Please feel free to post your favorite heartwarming short Christmas stories, poems, and “Everything Christmas” here to warm the hearts of all the readers who happen to stop by. I will start with the following Christmas story.
This is a great reminder of why we celebrate Christmas.
Merry Christmas to One and All!
The “W” in Christmas
Each December, I vowed to make Christmas a calm and peaceful
experience.
I had cut back on nonessential obligations - extensive card writing,
endless baking, decorating, and even overspending.
Yet still, I found myself exhausted, unable to appreciate the
precious family moments, and of course, the true meaning of
Christmas.
My son, Nicholas, was in kindergarten that year. It was an exciting
season for a six year old.
For weeks, he’d been memorizing songs for his school’s “Winter
Pageant.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d be working the night of the
production. Unwilling to miss his shining moment, I spoke with his
teacher. She assured me there’d be a dress rehearsal the morning of
the presentation.
All parents unable to attend that evening were welcome to come then.
Fortunately, Nicholas seemed happy with the compromise.
So, the morning of the dress rehearsal, I filed in ten minutes
early, found a spot on the cafeteria floor and sat down. Around the
room, I saw several other parents quietly scampering to their seats.
As I waited, the students were led into the room. Each class,
accompanied by their teacher, sat cross-legged on the floor. Then,
each group, one by one, rose to perform their song.
Because the public school system had long stopped referring to the
holiday as “Christmas,” I didn’t expect anything other than fun,
commercial entertainment songs of reindeer, Santa Claus, snowflakes
and good cheer.
So, when my son’s class rose to sing, “Christmas Love,” I was
slightly taken aback by its bold title.
Nicholas was aglow, as were all of his classmates, adorned in fuzzy
mittens, red sweaters, and bright snowcaps upon their heads.
Those in the front row- center stage - held up large letters, one by
one, to spell out the title of the song.
As the class would sing “C is for Christmas,” a child would hold up
the letter C. Then, “H is for Happy,” and on and on, until each
child holding up his portion had presented the complete message,
“Christmas Love.”
The performance was going smoothly, until suddenly, we noticed her;
a small, quiet, girl in the front row holding the letter “M” upside
down - totally unaware her letter “M” appeared as a “W”.
The audience of 1st through 6th graders snickered at this little
one’s mistake. But she had no idea they were laughing at her, so she
stood tall, proudly holding her “W”.
Although many teachers tried to shush the children, the laughter
continued until the last letter was raised, and we all saw it
together.
A hush came over the audience and eyes began to widen.
In that instant, we understood the reason we were there, why we
celebrated the holiday in the first place, why even in the chaos,
there was a purpose for our festivities.
For when the last letter was held high, the message read loud and
clear:
“C H R I S T W A S L O V E”
And, I believe, He still is.
Amazed in His presence… humbled by His love.
Wishing you and your family a Very Merry Christmas and A Blessed New Year.
There was once a man who didn’t believe in the spiritual meaning of Christmas, and was skeptical about God. He and his family lived in a farm community.
His wife was a devout believer, and one snowy Christmas eve as she was taking the kids to the Christmas eve service at church, she pleaded with him to come, but he firmly refused. After they left, the winds grew stronger and the snow turned into a blizzard. As he looked out the window, all he saw was a blinding snowstorm. He sat down to relax before the fire for the evening.
Suddenly the man heard the racket of a flock of bird. When he looked out he saw a flock of birds that had been disoriented by the storm. The farmer had compassion for them and wanted to help them. and thought to himself, “The barn would be a great place for them to stay! It’s warm and safe; surely they could survive the storm.” His frustration mounted and soon he was frantically running after them to chase them toward the barn. However, the birds only scattered into every direction except toward the barn.
Feeling totally frustrated, he exclaimed, “Why don’t they follow me! Can’t they see this is the only place where they can survive the storm!” He thought, “How can I possibly get them into the one place that’s safe.”
He stood silently for a moment as the words that he had just said reverberated back to himself in his mind: “If only I could become like one of them—then I could save them.” His heart became quiet, then joy-filled as his mind was renewed by the realization that he finally got it-one more poor lost soul understood what Christmas was all about-and knew why Christ had come.
[ Edited: 20 December 2007 09:45 PM by InHisTime ]
The brand new pastor and his wife, newly assigned to their first ministry, to reopen a church in suburban Brooklyn, arrived in early October excited about their opportunities. When they saw their church, it was very run down and needed much work.
They set a goal to have everything done in time to have their first service on Christmas Eve. They worked hard, repairing pews, plastering walls, painting, etc. and on Dec 18 were ahead of schedule and just about finished.
On Dec 19 a terrible, driving rainstorm hit the area and lasted for two days. On the 21st, the pastor went over to the church. His heart sank when he saw that the roof had leaked, causing a large area of plaster about 20 feet by 8 feet to fall off the front wall of the sanctuary just behind the pulpit, beginning about head high. The pastor cleaned up the mess on the floor, and not knowing what else to do but postpone the Christmas Eve service, headed home. On the way he noticed that a local business was having a flea market type sale for charity so he stopped in. One of the items was a beautiful, handmade, ivory colored, crocheted tablecloth with exquisite work, fine colors and a cross embroidered right in the center. It was just the right size to cover up the hole in the front wall. He bought it and headed back to the church. By this time it had started to snow. An older woman running from the opposite direction was trying to catch the bus. She missed it.The pastor invited her to wait in the warm church for the next bus 45 minutes later.
