Symmetrical Christmas Trees, part 2

Reaching into his pack, Santa pulled out another present and looked over at Sara Brown.  “This gift is for you,” he said, holding out the present.  Sara smiled and reached out confidently to take her gift.  She had enjoyed watching the two preceding guests get their duplicate presents, and had wondered what on earth Santa would give her.

Sara was neither flashy or dumpy, she was perfect; in everything.  She was the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect homemaker, the perfect PTSO president, the perfect small businesswoman, the perfect neighbor, the perfect church member, the perfect friend, and the list went on and on.  In fact, Sara had been awarded the ‘Mother of the Year’ award last year, which sat on a shelf with her many other awards which she had received for all her other contributions to society.  She smiled inside, wondering what Santa would help her see about herself that she needed to improve on, because she was not only perfect in everything she already knew how to do, she also was perfect at wanting to improve. 

Santa smiled warmly as he placed her gift in her hands, but Sara was a little taken back.  Probably because her gift had been underneath the previous presents, (and they had been very heavy!) the wrapping paper on her package was wrinkled and crushed looking.  There was even a slight tear on one side.  Imperfections offended Sara, but she was also perfect at being gracious, so she didn’t say anything out loud. 

“Thank you, Santa,” she said, as she took her gift and opened it.  Inside was a lovely, miniature cottage hanging from a silken thread.  It was a thing of beauty, and it took away everyone’s breath.  It was as if a Thomas Kinkade painting had been magically reproduced in three dimension. 

“Oh, Santa,” Sara sighed.  “It is perfect!” 

“Just like you,” Santa beamed.  “Read what it says.”

Carefully holding the ornament on its side, Sara found the words printed underneath the house, (no one would have dreamed of marring the beautiful painting by writing on the cottage itself.)   “You’re gift this year will be to have perfect children.”

“Oh my!”  Sara exclaimed.  The one perfection she had not been unable to obtain was perfect children, probably because she couldn’t do it for them.  She taught them and helped them and did things for them and covered up for their mistakes, but she couldn’t be them, so as yet they were not perfect.

Sara held the ornament in her hand and looked happily at Santa.  “This is so wonderful,” she thanked.  “What is my other gift that will help me obtain perfect children?”

Santa grinned.  “Aren’t you even going to try to hang this on your tree by itself?” he teased. 

“I don’t think I need to,” Sara answered.  “I already know I’ll need your help balancing this gift.  I’m just excited to learn how I’m going to do it.”

“Alright,” Santa said as he pulled another lovely cottage out of his pack.  “Here you go.”

Sara held up the beautiful ornament and read from the bottom, “Your gift will be the patience to let your children make mistakes, and the charity to not fix them.”

Sara looked a little pale as she lowered the ornament, but she smiled at Santa and asked, “Will I really have the gifts of patience and charity?  And will you remind me throughout the year to use them?”

“Yes,” Santa said simply.  Then he smiled at Sara and helped her place her two cottages on her Christmas tree.  Standing back a little he cocked his head to one side and examined the tree.  “Perfect,” he proclaimed.

“Now, for Stewart,” Santa beamed cheerfully, as he turned to a tall, dignified businessman wearing a perfectly tailored suit and silk tie. Stewart looked like a man who was quickly climbing the corporate ladder.

Stewart smiled as Santa handed him his gift, tastefully wrapped in midnight blue paper with a silver ribbon tied around it.  Stewart didn’t tear the paper off his present.  Carefully he untied the ribbon, folded it, then slipping his fingers under the tape, eased the paper off without tearing it a bit.  Beneath the wrappings Steward found a solid gold ball hanging from a red silk ribbon.  “Wow!” everyone in the room gasped.  Steward smiled.  Now this was something he could appreciate! 

“What’s written on it?” someone called, and Stewart looked closely to see words etching themselves across the gold surface of his ornament.  “You will have financial success,” it read.

“Hang it on your tree,” Santa suggested.  “I think you will enjoy this gift all year long.”

“I know I will,” Stewart agreed.  He jumped up and with precision hung his ornament in the exact middle of his Christmas tree.  The tree leaned towards him at a precarious angle, the gold ball pulling it straight towards the ground.  Before it crashed Stewart grabbed the ball. 

“I need something to balance it out, right Santa?” 

“I suppose you do,” Santa grinned, as he reached back into his pack and pulled out a second gold ornament and held it up for all to see. 

“Before you hang it on my tree I’d like to know what it says,” Stewart demanded. 

“Sure,” said Santa as he held the ball out to Stewart.  “You will be blessed with the opportunity to donate great amounts of time and money to your community this year,” it read. 

“I was afraid of that,” Stewart grinned, but he didn’t seem too put off.  He actually enjoyed helping with community events and looked forward to having the resources to do more.

After both balls were hung on Stewart’s tree, Santa turned to Sam.  “Well, are you ready to see your gift,” he asked?

Sam grinned.  While he might not be as tall and dignified as Stewart, he was very well known. Samuel Wellington Farnsworth the third had inherited a fortune which continued to grow at an alarming rate.  Along with the money, Sam had inherited his family’s habit of giving. Many organizations and programs owed their financial success to Sam’s philanthropy. He smiled as he accepted his gift from Santa, sure in his heart that there would be no second gift needed to balance his tree.  Sam was already a well balanced man.

