon a time there was a reindeer named Rudolph, the only reindeer in the world that had a big red nose.  Naturally, people called him Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.”  As Bob went on to tell about Rudolph, he tried desperately to communicate to Barbara the knowledge that even though some creatures of God are strange and different they often enjoy the miraculous power to make others happy.

   “Rudolph,” Bob explained, “Was terribly embarrassed by his unique nose.  Other reindeer laughed at him; his mother, father, and sister were mortified, too.  Even Rudolph wallowed in self-pity.”

   “Why was I born with such a terrible nose?” he cried.

   “Well,” continued Bob, “One Christmas Eve Santa Claus got his team of husky reindeer—Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, and Vixon—ready for their yearly trip around the world.  The entire reindeer community assembled to cheer these great heroes on their way.  But a terrible fog engulfed the earth that evening, and Santa knew that the mist was so thick he wouldn’t be able to find the chimneys.

   “Suddenly, Rudolph appeared—his red nose glowing brighter than ever.  Santa sensed at once that here was the answer to his perplexing problem.  He led Rudolph to the front of the sleigh, fastened the harness, and climbed in.  They were off!  Rudolph guided Santa to every chimney that night.  Rain and fog, snow and sleet, nothing bothered Rudolph for his bright nose penetrated the mist like a beacon.

   “And so it was that Rudolph became the most famous and beloved of all the reindeer.  The huge red nose he once hid in shame was now the envy of every buck and doe in the reindeer world.  Santa Claus told everyone that Rudolph had saved the day; and from that Christmas, Rudolph has been living serenely happy.”

   Little Barbara laughed with glee when her father finished.  Every night she begged him to repeat the tale until finally Bob could rattle it off in his sleep.  Then at Christmas-time he decided to make the story into a poem like “The Night Before Christmas” and prepared it in book form with crude pictures for Barbara’s personal gift.

   Night after night Bob worked on the verses after Barbara had gone to bed for he was determined his daughter should have a worthwhile gift, even though he could not afford to buy one.

   Then as Bob was about to put the finishing touches on Rudolph, tragedy struck.  Evelyn May died.  Bob, his hopes crushed, turned to Barbara as his chief comfort.  Yet, despite his grief, he sat at his desk in the quiet, now lonely, apartment and worked on Rudolph with tears in his eyes.

   Shortly after Barbara had cried with joy over his handmade gift on Christmas morning, Bob was asked to an employee’s holiday party at Montgomery Ward.  He didn’t want to go, but his office associates insisted.  When Bob finally agreed, he took with him the poem and read it to the crowd.  At first the noisy throng listened in laughter and gaiety.  Then they became silent and at the end broke into spontaneous applause.  That was in 1938.

   By Christmas 1947, some 6,000,000 copies of the booklet had been given away or sold, making Rudolph, one of the most widely distributed books in the world.  The demand of Rudolph-sponsored products increased so much in variety and number that educators and historians predicted Rudolph would come to occupy a permanent niche in the Christmas legend.

   Through the years of unhappiness, the tragedy of his wife’s death, and his ultimate success with Rudolph, Bob May has captured a sense of serenity.  As each Christmas rolls around, he recalls with thankfulness the night when his daughter Barbara’s question inspired him to write the story.

CHRISTMAS DAY 8 - A DIME A DOZEN

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 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 Christmas 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 Christmas 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 the salesperson told him that he couldn’t 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 Christmas 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.”

As 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 Christmas, son.”

As he returned inside, the shopkeeper’s 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 side 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 Christmas 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.

CHRISTMAS DAY 7 - CHRISTMAS CARDS FOR ADDIE, become part of the story

This evening I had the beautiful opportunity to attend the First Presidency Christmas Devotional with a few friends. And one of the stories shared was that of Ethan Van Leuvens. Ethan was dying of Leukemia, so his entire community rallied together to help him have Christmas early this year - and he died just three days later. I remember seeing this story on the Today Show when it happened in October, and have included a link to that video clip at the bottom of this post.

   It reminded me of another little girl here in Utah that has just one request: Christmas Cards.  Addie Fausett stopped growing when she was age 3, and even now at age 6 only weighs 23 pounds. They can’t diagnose the problem, but one thing they are certain of: Addie doesn’t have much time left. This will likely be Addie’s Last Christmas.