She sat in a pew and paid no attention to the pastor while he got a ladder to put up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry. The pastor could hardly believe how beautiful it looked and it covered up the entire problem area. Then he noticed the woman walking down the center aisle. Her face was like a sheet. “Pastor,” she asked, “where did you get that tablecloth?” The pastor explained. The woman asked him to check the lower right corner to see if the initials, EBG were crocheted into it there. They were. These were the initials of the woman, and she had made this tablecloth 35 years before, in Austria. The woman could hardly believe it as the pastor told how he had just gotten the tablecloth. The woman explained that before the war she and her husband were well-to-do people in Austria. When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave. Her husband was going to follow her the next week. She was captured, sent to prison and never saw her husband or her home again. The pastor wanted to give her the tablecloth; but she made the pastor keep it for the church. The pastor insisted on driving her home, that was the least he could do. She lived on Staten Island and was only in Brooklyn for the day for a housecleaning job.
What a wonderful service they had on Christmas Eve. The church was almost full. The music and the spirit were great. At the end of the service, the pastor and his wife greeted everyone at the door and many said that they would return. One older man, whom the pastor recognized from the neighborhood, continued to sit in one of the pews and stare, and the pastor wondered why he wasn’t leaving. The man asked him where he got the tablecloth on the front wall because it was identical to one that his wife had made years ago when they lived in Austria before the war and how could there be two tablecloths so much alike? He told the pastor how the Nazis came, how he forced his wife to flee for her safety, and he was supposed to follow her, but he was arrested and put in prison. He never saw his wife or his home again all the 35 years in between.
The pastor asked him if he would allow him to take him for little ride. They drove to Staten Island and to the same house where the pastor had taken the woman three days earlier. He helped the man climb the three flights of stairs to the woman’s apartment, knocked on the door and he saw the greatest Christmas reunion he could ever imagine.
Years ago, Donald Grey Barnhouse wrote of a man who came up to him at the end of his sermon, shook his hand, and said “I can understand ‘God bless me,’ but how can I ‘Bless God?’ What does it mean when we sing, ‘Bless the Lord, O my soul?’”
Barnhouse replied, “Do you have any children?” “Yes,” the man answered, “I have a boy who is six and a girl who is five.” Again, Barnhouse asked, “At Christmas time do they ever give you a present?” “Sure,” the man replied.
“Where do they get the money?” he asked. With that, the man said, laughing, “Well, I give it to them.”
“That’s exactly it,” Barnhouse said, “You pay for the Christmas presents your children give you. You’re so glad when they are talking about it with their mother. They are whispering secrets. They are excited that they are going to surprise daddy. Then on Christmas morning they come and say, ‘daddy, here is a blessing for you.’ It ultimately came from you, but it was a blessing because it came back with their love.”
When we sing, “Bless the Lord, O My Soul” we are praising Him with the blessings He puts in our lives. This Christmas, as we exchange gifts blessing others, and in turn are blessed ourselves, remember to give praise to God, from Whom all blessings flow!
InHisTime.... These above posts have blessed me so much, didn’t read them untill tonight> Thank you so much.. And A blessed and Merry Christmas to you & family.
We, our family have so many things that we are thankful for this Christmas too… God has ‘worked’ overtime in healing me some everyday to..PTL… He is the One that Me & family give all the thanks, praise, glory, and honor to each day too.. Amen.
A Merry Christmas to all of MY SGN Family & Friends.. We love all of you..
InHisTime.... These above posts have blessed me so much, didn’t read them untill tonight> Thank you so much.. And A blessed and Merry Christmas to you & family.
We, our family have so many things that we are thankful for this Christmas too… God has ‘worked’ overtime in healing me some everyday to..PTL… He is the One that Me & family give all the thanks, praise, glory, and honor to each day too.. Amen.
A Merry Christmas to all of MY SGN Family & Friends.. We love all of you..
Blessings, Jolene#2
I am so glad you enjoyed and were blessed by these wonderful short Christmas stories. God is truly good all the time! May you and all your family have a most blessed and joyous Christmas, dear Jolene!
(This is one of my all-time favorites and I trust it will be yours too! Merry Christmas to all!)
The Shoemaker’s Dream
One of the most beautiful of all Christmas stories was told by the American poet, Edwin Markham, about a cobbler, a godly man who made shoes in the old days. One night the cobbler dreamed that the next day Jesus was coming to visit him. The dream seemed so real that he got up very early the next morning and hurried to the woods, where he gathered green boughs to decorate his shop for the arrival of so great a Guest.
He waited all morning, but to his disappointment, his shop remained quiet, except for an old man who limped up to the door asking to come in for a few minutes of warmth. While the man was resting, the cobbler noticed that the old fellow’s shoes were worn through. Touched, the cobbler took a new pair from his shelves and saw to it that the stranger was wearing them as he went on his way.
Throughout the afternoon the cobbler waited, but his only visitor was an elderly woman. He had seen her struggling under a heavy load of firewood, and he invited her, too, into his shop to rest. Then he discovered that for two days she had had nothing to eat; he saw to it that she had a nourishing meal before she went on her way.
As night began to fall, the cobbler heard a child crying outside his door. The child was lost and afraid. The cobbler went out, soothed the youngster’s tears and, with the little hand in his, took the child home.
When he returned, the cobbler was sad. He was convinced that while he had been away he had missed the visit of his Lord. Now he lived through the moments as he had imagined them: the knock, the latch lifted, the radiant face, the offered cup. He would have kissed the hands where the nails had been, washed the feet where the spikes had entered. Then the Lord would have sat and talked to him. In his anguish, the cobbler cried out, “Why is it, Lord, that Your feet delay. Have you forgotten that this was the day?†Then, soft in the silence a voice he heard: “Lift up your heart for I kept My word. Three times I came to your friendly door. Three times My shadow was on your floor. I was the man with the bruised feet. I was the woman you gave food to eat. I was the child on the homeless streetl”