When the festive paper had been removed from Sam’s present he discovered a delightful ornament that looked an awful lot like Santa himself.  It was hand painted porcelain, finely detailed, and everyone laughed when Sam held it up for all to see.  What a perfect gift for a man who spent the whole year playing Santa. 

“I don’t suppose you need anyone to tell you what your gift is,” Santa grinned at Sam, “but if you’ll look closely you’ll find something written around the belt on your Santa ornament.”

“Sam held the figure closer to his eyes and read aloud, “You will have the gift of being able to help even more people this year.”

Everyone in the room smiled.  They all knew the good Sam did, and they were pleased to be able to share in his moment of acknowledgement. 

Sam carefully hung the Santa ornament on a high branch of his tree, but to everyone’s horror it slowly started pulling the tree to the right.  Obviously not as heavy as the preceding ornaments, it still pulled the perfect tree out of symmetry.

“But, Santa,” Sam questioned after he removed his precious ornament.  “I already have balance in my life.  I don’t horde my money or my time.  Why, I’ve spent my life helping my fellow man.   What more can I do?”

Santa smiled kindly as he reached into his bag and withdrew another porcelain Santa Clause.  “I know you are almost perfect, Sam, and I appreciate what you do for the world better than you can ever imagine.  Why, you’ve done so much good in this city alone that some years I don’t even have to stop here on Christmas Eve.  But the gifts I’m giving everyone tonight are just that, gifts.  You make it sound like my presents are actually reproofs.”

Sam looked a little crestfallen.  He hadn’t meant to hurt Santa’s feelings, but it had seemed to him that the presents so far had pointed out something the receiver should improve in.  He hadn’t recognized that these same gifts would also give their owners joy.

Carefully he took the second porcelain figure from Santa and read on its belt, “Your son still loves and needs you.  This year your gift will be the ability to reach out to him and welcome him home.”

Tears filled Sam’s eyes.  He had spent a lifetime helping the needy and unfortunate, and it had made him happy.  But it had never completely filled in the hole torn from his heart when his only son rebelled against being Samuel Wellington Farnsworth the fourth.  Perhaps this year he could find his son and spend the same amount of time helping and loving him.

There were other trees to be balanced that night, and as each guest received their gifts Santa’s pack shrank until finally it was empty.  Their was much hand shaking and many thank-you’s as people happily carried their gifts out to their cars, although a few guests still had skeptical looks on their faces.

Santa, though, was the happiest as he left that evening.  His pack had been heavy on the trip down, and now it was light.  What’s more, it was time for him to enjoy a gift of his own.  The Christmas season was a hard time for him to find balance, and now he was looking forward to spending a few well deserved days on vacation.  Especially since he would be spending them with Mrs.Claus, because she was the other side of his Christmas tree, and she kept him standing straight.

Symmetrical Christmas Trees

This is going to be my last Christmas story for this year, but it is kind of long so I'll break it in half and post the second part tomorrow.  I hope you enjoy it, but even if you think it's lame, that's ok.  I wrote this story for myself, and for dad.  He tried to teach me this principle for years, and I'm still trying to learn it.

Symmetrical Christmas Trees

By Gale Ashcroft

Santa sent out 10 exclusive invitations the week before Christmas.  Not just anybody got invited to this special pre-Christmas party, just the most deserving citizens.  The recipients came together that night with high expectations and not a little self pride.

The first thing they saw when they entered the festively decorated hall were ten perfect Christmas trees.  Each tree was labeled, so the guests knew immediately where they belonged.  When they were sitting next to their own trees, Santa stood up and began.

“Welcome, welcome to this special Christmas Party.  I am so glad you were able to come tonight.  I have invited you here because you are each wonderful, deserving people, and I wanted to personally give you your Christmas presents.”

The guests preened themselves a little and smiled, waiting expectantly for Santa to continue.

“Trisha Brandyhoff, would you like to go first?” Santa asked as he opened his sack.

Trisha smiled and stood.  She was a trim, thirty-something young woman dressed in a well fitting holiday pants-suit that showed off her toned body to perfection.  Santa opened his bag and removed a brightly wrapped package.  Handing it to Trisha he said, “Go ahead and open it, dear.  Everyone wants to see.”  So Trisha happily tore the paper from her gift.  Inside she found a lovely platinum Christmas ornament, dangling from a shiny silver thread.  It was pointed on both ends, with a long, sleek, slightly rounded middle.

“Very elegant!” the other guests murmured, realizing immediately that this ornament fitted Trisha perfectly.  She held it up, admired it, but also turning quizzical eyes towards Santa.  I mean, an ornament was nice, but was that all?

Santa understood without her even asking.  “Look at it closer,” he advised.

Trisha held up the ornament again and suddenly gasped.  Writing had appeared around its gracefully formed mid-section.  It said, “Your gift this year will be the ability to obtain a physically perfect body.” 

“Oh, my,” Trisha beamed.  “Thank you, Santa.”

