The missing 5 pound note

Chippenham George worked for the Post Office and his job was to process all the mail that had illegible addresses.  One day just before Christmas, a letter landed on his desk simply addressed in shaky handwriting: 'To God'.  With no other clue on the envelope, George opened the letter and read:

Dear God,

I am an 93 year old widow living on the State pension.  Yesterday someone stole my purse.  It had £100 in it, which was all the money I had in the world and no pension due until after Christmas.  Next week is Christmas and I had invited two of my friends over for Christmas lunch.  Without that money, I have nothing to buy food with.  I have no family to turn to, and you are my only hope.  God; can you please help me?

Chippenham George was really touched, and being kind hearted, he put a copy of the letter up on the staff notice board at the main Fareham sorting office where he worked.  The letter touched the other postmen and they all dug into their pockets and had a whip round.  Between them they raised £95.  [$170 USD] Using an officially franked Post Office envelope, they sent the cash on to the old lady, and for the rest of the day, all the workers felt a warm glow thinking of the nice thing they had done.

Christmas came and went.  A few days later, another letter simply addressed to 'God' landed in the Sorting Office.  Many of the postmen gathered around while George opened the letter.  It read,

Dear God, Christmas Stories

How can I ever thank you enough for what you did for me? Because of your generosity, I was able to provide a lovely luncheon for my friends.  We had a very nice day, and I told my friends of your wonderful gift - in fact we haven't gotten over it and even Father John, our parish priest, is beside himself with joy.  By the way, there was £5 [$10 USD] missing.  I think it must have been those thieving fellows at the Post Office.

George could not help musing on Oscar Wilde's quote: 'A good deed never goes unpunished'

1st February 2015

Today is the 1st day of the new month.  Its another 7 days to my birthday. My New Year resolution is Happiness.  Have I been Happy the last 31 days?  I am asking myself this question time and time again.  I would say YES and NO.  There were time of Happiness and also times of sadness.  When in sadness I can feel someone lifting me and assuring me all is going to be fine.  Just like that little by little the heaviness in my heart left like the mist of the morning.

Have lovely and a blessed day.

The ill tempered Snowman

It was dawn on an icy-cold Christmas morning. The sun was emerging from over the horizon and standing on the top of a hill was the snowman. He had been there for about three weeks and was looking the worse for wear.

There was a stick underneath his arm. If he had originally had a hat and scarf, it had long since been stolen. One of the stones that had been his eyes had fallen off, so he only had one eye.

The carrot that was placed in the middle of his face to represent his nose was now rotten and had become black and shrivelled, and the small stick that was his mouth had slipped down slightly at one end, so that his mouth was crooked – he was not a pretty sight!

And he was cold! Oh was he cold! The wind at the top of the hill was relentless and he had almost become solid ice! He gazed straight forward with his one eye and watched as the sun rose a little higher in the sky. “That looks as though it might be warm”, he thought to himself. The large red golden ball did indeed look as though it might be warm. “I think I’ll just go a little nearer and see if it is!”

He carefully picked up one foot and shook away the loose snow. Then he did the same with the other and clumsily began to walk down the hill, clump, clump, clumpety clump, clumpety, clumpety clump.

As he made his way down the hill, the snowman noticed an old woman gathering sticks for her fire. She was wearing a big red woollen shawl. “Ooh! That looks warm”, he thought. He went over to the old lady and said, “Give me that shawl!” “I will not!” replied the old lady. “I made this for myself many years ago to keep me warm on a cold day like today!”

“Cold?… Cold? You don’t know the meaning of the word!” said the snowman. “Do YOU have a pillar of solid ice running down the centre of YOUR body?” “No, I haven’t” said the old lady. “Well I DO!” responded the snowman, nastily. “So give me that shawl, or I’ll hit you on the head with my stick!”

Well the old lady didn’t want to be hit on the head, so reluctantly, she handed the shawl to the snowman. And without so much as a ”Please may I?” or even the hint of a “Thank you very much!” the snowman took the shawl and wrapped it tightly around his shoulders. With that, he set off once again down the hill, Clump, clump, clumpety clump, clumpety, clumpety, clump. Followed (at a safe distance!) by the old lady.

A little further down the hill, the snowman came upon a young boy who was making snowballs and throwing them at a tree. The snowman noticed that the boy was wearing a pair of bright red woollen gloves. “Ooh! They look warm!” thought the snowman. “Give me those gloves!” he demanded. “I will not!” the boy replied, “My mother knitted them for me. They keep my hands warm on a cold day!” “Cold?…Cold? What do you know about cold? Bellowed the snowman. Are YOU covered with snow from head to foot?” “No”, said the boy “I’m not”. “Well I AM! The snowman shouted back. “And if you don’t give me your gloves right now, I’ll hit you on the head with my stick!”

Well the boy didn’t want to be hit on the head so he reluctantly took off his gloves and handed them to the snowman. And without so much as a “Please may I?” or even the hint of a “Thank you very much!” the snowman took the gloves and put them on his hands. He drew the old lady’s shawl more tightly around his shoulders and set off again down the hill, with a clump, clump, clumpety clump, clumpety, clumpety clump! Followed (at a safe distance!) by the old lady and the young boy.

When he got nearer the foot of the hill, he noticed an old farmer sitting on a bench, tying up his bootlace. The farmer was wearing a bright red woolly hat. “Ooh! That looks warm”, thought the snowman, when he saw the woolly hat. “Give me that woolly hat!” he demanded of the farmer. “I will not!” answered the farmer. “My wife knitted it for me to keep my head warm on a cold day!” “Cold? ….Cold? What do YOU know about cold?” the snowman angrily replied. Do icicles drip from the end of YOUR nose?” “No” said the farmer, “They don’t”. “Well they DO from mine!” said the snowman, “And if you don’t give me your hat, I will hit you on the head with my stick!”

