Christmas can mean different things to different people, but I guess everyone would agree on one thing---it’s a time for giving, a time for remembering, and a time for loving.
Christmas is a time to remember the children and the one child in whose memory that we all choose to celebrate this particular day of the year.
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It was dark and cold outside that Christmas Eve. The wind howled and rattled over the tin roof and managed to find the cracks in the walls and under the doors of the ramshackle shanty that housed a family of ten---mother, father, and eight school-aged children. Snow was coming down hard along with a freezing rain that left long silver icicles hanging from every available surface.
It didn’t matter to this family that power was out all across the county---they had no electricity anyway, even when it was on in most other households.
Lamplight filled the windows and wood smoke flowed heavenward up through the six-inch stovepipe that went from the potbellied stove up through the roof of the shack. The sides of the stove sported bright red spots in confirmation of the fire burning within. Children on an Arkansas farm learned at a very young age not to touch the stove, it would burn little fingers. But they also learned just as quickly to huddle around close to its comforting heat, turning as the front side of their small bodies began to get too warm while their backsides were still cold.
No one spoke about the meaning of this night, but eight happy little faces couldn’t conceal the excitement welling inside their tiny hearts. They knew it was Christmas Eve and even though the older ones had bragged during the daylight hours that there was no such thing as Santa Clause, they too gave in to the feeling of wonder and love and happiness that seemed to fill every pore of their being as the evening hours drew nearer to midnight. Gathered around the wood stove, they giggled and poked each other in fun, pretending not to know that they would all be getting something---anything---on this special night. Mom and Dad smiled at the children, but when they turned their backs away, their worried frowns were only for each other.
Finally it was time to go to bed, but just at that moment a knock came at the door. A hushed silence fell throughout the room as each face turned questioningly toward the sound. Each one thinking, “did I really hear anything at all?" It came again and Father got up from his rocker, placed little Ricky on the floor, and went to open the door.
All the children stared at the strangers standing in the open doorway. The lamplight fell across the smiling faces as they handed huge baskets of food and fruit and gaily wrapped packages to Mom and Dad and a couple of the older children. Suddenly Mom and Dad were no longer frowning and everyone was chattering and laughing at the same time.
The doors and windows of the little shack were crowded with smiling faces as they all waved to the good people as the white van with big black lettering “Lorado Baptist Church" along its side moved away through the driving snow.
Silently Mom and Dad prayed, “thank you, Baby Jesus, for being born on this day."
End
Sandra E. Graham----author of “Amos Jakey", American Book Publishing, soon to be followed by “Nicolina".
» left by Anonymous from Dallas,Texas (1 year 275 days ago.)
Living in Texas now for several years, I grew up in Arkansas. I remember many such Christmases. Please, don't ever take Christ out of Christmas.
Thanks for a very delightful article. Respond to this comment
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