Dear 2008:

Do you ever find that the older you get, the quicker the years go? Especially when you have littles, the years FLY by.

2008, I will remember:

• Baby Landy, such a joy
• flooding my basement on what was supposed to be an INCREDIBLE birthday (I was, after all, turning 25) It was definitely memorable.
• Saying farewell to yet another brother off to serve the Lord
• Welcoming home Uncle B
• Park City, Park City, Park City (you can't forget it when that's all your daughter talks about)
• Teaching piano lessons (I'm almost becoming a professional.)
• Our 5 year anniversary
• Lots of messes
• Lots of loves
• Lots of baths (mmm, so nice)
• Saying good bye to my kidneys stones and stent (HOORAY!!)
• A blizzardy Christmas
• Home improvement projects (woot! woot! for a cute house)
• Being happy
• 10 inches of beautiful snow in October
• an amazing husband
• my little rockstar
• playing the organ (on very limited knowledge)
• yummy food
• a cancer survivor (best thing that happened all year)
• Best family pictures ever, in the history of family pictures!
• having a boy (by this I mean discovering the joy of Cooper as a two year old)

Dear 2009, I look forward to:

• waking up to a clean house every morning
• no candy and pop (oh, husband and Cooper are in for a doozy!)
• less tv, more family time
• painting my kitchen
• dwindling debt
• spending more time in the scriptures
• Kami going to school (really, not looking forward to this. I would describe the feeling more as dread. Kami, of course is super excited)
• feeling the wind in my hair, and the wild rush of freedom that comes from owning ones own WORKING vehicle. (we're looking for an alternator for a 99 Dodge Status)
• holidays: I plan to be the bees knees of holiday hoopla (love a reason to celebrate)
• Running a 5K (Gasp! Shock! I know. I also know plenty who will laugh at me for such a piddly goal, but running isn't my thing and I think a 5K sounds like a feet of incredible proportions. Sarah is my inspiration.)
• Coley's homecoming
• a bigger garden plot
• A potty trained son (at this rate, it might be Landon before it's Cooper)
• the beach

More Christmas

Christmas Photos

Cooper's Pirate Boat

Kami's Water Baby

He is such a cheeser!

They LOVED this little house. Especially Cooper. They played for hours in the freezing puppy porch just so they could be in it.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

Kiddos in their brand new jammies Santa brought them. Kami was so funny she came running into our bedroom Christmas morning

"Mom! My jammies are RED!"

"Why, yes, yes they are"

"But they were flowers before."

"What do you think happened"

"I think Santa put them on me."

"I think that is a brilliant idea."

He's Coming SO.....

Hide and Seek

I don't think it is such a good idea for me to hide Christmas presents.... I've got about 1 day to find them.

The Rifle

This story, and the one right after it, are my favorites from the ones my Auntie Mo posted last year. I considered looking for brand new ones...but really?? Sorry I've been a little lax in my Christmas stories. I hope these few make up for it. Merry Christmas.

Christmas Eve 1881
Pa never had such compassion for the lazy or those that squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving. It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy me the rifle that I'd wanted for Christmas. We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible.
After supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read Scriptures. But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up again and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores.I didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity. Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard."Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this. But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what.
Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched up this sled unless we were going to haul a big load.Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high sideboards on. After we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood---the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?"
You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure, I'd been by, but so what? "Yeah," I said, "Why?" "I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt." That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it. Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smokehouse and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait.
When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. "What's in the little sack?" I asked. "Shoes. They're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunnysacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a little candy." We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us; it shouldn't have been our concern. We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?" "Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?" Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in.
She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all. Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp. "We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the children---sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn't come out.
"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said. He turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring in enough to last awhile. Let's get that fire up to size and heat this place up." I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and as much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks with so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak. My heart swelled within me and a joy that I'd never known before filled my soul. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people. I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time. She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his angels to spare us." In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again.
I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it. Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. Then I guessed that if he were on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would make sure he got the right sizes. Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want us to go.
I could see that they missed their Pa, and I was glad that I still had mine. At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals we'll be by to get you about eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here, hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two brothers and two sisters had all married and had moved away.
Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles. I don't have to say, "'May the Lord bless you,' I know for certain that He will." Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that. But on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunnysacks and I knew what I had to do. Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand." I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Now the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children. For the rest of my life, Whenever I saw any of the Jensen's, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.

The Tablecloth

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 tempest - a 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, hangers, etc., 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 the other side of 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 a 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 a 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.
True Story - submitted by Pastor Rob Reid.

A Christmas Prayer

Dear Jeron,
If you get to read this, this post is for you.
I love you. Merry Christmas.

Tonight is Christmas Eve and my home lies miles away.
Several mixed emotions crossed my heart as I knelt to pray.
I felt it was an honor, to serve my mission here.
But tonight how I missed my loved ones, the family I hold so dear.
And my soul was filled with love for each face I did behold,
First my Mother, then my Father, brothers and sisters, young and old.
The tears began to flow and the memories began to flee,
And then in a quiet moment, a vision was opened to me.
I pictured a quiet field with angels singing above,
Praising the baby Jesus with their glorious songs of love.
Then from amongst the angels, came one to speak to me.
Her message was pure and plain for me to see."
How far would you travel, to see that Heavenly King?
Would you leave your family and home to hear the angels sing?
Would you follow that star in the east?", her voice to me did speak.
A new feeling came from within and my soul felt weak.For that was your call, she continued, in this sweet and humble place,
I promise you’ll glimpse the Christ Child, in each new contacts face.
For you are His angels on earth, who carry His good works on,
And your message of truth and peace, is the sweetest Christmas song.
Never regret a moment, of your labor of love for Him,
Though He’s taken you far from your home, your family and friends and kin.
For His gift in return for your service, comes from heaven above.
His gift, my little missionary, is an eternal gift of love.
My angel softly slipped away and a warm peace filled my heart.
Tonight more than ever before, I came to realize my sacred part.
Just then His spirit entered, where He found me on bended knee,
My Savior had come to spend His Christmas with me.
And the feeling of His glorious presence, was worth the hours that had slipped away,
As I raise my head from the side of the bed, I saw the sun’s golden ray.
The night had been a long one, but sweeter lesson could ne’er be learned,
For the Savior had touched my soul and His love within me burned.
Christmas Eves shall come and go and all the years shall pass away,
But never, no never will I awake, to a more sacred Christmas day.