Well the farmer didn’t want to be hit on the head and so he also handed over his warm, woolly hat. And without so much as a “Please may I?” or even the hint of a “Thank you very much!” the snowman pulled the hat down over where his ears would have been (if he’d had any!), pulled his gloves further onto his hands, wrapped the shawl even tighter around his shoulders and continued to the bottom of the hill, with a clump, clump, clumpety clump, clumpety, clumpety clump! Followed (at a safe distance!) by the old lady, the young boy and the old farmer.

When he arrived at the foot of the hill, the snowman saw a village. At the edge of the village was the schoolhouse and standing in the doorway of the schoolhouse was the schoolmaster – wearing a pair of bright red velvet slippers!

“Ooh! They look warm!” thought the snowman. He clumped up to the schoolmaster and rudely demanded, “Give me those slippers!” “Certainly!” replied the schoolmaster, But if take them off here I’ll get my feet wet. Why don’t you come inside where it’s warm?” The snowman went into the schoolhouse and the schoolmaster led him into his living quarters. There was a big fire burning in the grate. “Now then”, said the schoolmaster, pulling a chair towards the fire, “Why don’t you sit here and warm your feet while I go and take my slippers off.” The snowman sat in the chair and the schoolmaster pushed him even closer to the fire and left the room.

By this time, the old lady, the young boy and the old farmer had arrived outside the schoolhouse and were peering in through the window.

The schoolmaster returned and said to the snowman, “I’ll give you my slippers shortly but I was just about to make some hot soup, I’ll bring you some,” He pushed the chair even closer to the fire and then noticed the old lady and her companions looking in though the window. “Come in” he said to them, you look colder than the snowman, would you like some soup?”

The three came in. They looked over towards the fireplace. All they could see was a chair and on the floor beneath the chair, a very wet shawl, a wet pair of gloves and a wet woolly hat, all floating in a great pool of water! The schoolmaster picked up the wet clothing, wrung out the water and placed the items on a clothes-horse. “There”, he said, “We’ll hang them here to dry”. He picked up a mop and mopped up the water that had been the snowman. There was also a small, black stone and a piece of stick, which he threw on to the fire. The larger stick he used to poke the fire.

“That’s the snowman sorted”, said the schoolmaster. “Serves him right! Now who’s for soup?”wman sorted”, said the schoolmaster. “Serves him right! Now who’s for soup?”

The Little Match Girl

Most terribly cold it was; it snowed, and was nearly quite dark, and evening-- the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness there went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded, and with naked feet. When she left home she had slippers on, it is true; but what was the good of that? They were very large slippers, which her mother had hitherto worn; so large were they; and the poor little thing lost them as she scuffled away across the street, because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast.

One slipper was nowhere to be found; the other had been laid hold of by an urchin, and off he ran with it; he thought it would do capitally for a cradle when he some day or other should have children himself. So the little maiden walked on with her tiny naked feet, that were quite red and blue from cold. She carried a quantity of matches in an old apron, and she held a bundle of them in her hand. Nobody had bought anything of her the whole livelong day; no one had given her a single farthing.

She crept along trembling with cold and hunger--a very picture of sorrow, the poor little thing!

The flakes of snow covered her long fair hair, which fell in beautiful curls around her neck; but of that, of course, she never once now thought. From all the windows the candles were gleaming, and it smelt so deliciously of roast goose, for you know it was New Year's Eve; yes, of that she thought.

In a corner formed by two houses, of which one advanced more than the other, she seated herself down and cowered together. Her little feet she had drawn close up to her, but she grew colder and colder, and to go home she did not venture, for she had not sold any matches and could not bring a farthing of money: from her father she would certainly get blows, and at home it was cold too, for above her she had only the roof, through which the wind whistled, even though the largest cracks were stopped up with straw and rags.

Her little hands were almost numbed with cold. Oh! a match might afford her a world of comfort, if she only dared take a single one out of the bundle, draw it against the wall, and warm her fingers by it. She drew one out. "Rischt!" how it blazed, how it burnt! It was a warm, bright flame, like a candle, as she held her hands over it: it was a wonderful light. It seemed really to the little maiden as though she were sitting before a large iron stove, with burnished brass feet and a brass ornament at top. The fire burned with such blessed influence; it warmed so delightfully. The little girl had already stretched out her feet to warm them too; but--the small flame went out, the stove vanished: she had only the remains of the burnt-out match in her hand.

She rubbed another against the wall: it burned brightly, and where the light fell on the wall, there the wall became transparent like a veil, so that she could see into the room. On the table was spread a snow-white tablecloth; upon it was a splendid porcelain service, and the roast goose was steaming famously with its stuffing of apple and dried plums. And what was still more capital to behold was, the goose hopped down from the dish, reeled about on the floor with knife and fork in its breast, till it came up to the poor little girl; when--the match went out and nothing but the thick, cold, damp wall was left behind. She lighted another match. Now there she was sitting under the most magnificent Christmas tree: it was still larger, and more decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door in the rich merchant's house.

Thousands of lights were burning on the green branches, and gaily-colored pictures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows, looked down upon her. The little maiden stretched out her hands towards them when--the match went out. The lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher, she saw them now as stars in heaven; one fell down and formed a long trail of fire.