   Because of her health issues, Addie can’t play outside or play with the other kids. And since Addie loves Christmas and loves getting Christmas Cards, her grandparents set a goal: for Addie to get a whole lifetime of Christmas Cards this year. The town of Fountain Green, Utah, is working to help reach this goal by flooding Box 162 with Christmas Cards for Addie.

   So I’m inviting you to help make a very special little girl’s Christmas a little bit brighter, by sending a Christmas Card to Addie:

Addie Fausett, Box 162, Fountain Green, UT 84632

Addie peeking into Box 162
Let's fill it up for her!

   Please send her a card. If you have one, drop it in the mail to her. If you don’t, you can send it through my SendOutCards account – just go to sendoutcards.com/157713; scroll to the bottom and click SEND A CARD. It’s completely free (I’ll even cover the postage).

   As I listened this evening, I was impressed that this whole community helped Ethan – and wished that I could have been part of that great blessing in that darling little boy’s short life. Well, I can be part of sending a card to Addie – and I sent my first card to her this evening as soon as I got home.

   Share this blogpost with your friends, post it on your Facebook - let’s all help make this little Addie’s Christmas just a little brighter. Tonight instead of just reading this story, please become a part of it too.

Ethan’s Story on KSL

Addie’s Story on KSL

Send a FREE Card to Addie

Ethan’s Story on the Today Show

CHRISTMAS DAY 6 - MUST BE SANTA

I’m not much of a shopper, so today as I ran a few errands I did my best to avoid the crowds. But as I stopped to grab a bite to eat I heard a “discussion” of a mother and child over a candy cane – the mom wanted the candy cane until after dinner, and the child pleadingly explained, “But SANTA gave me this Candy Cane!”

   That’s when I realized that I haven’t seen a Santa Claus yet this year. I’ve avoided the malls, refused to do Black Friday at all, and ditched-out at the end of the Ward Christmas Party last night to go to the David Lanz concert.  So, so far, no Santa.

   Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m much more into the Christ-centered Christmas than Santa and Rudolph. And I started a bit of Christmas decorating today, but although the tree is up it is starkly bare. The Nativity, because it’s ceramic and delicate is still in the Storage Room – and is usually one of the last pieces that I do (so it doesn’t get bumped). But this year I’m struggling a bit with getting excited about Christmas, and I wonder how much of that is because I haven’t done some of the standard Christmassy-type things – including seeing Santa.

   Not that I plan to go sit on his lap, and heaven knows I don’t need another candy cane – but there a special association between Santa and Christmas for me. Maybe not some “creepy fat guy with poor fashion choices breaking-and-entering” as my vision of Santa – but certainly a kindly gentle person that gives selflessly and without judgment, now that’s the type of Christmas Tradition that I can get behind.

   So this weekend as I finish decorating at my house, you’ll see a few Santa’s placed around – maybe even near the Nativity. Because as today’s story demonstrates, Santa and Christ can both be examples of how we should live our lives.

A CHRISTMAS ADVENTURE -- anonymous

I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: “There is no Santa Claus,” she jeered. “Even dummies know that!”

   My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her “world-famous” cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so.

   It had to be true.

   Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. “No Santa Claus?” She snorted….”Ridiculous! Don’t believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let’s go.”

   “Go? Go where, Grandma?” I asked. I hadn’t even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun.

   “Where” turned out to be Kerby’s General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars.

   That was a bundle in those days. “Take this money,” she said, “and buy something for someone who needs it. I’ll wait for you in the car.” Then she turned and walked out of Kerby’s.

   I was only eight years old. I’d often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself.

   The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, and the people who went to my church.

   I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock’s grade-two class.

   Bobby Decker didn’t have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn’t have a cough; he didn’t have a good coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!

   I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.

    “Is this a Christmas present for someone?” the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.

   “Yes, ma’am,” I replied shyly. “It’s for Bobby.”

   The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn’t get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.

   That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, “To Bobby, From Santa Claus” on it. Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker’s house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa’s helpers.

   Grandma parked down the street from Bobby’s house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk.

   Then Grandma gave me a nudge. “All right, Santa Claus,” she whispered, “get going.”

   I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma.

   Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.

   Fifty years haven’t dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker’s bushes.

   That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were – ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team. I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside it of $19.95.