Any Consolation

Kami loves to sing little songs around the house. She sings what she's doing, she sings what she sees, she sings about things she would love to do. The girl just sings.

Today she was singing while I was cleaning the bathroom. The ditty went a little something like this:

"Mom's cleaning the bathroom

she's oh so beautiful

but she's not the coolest

only dad

'cuz dad is the coolest

not mom"

So, if it's any consolation, I'm not the coolest, but I sure am beautiful. (And let me tell you, swabbing the toilet definitely makes me feel "oh so beautiful".... )

Did you know (did you even want to know)?

• Most toilets flush in the key of E flat.
• One-third of all Americans flush the toilet while they are still sitting on it.
• 40,000 Americans are injured by toilets each year.
• The first toilet ever seen on television was on “Leave It To Beaver.”
• There are 333 squares of toilet paper on a roll.

(I left out the gross facts. Believe me, there are many)

The Gift of Love

President Thomas S. Monson

When I was a very young bishop, in 1950, there was a tap at my door and a good German brother from Ogden, Utah, announced himself as Karl Guertler.He said, " Are you Bishop Monson?" I answered in the affirmative. He said, "My brother and his wife and their family are coming from Germany. They are going to live in your ward. Will you come with me to see the apartment we have rented for them?"
On the way to that apartment, he told me he had not seen his brother for something like 30 years. Yet all through the holocaust of World War II, his brother, Hans Guertler, had been faithful to the Church – an officer in the Hamburg branch.
I looked at that apartment. It was cold; it was dreary; the paint was peeling from the walls; the cupboards were bare. What an uninviting home for the Christmas season of the year! I worried about it and I prayed about it, and then in our ward welfare committee meeting we did something about it.
The group leader of the high priests said, " I am an electrician. Let’s put good appliances in that apartment."
The group leader of the seventies said, "I am in the floor covering business. Let’s install new floor coverings."
The Elders Quorum President said, "I am a painter. Let’s paint that apartment.
The Relief Society representative spoke up. "Did you say those cupboards were bare?" (They were not bare very long, with the Relief Society in action.)
Then the young people, represented through the Aaronic Priesthood general secretary said, "Let’s put a Christmas tree in the home and let’s go among our young people and gather gifts to place under the tree."
You should have seen that Christmas scene, when the Guertler family arrived from Germany in clothing, which was tattered and with faces which were drawn by the rigors of war and deprivation. As they went into their apartment they saw what had been in actual fact a transformation – a beautiful home.
We spontaneously began singing, "Silent Night! Holy Night! All is calm; all is bright." We sang in English; they sang in German. At the conclusion of that hymn, Hans Guertler threw his arms around my neck, buried his face in my shoulder, and repeated over and over again those words which I shall never forget: "Mein brudder, mein brudder, mein brudder."

Three Trees

Once upon a mountaintop, three little trees stood and dreamed of what they wanted to become when they grew up.
The first little tree looked up at the stars and said: "I want to hold treasure. I want to be covered with gold and filled with precious stones. I'll be the most beautiful treasure chest in the world!"
The second little tree looked out at the small stream trickling by on its way to the ocean. "I want to be traveling mighty waters and carrying powerful kings. I'll be the strongest ship in the world!"
The third little tree looked down into the valley below where busy men and women worked in a busy town. "I don't want to leave the mountain top at all. I want to grow so tall that when people stop to look at me, they'll raise their eyes to heaven and think of God. I will be the tallest tree in the world.
"Years passed. The rain came, the sun shone, and the little trees grew tall. One day three woodcutters climbed the mountain. The first woodcutter looked at the first tree and said, "This tree is beautiful. It is perfect for me." With a swoop of his shining axe, the first tree fell. "Now I shall hold a wonderful treasure!" the first tree said. The second woodcutter looked at the second tree and said, "This tree is strong. It is perfect for me." With a swoop of his shining axe, the second tree fell. "Now I shall sail mighty waters!" thought the second tree. "I shall be a strong ship for mighty kings!" The third tree felt her heart sink when the last woodcutter looked her way. She stood straight and tall and pointed bravely to heaven. But the woodcutter never even looked up. "Any kind of tree will do for me." He muttered. With a swoop of his shining axe, the third tree fell.
The first tree rejoiced when the woodcutter brought her to a carpenter's shop. But the carpenter fashioned the tree into a feedbox for animals. The once beautiful tree was not covered with gold, with treasure. She was coated with sawdust and filled with hay for hungry farm animals.
The second tree smiled when the woodcutter took her to a shipyard, but no mighty sailing ship was made that day. Instead the once strong tree was hammered and sawed into a simple fishing boat. She was too small and too weak to sail to an ocean, or even a river; instead she was taken to a little lake.
The third tree was confused when the woodcutter cut her into strong beams and left her in a lumberyard. "What happened?" The once tall tree wondered. "All I ever wanted was to stay on the mountain top and point to God..."
Many many days and nights passed. The three trees nearly forgot their dreams.But one night, golden starlight poured over the first tree as a young woman placed her newborn baby in the feedbox. "I wish I could make a cradle for him." her husband whispered. The mother squeezed his hand and smiled as the starlight shone on the smooth and the sturdy wood. "This manger is beautiful," she said.
And suddenly the first tree knew he was holding the greatest treasure in the world.One evening a tired traveler and his friends crowded into the old fishing boat. The traveler fell asleep as the second tree quietly sailed out into the lake. Soon a thundering and thrashing storm arose. The little tree shuddered. She knew she did not have the strength to carry so many passengers safely through with the wind and the rain. The tired man awakened. He stood up, stretched out his hand, and said, "Peace." The storm stopped as quickly as it had begun.And suddenly the second tree knew he was carrying the king of heaven and earth.
One Friday morning, the third tree was startled when her beams were yanked from the forgotten woodpile. She flinched as she was carried through an angry jeering crowd. She shuddered when soldiers nailed a man's hands to her.She felt ugly and harsh and cruel.
But on Sunday morning, when the sun rose and the earth trembled with joy beneath her, the third tree knew that God's love had changed everything. It had made the third tree strong.And every time people thought of the third tree, they would think of God.
That was better than being the tallest tree in the world.