"Someone is just dead!" said the little girl; for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now no more, had told her, that when a star falls, a soul ascends to God.

She drew another match against the wall: it was again light, and in the lustre there stood the old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so mild, and with such an expression of love.

"Grandmother!" cried the little one. "Oh, take me with you! You go away when the match burns out; you vanish like the warm stove, like the delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!" And she rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall, for she wanted to be quite sure of keeping her grandmother near her. And the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noon-day: never formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and so tall. She took the little maiden, on her arm, and both flew in brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above was neither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety--they were with God.

But in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn, sat the poor girl, with rosy cheeks and with a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall--frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and stark sat the child there with her matches, of which one bundle had been burnt. "She wanted to warm herself," people said. No one had the slightest suspicion of what beautiful things she had seen; no one even dreamed of the splendor in which, with her grandmother she had entered on the joys of a new year.

Mama's Christmas Miracle

Mama told me a story a long long time ago not like any that I'd ever heard,

all about a little girl mama used to know, how I remember every word.

Seems like a lifetime ago, though I remember it so well,it was a Christmas eve I'll never forget as far as I can tell.

We were sitting at the kitchen table, it was only my mother and me,

I was dreaming of Christmas morning and all the presents under the tree.

Dad wasn't doing that well and money was scarce that year,

Mama found a way of telling me without me shedding one tear.

She told me a story of a little girl and a Christmas long ago,

who came from far away, a place where it rarely snowed.

Santa was just a dream to her, but she believed so much inside,

that Christmas was going to be special, so she knelt by her bed and she cried.

"Lord let Santa remember me if not just this one time, I promise I won't ask for much, maybe a dolly I can call all mine."

She closed her prayer and thanked the Lord for all that she received,

she knew that Santa would really come if only she believed.

She wrote a letter to Santa unfamiliar to most girls and boys,

Though her list was long and full, on it there were no toys.

Only things we take for granted, like new shoes or underpants,

hair bows for her sisters and gloves to warm her brother's hands.

At the bottom of her list she asked if it not be to much, for a brand new baby doll she could hold and love and touch.

Then Christmas morning came and she looked beneath her tree,

Not a present to be found as far as she could see.

She didn't give up hope as she heard a knocking sound,

When she opened up her door a great big box she found.

She called out to her mother and dad, brothers and sisters too,

She said "my prayers were answered, there's something in here for all of you."

Her daddy got brand new boots, her mother new underpants, her sisters got beautiful hair bows, her brothers warm gloves for their hands.

Buried deep beneath the box was a brand new baby doll and a note that said Merry Christmas I love you one and all.

I'll never forget that story because much to my surprise,

I saw the true meaning of Christmas shining in my mother's eyes.

For those of you who are wondering, as if you didn't know,

The little girl in Mama's story was my mother long ago.

This poem is about a childhood memory I will never forget. God bless all the mothers in this world and may all your Christmases be ones to remember.

A Child's Letter To Santa Claus

Snowflakes softly falling, upon your window they play.

Your blanket is snug around you, into sleep you drift away.

I bend to gently kiss you, when I see that on the floor,

There's a letter neatly written, I wonder whom it's for.

I quietly unfold it, making sure you're still asleep.

It's a Christmas list for Santa; one my heart will always keep.

It started just as always, with the toys seen on TV,

A new watch for your father and a winter coat for me.

But as my eyes read on, I could see that deep inside,

There were many things you wished for, that your loving heart would hide.

You asked if your friend Molly could have another Dad.

It seems her father hits her, and it makes you very sad.

Then you asked dear Santa, if the neighbor down the street,

Could find a job that he might have some food, and clothes, and heat.

You saw a family on the news, whose house had blown away.

"Dear Santa, send them just one thing, a place where they can stay."

"And Santa, those four cookies, that I left you for a treat,

Could you take them to the children, who have nothing else to eat?"

"Do you know that little bear I have, the one I love so dear?

I'm leaving it for you to take to Africa this year".

"And as you fly your reindeer, on this night of Jesus' birth,

Could your magic bring to everyone, goodwill and peace on earth?"

"There's one last thing before you go, so grateful I would be,

If you'd smile at Baby Jesus, in the manger by our tree."

I pulled the letter close to me, I felt it melt my heart.

Those tiny hands had written what no other could impart.

"And a little child shall lead them," was whispered in my ear,

As I watched you sleep on Christmas Eve, while Santa Claus was here.

The Night A Homeless Man Changed My Life

It was a chilly winter night in December of 1991 and time for our annual trip to Christmas in the Park. This year we had our first, new baby girl, to share the sights and sounds with and were looking forward to sharing it with her. I had worked retail for many years, so to me the holidays did not mean much except extra work… put the decorations up for this holiday, take them down and redecorate for the next. In addition, anyone who has worked retail can tell you about not only the hustle and bustle with customers and stocking shelves (in my case setting up our floral department and keeping it fresh), but about the extra long hours that come with the job or late hours. For this reason, I dreaded them and they seemed like any other day.

This particular year though, somehow things would be changing about my view of Christmas and little did I know that our traditional visit to Christmas in the Park would turn out to be a reminder of what the season truly means.

After bundling everyone up and packing the diaper bag and stroller in the car, I made sure the camera was full to take lots of pictures to remember our daughter's first Christmas. The Bay Area is notorious for traffic in the evenings, but this night it was fairly light and before we knew it we were in the streets of downtown San Jose. We had opted to park in the Local 428 lot, which was next to the Union office and one of the fancy hotels downtown.

