CHRISTMAS STORY

The Night Before Christmas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sister St. Thomas, B.N.D. de N A more spiritual version of the famous Christmas story Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the town, St. Joseph was searching, walking up roads and down; Our Lady was waiting, so meek and so mild, While Joseph was seeking a place for the Child; The children were nestled, each snug in their beds, The grown-ups wouldn’t bother, there’s no room they said; When even the innkeeper sent them away, Joseph was wondering, where they would stay; He thought of the caves in the side of the hills, Lets go there said Mary, it’s silent and still; The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow, Made pathways of light for their tired feet to go; And there in a cave, in a cradle of hay, Our Savior was born on that first Christmas Day! The Father was watching in heaven above, He sent for His angels, His couriers of love; More rapid than eagles God’s bright angels came; Rejoicing and eager as each heard his name; Come Power, Come Cherubs, Come Virtues, Come Raphael, Come Thrones and Dominions, come Michael and Gabriel; Now fly to the Earth, where My poor people live, Announce the glad tiding My Son comes to give; The Shepherds were watching their flocks on this night, And saw in the heavens and unearthly light; The Angels assured them, they’d nothing to fear, It’s Christmas they said, the Savior is here! They hastened to find Him, and stood at the door, Till Mary invited them in to adore; He was swaddled in bands from His head to His feet, Never did the Shepherds see a baby so sweet! He spoke not a word, but the shepherds all knew, He was telling them secrets and blessing them too; Then softly they left Him, The Babe in the hay, And rejoiced with great joy on that first Christmas Day; Mary heard them exclaim as they walked up the hill, Glory to God in the Highest, Peace to men of good will! The Gospel Tree . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Anonymous There once was a shining Christmas tree Standing out where all could see. Its brilliance captured every eye And seemed to cheer each passer by. "The lights are so bright," they would say And hesitate to walk away. The tree stood proud ablaze with light For every light was burning bright. Then one bulb was heard to say "I’m tired of burning night and day; I think I’ll just go out and take a rest For I’m too tired to do my best; Besides I am so very small I doubt if I’d be missed at all." Then a child lovingly touched the light, "Look, mother, this one shines so very bright. I think of all the lights upon the tree This one looks the best to me." "Oh my goodness," said the light "I almost dimmed right out of sight. I thought perhaps no one would care If I failed to shine my share." With that a glorious brilliance came For every light had felt the same. Our Gospel, like this Christmas tree, With little lights which are you and me, We each have a space that we must fill With love, and lessons and good will. Let’s keep our tree ablaze with light, With testimonies burning bright. For our Gospel is a living tree That lights the way to eternity. The Best Gift . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Betty Werth On Christmas Eve, a young boy with light in his eyes Looked deep into Santa’s, to Santa’s surprise And said as he sat on Santa’s broad knee, "I want your secret. Tell it to me." He leaned up and whispered in Santa’s good ear "How do you do it, year after year?" "I want to know how, as you travel about, Giving gifts here and there, you never run out. How is it, dear Santa, that in your pack of toys You have plenty for all of the world’s girls and boys? Stays so full, never empties, as you make your way From rooftop to rooftop, to homes large and small, From nation to nation, reaching them all?" And Santa smiled kindly and said to the boy, "Don’t ask me hard questions. Don’t you want a toy?" But the child shook his head, and Santa could see That he needed the answer. "Now listen to me," He told that small boy with the light in his eyes, "My secret will make you sadder and wise. "The truth is that my sack is magic inside It holds millions of toys for my Christmas Eve ride. But although I do visit each girl and each boy I don’t always leave them a gaily wrapped toy. Some homes are hungry, some homes are sad, Some homes are desperate, some homes are bad. Some homes are broken, and the children there grieve. Those homes I visit, but what should I leave? "My sleigh is filled with the happiest stuff, But for homes where despair lives toys aren’t enough. So I tiptoe in, kiss each girl and boy, And I pray with them that they’ll be given the joy Of the spirit of Christmas, the spirit that lives In the heart of the dear child who gets not, but gives. "If only God hears me and answers my prayer, When I visit next year, what I will find there Are homes filled with peace, and with giving, and love And boys and girls gifted with light from above. It’s a very hard task, my smart little brother, To give toys to some, and to give prayers to others. But the prayers are the best gifts, the best gifts indeed, For God has a way of meeting each person’s need. "That’s part of the answer. The rest, my dear youth, Is that my sack is magic. And that is the truth. In my sack I carry on Christmas Eve day More love than a Santa could ever give away. The sack never empties of love, or of joys `Cause inside it are prayers, and hope. Not just toys. The more that I give, the fuller it seems, Because giving is my way of fulfilling dreams. "And do you know something? You’ve got a sack, too. It’s as magic as mine, and it’s inside of you. It never gets empty, it’s full from the start. It’s the center of light, and love. It’s your heart. And if on this Christmas you want to help me, Don’t be so concerned with the gifts `neath your tree. Open that sack called your heart, and share Your joy, your friendship, your wealth, your care." The light in the small boy’s eyes was glowing. "Thanks for your secret. I’ve got to be going." "Wait, little boy," said Santa, "don’t go. Will you share? Will you help? Will you use what you know?" And just for a moment the small boy stood still, Touched his heart with his small hand and whispered, "I will." Day of Hope . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Edgar Guest, The Gift of Christmas Christmas is the one day of the year that carries real hope and promise for all mankind. It carries the torch of brotherhood. It is the one day in the year when most of us grow big of heart and broad of mind. It is the single day when most of us are as kind and as thoughtful of others as we know how to be; When most of us are as gracious and generous as we would like always to be; When the joy of home is more important than the profits of the office; When peoples of all races speak cheerfully to each other when they meet; When high and low wish each other well; And the one day when even enemies forgive and forget.