The Big Wheel

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 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 into 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 pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep. This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal.
That night when 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 meager wage. 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 back seat. New tires!
There was no note, no nothing, and 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 filled 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 back seat. 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.

Silent Night, Holy Night

By Glenn Register
As I stood in front of the tiny bassinet in the quiet room of the preemie ICU, the day finally caught up with me and I was unable to sing another word. It was as if the sight of that tiny girl, six months old and barely over six pounds in weight, opened the floodgates of my emotions, and the events of the last several hours came crashing down on me.
I had arrived at the hospital in the early afternoon, led there by that undeniable whisper that we often feel in life. This time the message was simple: Go sing at the hospital. I went. After wandering around for at least half an hour arguing with myself, I told myself that I was going to either go home or start singing. I flipped a mental coin and entered the first room of the day. "Would you like a Christmas song?" I asked, in a voice that sounded a lot more confident than I felt at the moment. "I'd love a song!" was the enthusiastic reply. I sang. Guitar slung over my shoulder, I sang and sang. I sang for the sick, the dying, and, in one instance, in a double occupancy room, I sang to a sick fellow and his "recently deceased" roommate. I soon gained confidence, and, as the afternoon slid into evening, I felt invincible, able to walk through a brick wall if occasion required.
Somehow through all of this I was able to retain just enough distance to continue functioning. I remember the beautiful young lady in the pediatric unit, all of fourteen or fifteen, who began sobbing quietly during the song Silent Night. I had raised an eyebrow at her mother who was sitting nearby; she nodded and I continued, watching as this young girl's shining black hair shimmered with the shaking of her shoulders. An elderly woman, full of gratitude and leaking tears at an alarming rate, thanked me again and again. I began to see, as the day progressed, that I was the recipient of the greater blessing, as time after time, I felt of greatness and witnessed courage up close and magnificent. Confined by circumstances beyond their control, sequestered away from holiday lights, parties and the warmth of home and hearth, not one of them offered a single word of complaint. On the contrary, one elderly lady expressed her thankfulness at being in the hospital and receiving such good care. In a way inexplicable my own courage began to grow and I saw my life as never before, and my challenges shrank to a pitiful size as I drank in their collective courage and goodwill.
This feeling of invincibility remained with me until, as I mentioned earlier, I stood before the bassient of that tiny baby girl. That "stainless steel" feeling evaporated and I became my old goofball self, full of weakness and inability; Joe Normal. Gone were the huge sword swinging shoulders, lost was the ability to lead men into battle, forgotten was the clarion call of superior deeds. I was returned with a a nearly audible thump to my old self. With one notable exception; For as I stood there tears on my everyday face, I felt as never before of the wonder and glory of The Christ Child, born in poverty, laid, not in the antiseptic cleanliness of a modern hospital, but in the filth and grime of a barn, "wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger." And I saw, for a brief moment, of the greatness of the Savior of mankind, and what His life had brought to me and mine, and what it would yet bring.
After a minute or two of fiddling around on the guitar waiting for my voice to return, I was able, after a fashion, to continue the song, Away in a Manger, then on to Silent Night. Somewhere during that second song I "connected" with that infant girl and it was as if we sang together in praise of the Babe of Bethlehem. I will never forget her or the gift she helped me receive, there in the back room of the hospital, away from the pomp and ceremony that has all but swallowed the Christmas season.
I think of her quite often, and more especially when the holidays approach, for that was to be her only Christmas Eve. I believe that I will see her again when my time here on earth is done. I'm a little sketchy on the details but I think we will meet in that other realm. I certainly hope so, for I have things to tell her, things of the heart, Like what an honor it was to sing for her, Like how much more Christmas means to me now, because of her, Like just how much I would love to sing with her again, just one last song, just like before.
Silent Night, Holy Night

The Gift of Self

By Helen Steiner Rice
(Adapted from an old German legend)

In holiday mood, Christmas cheer to extend,
Two neighbors called on their old cobbler friend.
They found his shop so humble and mean,
Yet made gay with many boughs of green.

As Conrad was stitching a leather sole
He shared his secret with face aglow.
"Old friends," he said, "at dawn today
When the cock was crowing the night away,

The Lord appeared in a dream to me
And said, "I am coming—your guest to be."
So I’ve busied myself, the wait to endure,
Decorating my shop with branches of fir.

The table is spread and the kettle shined,
And over the rafters the holly is twined.
Now I shall wait for my Lord to appear.
I must listen closely so I will hear

His quiet step as He enters my place,
That at last I may gaze on His kindly face.
So his friends went home, leaving Conrad alone
On this, the happiest day he had known.

For, long since, his family had passed away
Leaving Conrad alone on each Christmas day.
But he knew with the Lord as his special guest,
This Christmas would be the dearest and best.

He waited and listened, joy warming his heart.
With each little sound, Conrad rose with a start
And looked for the Lord to be standing there
In answer to his heart-felt prayer.

To the window he hastened upon hearing a sound,
But all that he saw on the snow-covered ground
Was a shabby old beggar whose shoes were well worn
And the poor man’s clothes were all ragged and torn.

Now Conrad was touched, and opened his door.
He said, "Your feet must be frozen and sore.
I have some new shoes in my shop for you
And a coat that will keep you much warmer, too."

So with grateful heart that man went away.
But as Conrad noticed the time of day
He wondered what made the dear Lord so late
And how long he would have to anxiously wait.

Then he heard a knock and went to the door,
But ‘twas only a lonely stranger once more.
An old woman bent beneath a heavy load
Sought refuge in Conrad’s humble abode.

She asked only for a place to rest,
But rest was only for Conrad’s guest.
The tone of her voice pleaded, "Don’t send me away.
Let me rest for a while this cold Christmas day."

So Conrad heated for her a steaming cup
And invited her at the table to sup.
As soon as she left he was full of dismay
For he saw that the hours were passing away.

The Lord had not come as He promised He would,
And poor Conrad was sure he had misunderstood.
Then a voice cried out in the wind and the frost,
"Please help me, kind Sir, I fear I am lost!"

So again he opened his friendly door
And stood disappointed as was twice before.
It was only a child who had wandered away
And was lost from her family on Christmas day.