It was a wonderful night with my daughter getting her picture taken on Santa's lap, eating warm Churros and strolling through the walkways filled with animated scenes. I was very much there, but as the evening winded down, my mind was beginning to wander about work the next day. We listened to the music, the children laughing and watched our own daughter's eyes light up every time she saw the lights on a tree or watched one of the musical moving scenes.

We came to the Nativity scene, which I always take a few extra minutes to enjoy and say a little prayer in my head giving thanks for the miracle of the season and we all just stood there for a while. No sooner did we leave; it was the end of our tour and time to get back in the car and head home. To avoid the normal traffic of getting on the freeway, I drove through the streets between 7th and 11th. There are really beautiful old homes out there in some of the area, so we might have even got to see some house lights.

As I turned onto a street near a college bookstore, I saw a homeless man walking on the street. I do not know what happened in those moments, because all I remember was thinking I had an extra blanket I always carried in the car and it was extremely cold outside. Suddenly I pulled my 89 Ford Escort over to the side of the street and my husband at the time (now my ex) had asked, "What are you doing". It had to be evident I was pulling the car over so I replied, "pulling the car over. I have a blanket in the back."

He looked at me as if I was crazy and was really getting out of the car to take the homeless man a blanket? Yes, I was and I got out, opened the hatchback and I pulled out my "extra", not being used, clean blanket and slowly walked toward the homeless man. As I cautiously approached him, he just kept pushing his shopping cart filled with what few belongings he had.

"Excuse me... hello", I called out to him.

He kept walking and I followed and tried to call him again.

"Excuse me, Mr.", I called out and he finally turned around.

For some reason I was no longer nervous and I remember looking into to his eyes when he said, "you talking to me?" He was unkempt and his skin looked leathered, as if he had been in the sun all of his life. As I took a few steps closer, I saw his basket filled with a piece of cardboard, some clothes with holes and few dirty blankets. Nonetheless, I just had a gut feeling he was suppose to get this blanket tonight and I was the one who was going to give it to him.

I put the blanket across both my arms and reached it out to him. "Here this is for you," I said.

"But I already have some blankets", he said.

"This is a clean blanket, it is for you, and I want you to have it."

"For me?" he asked.

"For you, for Christmas", it blurted out of my mouth and I warmly smiled.

"You're giving this to me for Christmas", he asked?

"Yes, this is for you", I replied and reached it out even further.

When he took the blanket from my hands, I felt the touch of his hands on mine and he looked up and said kindly, "thank you". Again I looked at him with a smile and I said Merry Christmas. He replied, "Merry Christmas and God bless you."

As I got ready to turn away, I answered back "God bless you too."

Then, I began walking back to my car and I climbed in. Just before we were ready to go I had looked back at him through my rear view mirror. In the reflection, I saw the homeless man, standing there alone, in the cold, on the street and he was holding the blanket I had just given him across his arms, just as I had presented it to him, up to the sky. He was praying, and I looked out the window, back at him, seeing a sky filled with stars, and watched him give thanks to the Lord. I got a tear in my eye and suddenly, the true spirit of Christmas filled my heart and soul. "This is what Christmas is truly about" I said silently to myself as I gently cried.

That very evening, that very moment, I had yearned for all my life, when I would feel the true spirit of Christmas had just touched me and overflowed into my soul. In giving that night, I received the greatest gift and those memories still live on in my heart today. The homeless man had nothing but what he carried in his cart, but he had God and was truly richer than anyone on the outside looking in could see. That night, the homeless man touched my heart and my life in a special way. Every Christmas season, I think of him and that beautiful experience that was a turning point in my life. I still get a tear in my eye every time I remember that night and what I learned from the homeless I gave that blanket to that night.

The Night Before Christmas

It was the night before Christmas in Ghana and I was very sad because my family life had been severely disrupted and I was sure that Christmas would never come. There was none of the usual joy and anticipation that I always felt during the Christmas season. I was eight years old, but in the past few months I had grown a great deal.

Before this year I thought Christmas in my Ghanaian village came with many things. Christmas had always been for me one of the joyous religious festivals. It was the time for beautiful Christmas music on the streets, on radio, on television and everywhere.

Christmas had always been a religious celebration and the church started preparing way back in November. We really felt that we were preparing for the birth of the baby Jesus. Christmas was the time when relatives and friends visited each other so there were always people traveling and visiting with great joy from all the different ethnic groups. I always thought that was what Christmas was all about.

Oh, how I wished I had some of the traditional food consumed at the Christmas Eve dinner and the Christmas Day dinner. I remembered the taste of rice, chicken, goat, lamb, and fruits of various kinds. The houses were always decorated with beautiful paper ornaments. The children and all the young people loved to make and decorate their homes and schools with colourful crepe paper.

All of us looked forward to the Christmas Eve Service at our church. After the service there would be a joyous procession through the streets. Everyone would be in a gala mood with local musicians in a Mardi Gras mood.

Then on Christmas Day we all went back to church to read the scriptures and sing carols to remind us of the meaning of the blessed birth of the baby Jesus. We always thought that these were the things that meant Christmas.

After the Christmas service young people received gifts of special chocolate, special cookies and special crackers. Young people were told that the gifts come from Father Christmas, and this always meant Christmas for us. They also received new clothes and perhaps new pairs of shoes.

Meanwhile throughout the celebration everyone was greeted with the special greeting, "Afishapa," the Akan word meaning "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year." Oh how I wish that those memories were real tonight in order to bring us Christmas.