Again Conrad’s heart was heavy and sad,
But he knew he must make the little child glad.
So he welcomed her in and wiped her tears,
Then gently quieted all her childish fears.

He helped her find her way home once more,
But as he entered his own darkened door,
He knew that the Lord was not coming today
For the hours of Christmas had passed away.

So he went to his room, and knelt down and prayed,
Asking, "Why, dear Lord, was your visit delayed?
What kept you from coming to call on me?
I wanted so much your kind face to see."

Then in the silence a gentle voice he heard:
"Lift up your head for I kept my word.
Three times I came to your lonely door.
Three times my shadow crossed your floor.

For I was the beggar with the bruised, cold feet.
And the bent old woman you gave to eat.
I was the lonely child you homeward led,
And countless others you’ve clothed and fed.

To those less blessed you’ve shown love and cared
To lift their burden, their worries shared.
My countenance reflects on you now, you see,
By serving others, you’ve also served me."

Star on a Broomstick

Standard-bearers march at the vanguard of a worthy cause. They represent that which is good and noble. They often carry flags or other symbols to express identity, purpose, and unity.

Speaking of such standard-bearers, I was told a tender account during a recent holiday season. While children reenacted the Christmas story, one child held high a star wrapped in aluminum foil, mounted on a broomstick. Later, someone commended the child for his stamina in holding that star so high for such a long period of time. The child, who had spoken no lines, joyfully replied, "I had the most important part in the play. I showed people how to find Jesus."

As His standard-bearers, we are to help the honest in heart to find Jesus. We don't wave flags. And generally we don't carry stars mounted on broomsticks. Instead, as standard-bearers for Jesus the Christ, we willingly and gratefully take His sacred name upon us. We enlist in His cause by covenant.

Bribery?

A little background into this story (we will deem it a Memory Monday): When I was younger I LOVED to play with my younger siblings. We played school, doctor, house, etc. I was also a rather creative youngster and loved to get my siblings to help do jobs around the house (yes, I was every mother's dream child)
I remember we used to play a game I called something like police academy. Anyway, the way it worked was every one would get a paper star badge and then the would get jobs. If they got all their jobs done they would move up the ranks until the became sheriff and got a certificate and a shiny new sheriff's badge.
My siblings ATE IT UP! And me, being a list/organization freak LOVED all the planning involved. I loved t make out the little certificates of achievement, etc. I'm telling you, if you are in need of some gripe free cleaning make it a game with incentives.
So, today I decided to take my own advice. When we went to the store earlier this week we purchased some ice cream (a rare treat lately) Since then the kids have been begging for ice cream every morning. I always respond that ice cream can not be eaten before breakfast. Eventually they forget about it and we have an ice cream free day.
This morning, as I am trudging through a tornado of toys the thought occurred to me: lets make this a game with incentives (the incentives being stickers and ice cream)
We cut out little Christmas trees from construction paper and each child was to accomplish 6 chores to get 6 sticker ornaments to go on their trees. Once they had their tree fully decorated they could turn it in for ice cream. They LOVED it and happily (not to mention quickly and efficiently) did everything I asked.
Now to the whole point of posting this story:

While enjoying her ice cream, Kami said to me, "You know mom, maybe if you do your chores you can get some ice cream too."

Hmm... I never thought of that.

Baby got his first hair cut today.

He does look rather dapper if I do say so myself. (He also looks fairly bald so it is hard to imagine he even needed a trim.)

A Gift of Dreams

Condensed from Gannett Westchesster Newspapers, George H. Brooks
From December 1990 Reader's Digest, pg. 63


Christmas Eve, 1944. I was a sailor in the U.S. Navy, on a one-day leave in San Francisco. I had won $300 at poker that ordinarily would have burned a hole in my pocket, but I couldn't shake an over-whelming sadness.

Scuttlebutt had it we'd be pulling out before the New Year for the South Pacific. I'd just received word that another friend had been killed in Europe. And here I was, an 18-year-old alone in a strange city. Nothing seemed to make any kind of sense. What was I going to be fighting for, anyway?

I spent most of the day in a mental fog, wandering aimlessly through crowds of laughing, happy people. Then, late in the afternoon, my vision suddenly focused, and for the first time a scene registered.

There in a department-store window were two electric trains chugging through a miniature, snow-covered town. In front of the window a skinny boy around nine years old, his nose pressed against the glass. He just stood there, fixed on those trains.

Suddenly the boy was me nine short years before, and the store was Macy's in New York City, my hometown. I could see, could feel the same longing, the same desperate hoping. I could hear the sigh of resignation - the frail attempt to hide the disappointment that Dad could not afford those trains. And I saw the reluctant turning away and then the one last look.

Not this time! I don't know what came over me, but I grabbed the boy by the arm, scaring him half to death.

"My name is George," I told him.

"Jeffery Hollis Jr.," he managed to reply.

"Well, Jeff Hollis Jr.," I said in my best grown-up voice, "we are going to get us those trains."

His eyes grew wide, and he let me lead him into the store. I knew it was crazy, but I didn't care. Suddenly I wanted to be nine again and have a kid's dream come true. The salesclerk looked at us suspiciously, a scruffy black boy and a black sailor in ill-fitting dress blues.

"Those trains in the window," I blurted before he could speak. "The whole setup. How much is it?"

His snorting response was interrupted by the arrival of a much older man wearing a warm Christmas smile. "One hundred and sixty-five dollars and sixty-three cents," the elder man replied, "delivery included."

"We'll take it," I said. "Right now, if we can."

"Sailor," he said, "we can! What about the rest of the family?"

I leaned down, and Jeff Jr. whispered that he had two little sisters as well as his mom and pop. I gave him $50.

"I'll have someone help him out," the elder man told me. And he called over a cheerful woman who took Jeff Jr. by the hand.

While the trains and other purchases were being wrapped, the man told me he had two sons of his own in the service. After a lot of "Merry Christmases," a delivery truck was assigned to take us to the boy's home.

Jeff Hollis Sr.'s reaction reminded me of what my own father's would have been if I had shown up with a stranger and a whole lot of gifts. I could see he was a hard-working man, breaking his back to make ends meet and knowing he couldn't give his family all he wanted.

"I'm just a sailor a long way from home, Mr. Hollis," I said respectfully, explaining how I had seen myself in his son's longing gaze at the store display.

"You couldn't have spent the money any other way?" he asked gruffly.

"No sir," I replied.

His face softened, and he welcomed me to share their table. After supper, I read to Jeff Jr. and his sisters until they went off to bed.

"I guess you know we've got a lot to do before morning," Jeff Sr. said. His words startled me for a moment. Then I understood. I was no longer a child; I was a man now, with adult responsibilities. So I joined him at what turned out to be nearly an all-night job of getting the trains put together and set up. His wife, Marge, made sandwiches and coffee and kept me talking about growing up in New York. At midnight we paused to wish each other a Merry Christmas, then went back to the task of making a boy's dream come true.

When we finished, I was bone-tired. Jeff Hollis Sr. looked for a long time at what we had done, then sighed and sat back in a worn easy chair.

"Mine was a bike," he said quietly. "A big two-wheeler with shiny spokes and bright-yellow handlebars. The seat was real leather. I loved that bike. I dreamed about it and wished for it."

"Mine was a Christmas dress I'd seen in a dressmaker's window," Marge said. "I wanted everyone to say, "What a pretty little girl in that fine dress.'"

Dreams, I thought sleepily. Kid dreams. I guess I dozed because the next thing I knew it was five o'clock, and Jeff Jr. was shaking me. He had remembered I had to be back by eight.

"Is it time yet?" one of the little girls inquired.

"It's time," Jeff Sr. said. "Merry Christmas."

"Wow!" Joy mixed with disbelief. We hadn't done as spectacular a job as the window dressers, but we got the trains laid out all right.

"Dad?" Jeff Jr. asked. "George?"

I exchanged glances with his father and nodded my agreement. This was the honored, official first outing. With Jeff Sr. at one control and me at the other, we set the trains on their way. On the second circuit I eased Jeff Jr. into my place. For about five minutes he ran his train. Then abruptly, he stopped and, without a word, left the room. He returned with the presents he had bought with a look of pride on his face. He'd had some help, but he'd made the choices himself.

I thought he was finished when he turned to me with a package in his hand. "Merry Christmas, George" he said quietly.

I was totally surprised. The gift was a comb-and-brush set, along with a case for other toilet articles. He held out his hand, then changed his mind and hugged me warmly. The moment of parting was bittersweet, for I knew I would probably never see the Hollises again. Jeff Sr. and Marge thanked me, but I was the grateful one.

As I made my way to the station to catch the bus back to the base, I realized I had no more nagging doubts. I had found more in this experience than I had received from all the pep talks and patriotic speeches I had ever heard.

For me, it was a revelation. I knew now what this war and the fighting was about. It was something at once wonderful and simple. This country, my country, was a place of dreams... and of dreamers who had the faith and the will to make dreams come true.

It's SANTA BABAY!!!!

Tuesday night was ward Christmas party night. I was crazy running everywhere, learning a new song to accompany, barely EVER practicing my "own" song, feeding all my food to my son, worrying my salad was disgusting, and then rushing up (late, of course) for the beginning of the program. (Which I believe I may have participated in 3 of the 5 acts...) But, when the program finally ended (ie. the party ended) Mister man in red himself showed up . Let the festivities begin. I got to enjoy some Christmas excitement waiting in line with my kiddos. Here is photographic proof.

Kami is so funny. I don't know why she is making these smiles lately. It's the closed mouth, barely a hint smile. Such a goof! We crimped her hair for the festivities and she says to me "Mom, what smile do you think would go with this hair?" GOOF!

These next few are our excited faces while waiting in line:

Apparently Cooper was bored. (Ignore my blurry pics. I keep getting kiddo fingerprints on the lens. Wonder how that happens?)Kami's face is the best!

Now for the moment of truth: sitting on Santa's lap. Kami was actually really excited and she only had a moments hesitation. Then she hopped right up and looked Santa intently in the eye. She turned around and smiled for the camera, and then gave him back her full attention. When he asked "What do you want for Christmas?" She confidently replied, "I want a water baby. With pink pajammies with a lady bug on the front." I didn't even coax her.

Of course there is no pic of Coop and Santa Claus because he was having NONE of that. However, he did give him five for a bag of candy. And then he gave him a thumbs up. Really, the kid was only in it for the candy.

A Child's Wonder

Author Unknown

"Daddy," she said, her eyes full of tears,
"Will you talk to me and quiet my fears?
Those bad boys at school are spreading a lie
‘Bout the impossibility of reindeer that fly.

There’s no Santa Claus, they say with a grin.
There’s not one now and there never has been.
How can one man take all of those toys
To thousands of girls and boys?

But I told them Daddy, that they were not right,
That I would come home and find out tonight.
Mama said wait until you come home.
Please tell me now, that I was not wrong."

Her Daddy looked at her questioning face
And puffed his pipe while his frantic mind raced.
He had put this off as long as he could,
He had to think fast and it better be good.

Whispering a prayer, he began with a smile,
"Well climb on my lap, dear, let’s talk awhile."
"Remember at church how we learned to pray,
Asking God to take care of us each day?

And you know how we say grace before each meal?
To this same God whom we know to be real.
Though we never see him, we know he is there
Watching his children with such loving care."

"God started Christmas a long time ago
When he gave us his son to love and to know.
A spirit of giving came with that birth,
And God’s generosity filled the whole earth.

Man had to name this spirit of giving
Just as he names all things that are living."
The name Santa Claus came to someone’s mind
Probably the best name of any to find.

There is you can see, and I think quite clear—
Truly a Santa who visits each year.

A spirit like God, whom we never see,
He enters the hearts of your mother and me."
Each year at Christmas for one special night
We become him and make everything right.

But the REAL spirit of Christmas is in you and in me
And I hope you are old enough now to see
That as we believe and continue to give,
Our friend Santa Claus will continue to live."

Davey and the First Christmas

Let's pretend there was a boy,
And Davey was his name,
Whose family lived in Bethlehem
When CHRISTMAS TIME first came.

Davey had a special pet -
A donkey small and gray,
And what the two of them did BEST
Was getting in the way!

Davey named the donkey Tim,
He never rode him though.
Either Tim was built to HIGH
Or Davey was too low!

Davey's father had an inn
Where people came to stay;
And lots and lots and LOTS of them
Were coming there one day.

His father was BUSY
As six or seven bees!
So Davey said, I want to help!
Can't I do something, please?