However, this Christmas Eve, things were different and I knew Christmas would never come. Everyone was sad and desperate because of what happened last April when the so-called Army of Liberation attacked our village and took all the young boys and girls away.

Families were separated and some were murdered. We were forced to march and walk for many miles without food. We were often hungry and we were given very little food. The soldiers burned everything in our village and during our forced march we lost all sense of time and place.

Miraculously we were able to get away from the soldiers during one rainy night. After several weeks in the tropical forest we made our way back to our burned out village. Most of us were sick, exhausted, and depressed. Most of the members of our families were nowhere to be found. We had no idea what day or time it was.

This was the situation until my sick grandmother noticed the reddish and yellow flower we call "Fire on the Mountain" blooming in the middle of the marketplace where the tree had stood for generations and had bloomed for generations at Christmas time. For some reason it had survived the fire that had engulfed the marketplace.

I remembered how the nectar from this beautiful flower had always attracted insects making them drowsy enough to fall to the ground to become food for crows and lizards. We were surprised that the fire that the soldiers had started to burn the marketplace and the village did not destroy the "Fire on the Mountain" tree. What a miracle it was. Grandmother told us that it was almost Christmas because the flower was blooming. As far as she could remember this only occurred at Christmas time.

My spirits were lifted perhaps for a few minutes as I saw the flower. Soon I became sad again. How could Christmas come without my parents and my village? How could this be Christmas time, when we celebrate the birth of the Prince of Peace because since April we have not known any peace, only war and suffering? How could we celebrate as grandmother instructed us to do before she died? Those were the last words she spoke before she died last night.

As I continued to think about past joyous Christmases and the present suffering, we heard the horn of a car and not just one horn but several cars approaching our village. At first we thought they were cars full of men with machine guns so we hid in the forest. To our surprise they were not soldiers and they did not have guns. They were just ordinary travellers.

It seemed the bridge over the river near our village had been destroyed last April as the soldiers left our village. Since it was almost dusk and there were rumours that there were land mines on the roads, they did not want to take any chances. Their detour had led them straight to our village.

When they saw us they were shocked and horrified at the suffering and the devastation all around us. Many of these travellers began to cry. They confirmed that tonight was really Christmas Eve. All of them were on their way to their villages to celebrate Christmas with family and friends. Now circumstances had brought them to our village at this time on this night before Christmas.

They shared the little food they had with us. They even helped us to build a fire in the centre of the marketplace to keep us warm. In the middle of all this, my oldest sister became ill and could not stand up.

A short time after we returned to our village my grandmother told me that my oldest sister was expecting a baby. My sister had been in a state of shock and speechless since we all escaped from the soldiers. I was so afraid for my sister because we did not have any medical supplies and we were not near a hospital.

Some of the travellers and the villagers removed their shirts and clothes to make a bed for my sister to lie near the fire we had made. On that fateful night my sister gave birth to a beautiful baby boy.

This called for a celebration, war or no war. Africans have to dance and we celebrated until the rooster crowed at 6 a.m. We sang Christmas songs. Every one sang in his or her own language. For the first time all the pain and agony of the past few months went away.

When morning finally came my sister was asked, "What are you going to name the baby?" would you believe for the first time since our village was burned and all the young girls and boys were taken away, she spoke. She said, "His name is "Gye Nyame," which means "Except God I fear none." And so we celebrated Christmas that night.

Christmas really did come to our village that night, but it did not come in the cars or with the travellers. It came in the birth of my nephew in the midst of our suffering. We saw hope in what this little child could do.

This birth turned out to be the universal story of how bad things turned into universal hope, the hope we found in the Baby Jesus. A miracle occurred that night before Christmas and all of a sudden I knew we were not alone any more.

Now I knew there was hope and I had learned that Christmas comes in spite of all circumstances. Christmas is always within us all. Christmas came even to our Ghanaian village that night.

Yes there is Santa Claus

This story is about a young mother with three small children, her moments of desperation, and her love for her children during the weeks approaching Christmas.

It was Christmas 1988 in Flint, Michigan. It was a time when the city of Flint was still a prospering General Motors town, few people were laid off, and overall, life seemed good. Unfortunately, for one young Mother with a set of identical twin boys - age 3 and a third son - age 16 months, the word 'struggle' had taken on a whole new definition.

The separation took place in the month of August; the father/husband had frozen every penny she had. This created problems she had never faced before - severe poverty. She was living in a house her parents had obtained for her, working as a temporary at any job she could get, but the idea of buying gifts for her children for Christmas seemed to be strictly an idea.

While driving to work one morning she heard on the radio an advertisement for 'Christmas at Autoworld'. This place was built as a teaching amusement park - inside. The theme was the automobile industry since it was located in the heart of Flint, Michigan. Unfortunately, it was failing; therefore, the city was offering the residents one last chance to experience the fun before it closed its doors - FOR FREE! There was no cost to be admitted or ride on the rides, but food was not free. She decided that since she didn't have two pennies to rub together for Christmas, her boys would have the 'Christmas' experience at Autoworld. Her boys were her life, her loves.

So, on the night of the big 'free' event, it was snowing, very cold, but the very spirit of Christmas was in the air. A true Michigan Christmas. She bundled them up in their winter outerwear put them and the umbrella stroller into the old car she had purchased for $1,200 and headed to 'Autoworld!' The night was definitely COLD, but she parked as close to the entrance as she could.

As she was putting her baby into the umbrella stroller with her twins at her side, a horse drawn carriage pulled up behind her car and the driver asked her if she wanted a ride. She politely declined (wishing she could have since it was a perfect night to do so) stating that she didn't have any money. She proceeded to walk the snowy sidewalk with the stroller and her twins to the entrance.