Tim would like to help you, too!
Find a job for us to do!
Listen, Son," his father said,
Last week you broke three jugs.
You scared my two best customers
With your pet lightning bugs!

You tracked in mud on my clean floor,
You tripped, and dropped the bread.
And though I loved the fish you caught -
WHY leave them on my bed?

I've put up with your helpfulness
As long as I am able!
So - do me one big favor, now!
GET OUT - and clean the stable.

Davey sadly went and stood
Beside the stable door.
It hardly seemed that ANYONE
Could clean that dirty floor!

He and Tim both felt so bad
They started in to cry
But then (thought Davey), YES, we CAN!
Well, anyhow - let's try!

First, let's chase those chickens out!
That's what we've got to do!
So Tim began to flap his ears
While Davey shouted, "SHOOOOOO!"

The chickens clucked and flew and ducked,
They fluttered wild and scary,
Until their feathers filled the air
Like snow in January!
Yes, Davey chased those chickens out,
He and Tim together;
But now he had to get a sack
And pick up every feather!

You should have seen how HARD they worked!
They stacked up all the wheat.
They straightened up the harnesses
Till they were nice and neat,

They fought with spiders bravely
Till they chased out every bug!
(And since we must admit the truth -They broke another jug!)

The very biggest job of all
Was stacking up the hay!
Davey climbed up to the loft
And put it all away!

Look, Tim! you see how HIGH it is?
I'll make just one more trip...
Then clear up by the stable roof
His feet began to slip!

Down came hay and Davey too
The stable looked so queer -
All you could see was piles of hay -
One sandal, and one ear!

Slowly they came out on top,
And Davey didn't whine,
Though hay stuck out all over him
Just like a PORCUPINE!

He put the hay all back again,
And stacked it up with care --
But left one armload down below
To fill the manger there.

So Davey's work was done at last;
And when it all looked neat
He picked some flowers to trim the barn
(And some for Tim to eat!)

I hope it's clean enough, he thought
At least, I did my best.
And feeling very, very tired,
He curled up for a rest . . .

Who woke up Davey from his sleep?
Just guess them if you can!
Mary was the woman's name,
Joseph was the man.

Mary said, Oh Joseph, look!
This is a lovely place!
Then, seeing Davey there, she said
With such a shining face,

Your father's inn had no more rooms.
Tonight we're staying there;
So tell me now, are you the boy
Who cleaned the stable, Dear?
And did your donkey help you work?
We want to thank him, too.
Though Davey still was half asleep
His heart was glad - clear through!

So that is how a little boy
Two thousand years ago
Stayed on to hear the angels sing
And see the Star aglow!

As soon as Baby Jesus came
To use the manger bed,
Then Davey's sack of feathers made
A pillow for His head!

No one told Davey anymoreThat he was in the way!
His work had helped get ready for
THE WORLD'S FIRST CHRISTMAS DAY!
Story by Beth Vardon

The Camel Had Wandered

Our family has always enjoyed a Christmas tradition of setting out a ceramic Nativity scene—complete with Wise Men, camels, shepherds, sheep, and, of course, Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus. Each season the Nativity scene was the same.
One year when my children were young, I carefully unwrapped each piece and set them up to represent the first Christmas. The children gathered around to watch. We talked about the birth of Jesus and the visit of the shepherds and the Wise Men. Then I cautioned the children, as always, not to touch the pieces, explaining that they were fragile and easy to break.
This year, however, the temptation was too great for my two-year-old daughter, Elizabeth. The day we set up the Nativity scene, I noticed several times, with some irritation, that a camel had wandered from its appointed place or a sheep had strayed from the watchful care of the shepherd. Each time, I returned the piece to its rightful place, then tracked down the culprit and admonished her to leave things alone.
The next morning, Elizabeth awoke and went downstairs before I did. When I walked into the living room, I noticed right away that the manger scene had been disturbed again. All the pieces were clumped together in a mass, as tightly as they could be fitted together.
Impatiently, I stepped forward to put things right; but I stopped short as I realized that some thought had gone into this new arrangement. All twenty-three figures were grouped in a circle, facing inward, pushed together as if to get the best view possible of the figure resting in the center of them all—the baby Jesus.
The Spirit touched my soul as I pondered the insight of a two-year-old. Certainly, Christ should be the center of our holiday celebrations. If we all could draw in around our Savior—not only during the Christmas season, but during each day—what a better perspective we would have. The love he offers to each of us would be easily shared with others who have not ventured so close.
I left the Nativity scene arranged according to Elizabeth’s design that year. It served as a simple reminder during the rest of the season of what Christmas is all about.

IT'S SNOWING!!!

(and that makes me happy.)