The experience inside was thrilling for her boys. Of course, they would get hungry as the whole environment smelled like cotton candy, popcorn, hotdogs, pizza, and every other type of food a vendor could serve. She reached into her wallet to see what money she had. She determined she had enough for two slices of pizza and one soft drink. They all sat down at a table and shared their dinner; she ate nothing, her children always came first.

After spending a couple of hours the children were getting tired, the facility was getting ready to close and it was getting bed time for them. She gathered them up, bundled them up and headed outside. At the curb in front of the main entrance there was the horse drawn carriage looking like it was waiting for Cinderella. The driver said, 'You wait right there, don't move I will be right back. Don't leave.' The young mother was shocked but did just that, waited. Her boys loved looking at the horse.

A few minutes later the carriage appeared back in front of them. The driver got down from his seat and said, 'Get in.' The Mother said, 'I don't have any money for a ride.' The driver told her he was all done for the night and she was his last passengers... there was no charge. He told her he was just going to give her and her boys a ride around the parking lot to her car. Her boys were thrilled to say the least.

He helped her and her precious cargo into the carriage covered them up with warm woolen blankets (just like in the movies) and off they went. After they made a U-turn, he turned to her and asked her, 'Would you like to see the city by way of horse drawn carriage?' This is what she wanted to do all along. Of course, she said yes and her boys were ecstatic!

Throughout the whole ride she and the driver had been talking about her situation and that her Christmas wish was to get a permanent job enabling her to support her boys. The driver, now known as Harold, pulled up behind her car after a grand tour of the city, halted the horse, parked, and lifted one by one her children down out of the carriage. Then, like Santa taking Mrs. Claus's hand, he helped her out of the carriage only in his hand was a $20 bill folded up.

His eyes were filled with tears and said it isn't much but buy these beautiful boys something for under the tree from Santa and my Christmas wish for you is that I hope you receive that job.

One week later I received a job offer that was to start in January, it lasted for ten years. My 'Carriage Santa' came to visit me there several times. Yes, this is my story. My twins are now 27 and my 'baby' in the umbrella stroller is now 25. They are all grown up and very successful and my 'Carriage Santa - Harold' has now passed away but God sent him to me for a reason. I have always tried to pass along the goodness he showed me, a complete stranger, whenever I can.

I truly believe in the love that 'Santa' stands for, therefore, I believe in Santa. God is Love, Santa is Love and I believe in never giving up, there is always hope.

Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas

Remember that a gift should be treasured; not only the ones that are wrapped but ones that are bestowed upon you.

Years ago, there was a very wealthy man who, with his devoted young son, shared a passion for art collecting. Together, they travelled around the world, adding only the finest art treasures to their collection. Priceless works by Picasso, Van Gogh, Monet and many others adorned the walls of the family estate.

The widowed elder man looked on with satisfaction as his only child became an experienced art collector. The son's trained eye and sharp business mind caused his father to beam with pride as they dealt with art collectors around the world.

One year, as winter approached, war engulfed the nation, and the young man left to serve his country. After only a few short weeks, his father received a telegram. His beloved son was missing in action. The art collector anxiously awaited more news, fearing he would never see his son again. Within days, his fears were confirmed. The young man had died while rushing a fellow soldier to a medic.

Distraught and lonely, the old man faced the upcoming Christmas holidays with anguish and sadness. The joy of the season that he and his son had looked forward to would visit his house no longer.

On Christmas morning, a knock on the door awakened the depressed old man. As he walked to the door, the masterpieces of art on the walls only reminded him that his son was not coming home. As he opened the door, he was greeted by a soldier with a large package in his hands.

He introduced himself to the old man by saying, "I was a friend of your son. I was the one he was rescuing when he died. May I come in for a few moments? I have something to show you."

As the two began to talk, the soldier told of how the man's son had told everyone of his, not to mention his father's, love of fine art. "I am no artist," said the soldier, "but I want to give you this."

As the old man unwrapped the package, the paper gave way to reveal a portrait of the man's son. Though the world would never consider it the work of a genius, the painting featured the young man's face in striking detail.

Overcome with emotion, the man thanked the soldier, promising to hang the picture above the fireplace. A few hours later, after the soldier had departed, the old man set about his task. True to his word, the painting went above the fireplace, pushing aside thousands of dollars worth of art. His task completed, the old man sat in his chair and spent Christmas gazing at the gift he had been given.

During the days and weeks that followed, the man realized that, even though is son was no longer with him, the boy would live on because of those he had touched. He would soon learn that his son had rescued dozens of wounded soldiers before a bullet stifled his caring heart.

As the stories of his son's gallantry continued to reach him, fatherly pride and satisfaction began to ease his grief. The painting of his son soon became his most prized possession, far eclipsing any interest in the pieces for which museums around the world clamored. He told his neighbors it was the greatest gift he had ever received.

The following spring, the old man became ill and passed away. The art world was in anticipation that the collector's passing and his only son dead, those paintings would be sold at auction. According to the will of the old man, all art works would be auctioned on Christmas Day, the day he had received the greatest gift.

The day soon arrived and art collectors from around the world gathered to bid on some of the world's most spectacular paintings. Dreams would be fulfilled this day; greatness would be achieved as many would claim, "I have the greatest collection."

The auction began with a painting that was not on any museum's list. It was the painting of the man's son. The auctioneer asked for an opening bid, but the room was silent. "Who will open the bidding with $100?" he asked. Minutes passed, and no one spoke. From the back of the room came a voice, "Who cares about that painting? It's just a picture of his son." "Let's forget about it and move on to the good stuff," more voices echoed in agreement.

"No, we have to sell this one first," replied the auctioneer. "Now, who will take the son?" Finally, a neighbor of the old man spoke. "Will you take ten dollars for the painting? That's all I have. I knew the boy; so I would like to have it.

"I have ten dollars. Will anyone go higher?" asked the auctioneer. After more silence, the auctioneer said, "Going once, going twice, gone." The gavel fell.

Cheers filled the room and someone exclaimed, "Now we can get on with it and we can bid on the real treasures!" The auctioneer looked at the audience and announced that the auction was over.

Stunned disbelief quieted the room. Someone spoke up and asked, "What do you mean, it's over? We didn't come here for a picture of some old guy's son. What about all these paintings? There are millions of dollars worth of art here! I demand that you explain what is going on!"

The auctioneer replied, "It's very simple. According to the will of the father, whoever takes the son...gets it all."

Puts things into perspective, doesn't it? Just as those art collectors discovered on Christmas Day, the message is still the same: the love of a father, whose greatest joy came from his son who went away and gave his life rescuing others; and because of that father's love, whoever takes the Son gets it all.

In life, many things will catch your eye, but only a few will catch your heart.

The Perfect Gift

As a young child I can always remember running down the steps on Christmas morning and looking around the tree for the biggest box. I always believed that within the biggest box lied the most expensive gift and best gift.

But as time works its magic on the mind and soul of a young man, I soon realized that each and every gift was special, unique, and meaningful.

In fact, those presents that I remember most are the gifts that came directly from the heart, such as one of my mother's handmade sweaters or scarves. Christmas truly is not about the gift itself, but rather the thought behind the gift!

This Christmas I have already been blessed to receive the most beautiful and amazing present in the world, my girlfriend Angela.

But I know the true meaning of Christmas is found in the word "giving." So, this Christmas I promised myself to search and find the most incredible gift for this most incredible girl.

I spent many days searching the crowded stores and scanning numerous holiday catalogs, but nothing seemed to stand out. As Christmas quickly approached I wondered if I would ever find that "perfect" gift. I decided to try the local mall one last time. Maybe I had missed a store or new merchandize had just hit the racks and shelves.

But as I quietly passed from one store to the next, nothing attracted my eye. Somewhat defeated, I slowly made my way to the mall exit. But before I could reach the doors, I suddenly found that "perfect" gift.

No, this gift was not found in a fancy and expensive department store. It will not be wrapped in pretty Christmas paper and adorned with ribbons and bows. Actually, this gift doesn't have a receipt and can't be taken back. So, where did I find this "perfect" gift and more importantly what is it?

I found it in the eyes of an elderly couple holding hands, I heard it in the playful words between a grandfather and grandson, and I saw it in the actions of a proud new mother.

Yes, the gift is LOVE. So, Angela this Christmas I give to you MY LOVE and trust that you will always keep it with you!

Merry Christmas Angela and I LOVE YOU!

Angels once in a while

In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and just 75 cents in my pocket. Their father was gone. The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two.

Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared. Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds. He did manage to leave 15 dollars a week to buy groceries.

Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but no food either. If there was a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it.

I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my best homemade dress. I loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job. The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town. No luck. The kids stayed, crammed in to the car and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince whomever would listen that I was willing to learn or do anything. I had to have a job. Still no luck.

The last place we went to, just a few miles out of town, was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted to a truck stop. It was called the Big Wheel. An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the window from time to time at all those kids. She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in the morning. She paid 65 cents an hour and I could start that night.

I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people. I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night. She could arrive with her pyjamas on and the kids would already be asleep. This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal. That night when and the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job.

And so I started at the Big Wheel. When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with one dollar of my tip money-fully half of what I averaged every night. As the weeks went by, heating bills added another strain to my meagre wages. The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and began to leak. I had to fill them with air on the way to work and again every morning before I could go home.

One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and found four tires in the backseat. New tires! There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tires. Had angels taken up residence in Indiana? I wondered. I made a deal with the owner of the local service station. In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office. I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for him to do the tires.

I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough. Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids. I found a can of red paint and started repairing and painting some old toys. Then I hid them in the basement so there would be something for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning. Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on the boys’ pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.

On Christmas Eve, the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big Wheel. These were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, and a state trooper named Joe. A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were dropping nickels in the pinball machine. The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up.

When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas morning I hurried to the car. I was hoping the kids wouldn't wake up before I managed to get home and get the presents from the basement and place them under the tree. (We had cut down a small cedar tree by the side of the road down by the dump.) It was still dark and I couldn't see much, but there appeared to be some dark shadows in the car-or was that just a trick of the night? Something certainly looked different, but it was hard to tell what.

When I reached the car, I peered warily into one of the side windows. Then my jaw dropped in amazement. My old battered Chevy was full--full to the top with boxes of all shapes and sizes. I quickly opened the driver's side door, scrambled inside and kneeled in the front facing the backseat. Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box. Inside was a whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10! I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the jeans. Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes: There were candy and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries. There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes. There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There was a whole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items. And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll.

As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude. And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning.

Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop.

I BELIEVE IN ANGELS! They live next door, around the corner, work in your office, patrol your neighbourhood, call you at midnight to hear you laugh and listen to you cry, teach your children, and you see them  every day without even knowing it!

A Christmas Fairy

It was getting very near to Christmas time, and all the boys at Miss Ware's school were talking about going home for the holidays.