Words of the Prophet: A Glorious Season

President Gordon B. Hinkley
In each of us there is at Christmastime something of our childhood. We all revel in the fun of Christmas—of giving and receiving tinseled presents, of singing favorite carols, of feasting on goodies we never miss at other seasons, of gathering together as family and friends, all having a wonderful time.
But there is something else, something better, and that is to sit together as families and read again the fascinating story of the birth of Jesus, who was born in Bethlehem of Judea.
A Season to Remember the Savior
It is proper during this season when we commemorate His birth that we remember the Lord Jesus Christ in reverence and with love. He has done for us what we could not do for ourselves. He has brought meaning to our mortal existence. He has given us the gift of eternal life.
When all is said and done, when all the legions of the ages have passed in review, when man’s terrible inhumanity to man has been chronicled, when God’s great love for His children has been measured, then above all stands the lone figure of Jesus Christ, the Redeemer of the world, the Savior of mankind, the living Son of the living God, the Prince of Peace, the Holy One.
Isaiah spoke of Him centuries before His coming: “For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:6).
Nephi, long before the Master’s birth, was given a vision of His coming. He saw in that vision the mother of Christ, “a virgin, most beautiful and fair above all other virgins” (1 Nephi 11:15).
Of her He was born in Bethlehem of Judea, and the angel said unto Nephi, “Behold the Lamb of God, yea, even the Son of the Eternal Father!” (1 Nephi 11:21).
And Nephi “beheld that he went forth ministering unto the people, in power and great glory; and the multitudes were gathered together to hear him; and … they cast him out from among them.” And He “was lifted up upon the cross and slain for the sins of the world” (1 Nephi 11:28, 33).
All of these ancient visions were fulfilled. He came to earth. He walked the dusty roads of Palestine, teaching the people, healing the sick, causing the blind to see, raising the dead, giving His life on Calvary’s cross, and rising on the third day to “become the firstfruits of them that slept” (1 Corinthians 15:20).
He had been the Creator of this earth, under His Father’s direction, for as John records, “without him was not any thing made that was made” (John 1:3). He was the great Jehovah who spoke with the prophets of old.
He was the lowly babe who came to earth in the meridian of time and brought to us the gift of Christmas. He was the Resurrection and the Life, who brought to us the wonder of Easter.
There would be no Christmas if there had not been Easter. The babe Jesus of Bethlehem would be but another baby without the redeeming Christ of Gethsemane and Calvary, and the triumphant fact of the Resurrection.
I believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of the Eternal, Living God. None so great has ever walked the earth. None other has made a comparable sacrifice or granted a comparable blessing. He is the Savior and the Redeemer of the world. I believe in Him. I declare His divinity without equivocation or compromise. I love Him. I speak His name in reverence and wonder. I worship Him as I worship His Father, in spirit and in truth. I thank Him and kneel before His Beloved Son who reached out long ago and said to each of us, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).
A Season of Increased Love
And so at this Christmas season, we sing His praises and speak our words of faith and gratitude and love. It is His influence in our lives that stirs within us more kindness, more respect, more love, more concern. It is because of Him and His teachings that we reach out to those in trouble, distress, and need wherever they may be.
What a glorious season is this time of Christmas. Hearts are softened. Voices are raised in worship. Kindness and mercy are reenthroned as elements in our lives. There is an accelerated reaching out to those in distress. There is an aura of peace that comes into our homes. There is a measure of love that is not felt to the same extent at any other time of the year.
Said Jesus: “Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.” (Matthew 7:12.)
May I remind us at this Christmas season that if only each of us would reflect occasionally on that Christ-given mandate and make an effort to observe it, this would be a different world. There would be greater happiness in our homes; there would be kinder feelings among our associates; there would be much less of litigation and a greater effort to compose differences. There would be a new measure of love and appreciation and respect.
There would be more generous hearts, more thoughtful consideration and concern, and a greater desire to spread the gospel of peace and to advance the work of salvation among the children of men.
A Season of Meditation
Christmas is more than trees and twinkling lights, more than toys and gifts and baubles of a hundred varieties. It is love. It is the love of the Son of God for all mankind. It reaches out beyond our power to comprehend. It is magnificent and beautiful.
It is peace. It is the peace which comforts, which sustains, which blesses all who accept it.
It is faith. It is faith in God and His Eternal Son. It is faith in His wondrous ways and message. It is faith in Him as our Redeemer and our Lord.
We testify of His living reality. We testify of the divinity of His nature. In our times of grateful meditation, we acknowledge His priceless gift to us and pledge our love and faith. This is what Christmas is really about.
For each of you may this be a merry Christmas. But more importantly, I wish for each of you a time, perhaps only an hour, spent in silent meditation and quiet reflection on the wonder and the majesty of this, the Son of God. Our joy at this season is because He came into the world. The peace that comes from Him, His infinite love which each of us may feel, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude for that which He freely gave us at so great a cost to Himself—these are of the true essence of Christmas.

This Christmas

THE GIFTS OF CHRISTMAS
Howard W. Hunter
This Christmas, mend a quarrel. Seek out a forgotten friend. Dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust. Write a letter. Give a soft answer. Encourage youth. Manifest your loyalty in word and deed. Keep a promise. Forgo a grudge. Forgive an enemy. Apologize. Try to understand. Examine your demands on others. Think first of someone else. Be kind. Be gentle. Laugh a little more. Express your gratitude. Welcome a stranger. Gladden the heart of a child. Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth. Speak your love and then speak it again.

(And yes, I am counting this as today's story... I really liked it.)

The Little Golden Box

Some time ago a friend of mine punished his 3-year-old daughter for wasting a roll of gold wrapping paper. Money was tight, and he became infuriated when the child tried to decorate a box to put it under their Christmas tree.
Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift to her father the next morning and said, "This is for you daddy." He was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared again when he found that the box was empty.
He yelled at her, "Don't you know that when you give someone a present, there's supposed to be something inside of it?"
The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and said, "Oh daddy, it's not empty. I blew kisses into the box. All for you Daddy."
The father was crushed. He put his arms around his little girl, and again begged her forgiveness.
My friend told me that he kept that gold box by his bed for years. Whenever he was discouraged, he would take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there.
Each of us has been given a gold container filled with unconditional love and kisses. No more precious possession could anyone hold.

We just couldn't resist a second one... we're sure you don't mind

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Mistletoe

Douglas W. Evans
I stood under the mistletoe. The green leafy clusters speckled with waxy-white berries hung from the branches of every apple tree. "That’s the same stuff they sell in the stores for Christmas decorations!" I said to myself. "Why can’t I sell mistletoe too?" Christmas was three weeks away. Selling mistletoe would be a perfect way to earn money to buy a gift for my brother, Derek.
I took a few steps back, ran, leaped, and reached as high as I could. But the lowest mistletoe cluster was too high. I missed by a mile. So that was that. I had started home when something strange caught my eye. At the edge of the apple orchard, one tree stood bare. Of course I knew the leaves and apples fell off months ago. But the mistletoe, every sprig of it, had fallen off the branches also. It lay in a neat pile at the food of the tree, as if put there just for me. Delighted, I carefully picked out the best sprigs and put them in my lunch box. When it was jam-packed, I sprinted across the flattened cornfield to the mobile home where I lived. I entered the side door, listening.
Yes, a guitar was playing. I walked down the narrow hall to my bedroom door and pounded on the door. "Derek, are you in there?" The guitar stopped. "One sec, " came the grumpy reply. A moment later the door was flung open. My brother stood there wearing his brown leather jacket. "Where are you going?" I asked. "None of your business, " he muttered, sailing past me. It wasn’t easy sharing that cramped bedroom with my older brother. We got on each other’s nerves a lot. That whole trailer was too small for our family. With Derek out of the room, I emptied the contents of my lunch box onto my bed. I split the sprigs of mistletoe into smaller ones and carefully picked off every dead leaf and berry. In my mom’s sewing box, I found a roll of red ribbon. I used it to tie bows around the sprigs, then put each one in a little plastic bag. As I looked for something to put the mistletoe in, I saw Derek’s guitar on his bed, wrapped in an old towel.
The guitar was the only beautiful thing Derek owned, and I knew that to buy with the mistletoe money: a case for that guitar. Even if Derek was grumpy sometimes, he was still my brother, and I loved him. The next day I took my mistletoe packages – ten in all -- to school. During lunchtime I sold every one. My pockets jingled with change as I walked home that day. But it was hardly enough money to buy a guitar case. After school, I cut through the apple orchard again. A surprise awaited me – two more trees were bare, and under each one lay a pile of mistletoe! I loaded my lunch box, filled my pockets then raced for home. Derek was striding across the cornfield as I approached the trailer. His head was lowered. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his leather jacket. "Derek! Derek!" I hollered as friendly as I could. But when he looked up and saw me, he stopped and turned in another direction.
That night I made twice as many mistletoe packages. After school the next day, I walked to the shopping center office and got permission to sell my mistletoe there. Then I fond a wooden box to use as a sales stand. I thumb-tacked a sign on it that read: "Christmas Mistletoe 25 cents!" Within the hour, the mistletoe was sold out. I hurried over to the music store. In the front display window, on cotton snow, lay a row of wooden recorders. I had learned to play a plastic one at school, and more than anything I wanted one of those wooden ones which sounded so much better. Each year that was at the top of my Christmas list. But each year there wasn’t enough money. I was calculating how much more money I’d need to buy a recorder when I saw the towers of guitar cases in the back of the store.
As much as I wanted a recorder, I wanted to buy Derek a guitar case more. Even if he had been a grouch lately, he was a pretty neat brother. Going inside the store, I found the perfect case for Derek, a brown one with gold buttons. It cost a bundle, though. Much more than I had. I hoped that there would be lots more mistletoe in the orchard when I got there. I reached the orchard after the sun had just set, and the air was icy. The shadowy crooked branches of the apple trees appeared as grabbing fingers against the purple sky. Something rustled in a distant tree. Rotten apples squished under my feet as I tried to creep closer to see what it was. Then I tripped.
My knees sunk into a pile of something scratchy. Mistletoe! another big heap of it. It was a miracle! I was filling my lunch box, when a voice right behind me softly said, "Chilly night to be out, young man. " I spun around. "I’m collecting m-m-mistletoe," I stuttered, half from cold, half from fright. Sorry I scared you, " the man said with a friendly smile. "The fact is, I’m paying a guy to cut all that mistletoe out of my trees."
"What!" I exclaimed, puzzled. "My apple trees are loaded with mistletoe. That very plant people kiss under can do these old trees harm. It attaches itself to their branches and sucks out a lot of food and water. Eventually it could kill these trees. Anyway, you’re welcome to take all you want." The man wished me a merry Christmas, then walked on across the orchard.
He stopped under a tree about thirty yards away and looked up. Out of that tree tumbled a big clump of mistletoe – then another and another. An instant later two legs dangled down from the lowest branch. All of a sudden someone jumped down next to the man. It was Derek! He didn’t see me in the shadows. "A few more nights ought to do it, " the man said. "Yeah, " Derek replied, brushing off his jeans."
So what are you going to do with all the money I’m paying you?" asked the man. "Are you going out and having a good time?" "Nah," said Derek, shuffling his feet. "I’m saving up to buy my kid brother something for Christmas." "Is that right?" said the man. "Yeah, He’s been wanting a wooden recorder for ages. He can play pretty well.
And you know how it is – he’s my brother."

Almie Rose

Author Unknown
It was at least two months before Christmas, when nine-year old Almie Rose told her father and me that she wanted a new bicycle. Her old Barbie bicycle was just too babyish, and besides it needed a new tire.
As Christmas drew nearer, her desire for a bicycle seemed to fade – or so we thought, as she didn’t mention it again. Merrily, we started purchasing the latest rage – Baby Sitter’s Club dolls – and beautiful story books, a doll house, a holiday dress and toys. Then, much to our surprise, on December 23, she proudly announced that she "really wanted a bike more than anything else."
Now we didn’t know what to do. It was just too late, what with all the details of preparing Christmas dinner and buying last minute gifts, to take the time to select the "right bike" for our little girl. So here we were – Christmas Eve around 9pm, having just returned from a wonderful party, contemplating our evening ahead…hours of wrapping children’s presents, parent’s presents, a brother’s presents and friend’s presents. With Almie Rose and her six-year old brother, Dylan, nestled in their beds, we could now think only of the bike, the guilt and the idea that we were parents who would disappoint their child.
That’s when my husband, Ron, was inspired. "What if I make a little bicycle out of clay and write a note that she could trade the clay model in for a real bike?" The theory, of course, being that since this is a high-ticket item and she is "such a big girl," it would be much better for her to pick it out. So he spent the next five hours painstakingly working with clay to create a miniature bike.
Three hours later, on Christmas morning, we were so excited for Almie Rose to open the little heart-shaped package with the beautiful red and white clay bike and the note. Finally, she opened and read the note aloud.
She looked at me and then Ron and said, "So does this mean that I trade in this bike that Daddy made me for a real one?"Beaming, I said, "YES."Almie Rose had tears in her eyes when she replied, "I could never trade in this beautiful bicycle that Daddy made me. I’d rather keep this than get a real bike."
At that moment, we would have moved Heaven and Earth to buy her every bicycle on the planet!

Suck Face

My kids have some of the funniest quirks. Landon's current quirk is one of my most awkward favorites.
Landon likes to suck on peoples faces, their cheeks, more specifically. I don't not what it is, but if you get your face anywhere near his, he pulls you to him and opens his slobbery mouth up wide and then sucks on your face. Sometimes he even bites. (he has 4 teeth now. That's 2 new ones in the last week or so.)
Silly boy. I haven't figured it out yet. I promise I keep him fed, so it's not that. Plus, he doesn't only do it to me. He does it to Brandon and Cooper ALL THE TIME!
So funny. As cute as it is, I hope this isn't a habit he keeps into his teen years. That could be awkward on all new levels.