"I shall go to the Christmas festival," said Bertie Fellows," and my mother will have a party, and my Aunt will give another. Oh! I shall have a splendid time at home."

"My Uncle Bob is going to give me a pair of skates," remarked Harry Wadham.

"My father is going to give me a bicycle," put in George Alderson.

"Will you bring it back to school with you?" asked Harry.

"Oh! yes, if Miss Ware doesn't say no."

"Well, Tom," cried Bertie, "where are you going to spend your holidays?"

"I am going to stay here," answered Tom in a very forlorn voice.

"Here - at school - oh, dear! Why can't you go home?"

"I can't go home to India," answered Tom.

"Nobody said you could. But haven't you any relatives anywhere?"

Tom shook his head. "Only in India," he said sadly.

"Poor fellow! That's hard luck for you. I'll tell you what it is, boys, if I couldn't go home for the holidays, especially at Christmas--I think I would just sit down and die."

"Oh, no, you wouldn't," said Tom. "You would get ever so homesick, but you wouldn't die. You would just get through somehow, and hope something would happen before next year, or that some kind fairy would--"

"There are no fairies nowadays," said Bertie.

"See here, Tom, I'll write and ask my mother to invite you to go home with me for the holidays."

"Will you really?"

"Yes, I will. And if she says yes, we shall have such a splendid time. We live in London, you know, and have lots of parties and fun."

"Perhaps she will say no?" suggested poor little Tom.

"My mother isn't the kind that says no," Bertie declared loudly.

In a few days' time a letter arrived from Bertie's mother. The boy opened it eagerly. It said:

My own dear Bertie:

I am very sorry to tell you that little Alice is ill with scarlet fever. And so you cannot come for your holidays. I would have been glad to have you bring your little friend with you if all had been well here.

Your father and I have decided that the best thing that you can do is to stay at Miss Ware's. We shall send your Christmas present to you as well as we can.

It will not be like coming home, but I am sure you will try to be happy, and make me feel that you are helping me in this sad time.

Dear little Alice is very ill, very ill indeed. Tell Tom that I am sending you a box for both of you, with two of everything. And tell him that it makes me so much happier to know that you will not be alone.

Your own mother.

When Bertie Fellows received this letter, which ended all his Christmas hopes and joys, he hid his face upon his desk and sobbed aloud. The lonely boy from India, who sat next to him, tried to comfort his friend in every way he could think of. He patted his shoulder and whispered many kind words to him.

At last Bertie put the letter into Tom's hands. "Read it," he sobbed.

So then Tom understood the cause of Bertie's grief. "Don't fret over it," he said at last. "It might be worse. Why, your father and mother might be thousands of miles away, like mine are. When Alice is better, you will be able to go home. And it will help your mother if she thinks you are almost as happy as if you could go now."

Soon Miss Ware came to tell Bertie how sorry she was for him.

"After all," said she, smiling down on the two boys, "it is an ill wind that blows nobody good. Poor Tom has been expecting to spend his holidays alone, and now he will have a friend with him--Try to look on the bright side, Bertie, and to remember how much worse it would have been if there had been no boy to stay with you."

"I can't help being disappointed, Miss Ware," said Bertie, his eyes filling with tears.

"No; you would be a strange boy if you were not. But I want you to try to think of your poor mother, and write her as cheerfully as you can."

"Yes," answered Bertie; but his heart was too full to say more.

The last day of the term came, and one by one, or two by two, the boys went away, until only Bertie and Tom were left in the great house. It had never seemed so large to either of them before.

"It's miserable," groaned poor Bertie, as they strolled into the schoolroom. "Just think if we were on our way home now--how different."

"Just think if I had been left here by myself," said Tom.

"Yes," said Bertie, "but you know when one wants to go home he never thinks of the boys that have no home to go to."

The evening passed, and the two boys went to bed. They told stories to each other for a long time before they could go to sleep. That night they dreamed of their homes, and felt very lonely. Yet each tried to be brave, and so another day began.

This was the day before Christmas. Quite early in the morning came the great box of which Bertie's mother had spoken in her letter. Then, just as dinner had come to an end, there was a peal of the bell, and a voice was heard asking for Tom Egerton.

Tom sprang to his feet, and flew to greet a tall, handsome lady, crying, "Aunt Laura! Aunt Laura!"

And Laura explained that she and her husband had arrived in London only the day before. "I was so afraid, Tom," she said, "that we should not get here until Christmas Day was over and that you would be disappointed. So I would not let your mother write you that we were on our way home. You must get your things packed up at once, and go back with me to London. Then uncle and I will give you a splendid time."

For a minute or two Tom's face shone with delight. Then he caught sight of Bertie and turned to his aunt.

"Dear Aunt Laura," he said, "I am very sorry, but I can't go."

"Can't go? and why not?"

"Because I can't go and leave Bertie here all alone," he said stoutly. "When I was going to be alone he wrote and asked his mother to let me go home with him. She could not have either of us because Bertie's sister has scarlet fever. He has to stay here, and he has never been away from home at Christmas time before, and I can't go away and leave him by himself, Aunt Laura."

For a minute Aunt Laura looked at the boy as if she could not believe him. Then she caught him in her arms and kissed him.

"You dear little boy, you shall not leave him. You shall bring him along, and we shall all enjoy ourselves together. Bertie, my boy, you are not very old yet, but I am going to teach you a lesson as well as I can. It is that kindness is never wasted in this world."

And so Bertie and Tom found that there was such a thing as a fairy after all.