“You’re welcome, dear,” Santa said.  “Go ahead and hang your ornament on your tree.”

Trisha carefully hung her gift on the highest bough of her Christmas tree, but when she removed her hand the ornament pulled the branch down until the tree was almost doubled over.  Quickly Trisha removed the ornament.  “I guess it’s heavier than I thought,” she giggled.  Carefully she hung it on a thicker, lower branch, but again it pulled the branch down towards the ground, bending the tree with it. 

“Wow,” Trisha said as she removed the ornament again.  “This thing must be solid platinum.  I guess I’ll have to hang it down here at the bottom,” and she slid the silver thread around the largest branch.  Amazingly, it was still too heavy.  Although it didn’t bend the whole tree over, it pulled that branch down at such a sharp angle the ornament slid right off and rolled to the floor.

“What should I do, Santa,” Trisha wailed?  My ornament is too heavy to hang on my tree.”

Santa smiled kindly and reached into his pack again.  “Your problem is balance,” he said.  Your gift can hang on the top of the tree as long as you have another one on the other side to balance it out.”

He handed Trisha a matching ornament, but she didn’t look convinced.  “They will both be too heavy,” she worried. 

“It will work,” Santa assured her.  “You hang your ornament on your side, and I’ll hang this other one at the same time on the other side.  You’ll see.” 

So at the same moment they both hung their ornaments on Trisha’s tree, and sure enough, the equal weight on both sides held the tree upright and perfect.  Everyone sighed with relief.  It would have been terrible if Trisha’s present had been a dud. 

“So what does your other gift have written on it?” Sam, a short, bald man asked.

“I don’t know,” Trisha answered in surprise.  She had been so concerned about getting the ornaments on the tree that she hadn’t noticed writing on the second one.  Walking around to that side of her tree she looked closer at her second gift.  “You will have the gift of reading bedtime stories to your daughter every night,” she slowly read. 

Trisha turned and looked at Santa.  “But I can’t do that,” she exclaimed in dismay.  The only chance I have to go to the gym is in the evening.  My husband puts Elizabeth to bed so I can go work out.  How can I have a perfect body if I don’t exercise?”

Santa smiled and carefully reached into the tree.  “I’m sorry, Trisha.  If you don’t want this gift I’ll take it off.  Tonight is about making you happy.  You deserve it.”  And he grasped the second ornament and slipped it off the branch.  Immediately the tree doubled over, the first ornament pulling its branch toward the floor.

“Stop, stop,” cried Trisha.  “You’re going to break my tree.”  Quickly she reached in and picked up her ornament, looking at Santa in despair.  “What good is getting a present if it ruins everything,” she demanded? 

“Not much,” Santa commiserated.  “But you’ve got to have balance if you don’t want your tree to break.”

Trisha looked hard at Santa for a little while.  She had a feeling he was trying to tell her something, and she wasn’t very happy with what she thought it was.  Finally she shrugged her shoulders and said, “You win, Santa.  I guess I get it.  Go ahead and hang your ornament and I’ll hang mine.”  Once again they worked together, placing both ornaments on the tree at the same time.  It looked even prettier than it had before.

“And now for Charlie Wood,” Santa smiled.  Charlie beamed.  He was a big fellow, recently retired, a good, steady man.  There was nothing really remarkable about Charlie, but everyone liked him.  You felt secure around Charlie, like he would be able to take care of things if there was a problem; a big, strong, reliable sort of guy.

“So, Charlie, Merry Christmas,” Santa said as he pulled out a brightly wrapped present from his Christmas bag.  “Go ahead and open it so everyone can see.”

Charlie took the present from Santa and looked around at everyone.  “You want me to open it?” he joked as he held the gift high. 

“Open it, open it,” the other guests yelled. 

After a few more teasing moments, Charlie grabbed the wrapping paper and tore it from his gift, then held it up for everyone to see.  It was a Christmas star to hang on his tree, old fashioned and very heavy.  It looked like something a blacksmith would have made years ago, back in the early days of our country, and it was exactly something Charlie would love.  He was really into history and the founding fathers and Americana in general. 

“I know you love everything to do with America, Charlie,” Santa beamed, “so I thought you might appreciate this gift.”

“I do, I do,” Charlie said, holding the ornament high.  “It’s great!”

“Good,” Santa said.  “Before you hang it on your tree, you might want to read what is engraved on the iron.”

Charlie exclaimed peered closer at his gift and discovered there was writing all along the sides of his star.  His lips moved as he read silently, but the rest of the party wanted to know what it said, too, so he started over again.  “Your gift this year is to be able to make a difference in your country.”  Charlie looked up with happiness.  “All right!” he exclaimed.  “Thank you, Santa.  That is exactly what I want to be able to do!”

“I know,” Santa smiled quietly.  He did know.  Since retiring Charlie had finally had time to spend learning the issues and becoming informed. He listened to talk shows, read the newspaper, and watched news programs with avid interest, becoming more and more involved the more he learned.  It broke his heart that politics had moved so far from their original state back at the beginning of our country, and the more he heard the angrier he got with the current administration and the direction they were taking the country.  The coming year would be an election year, and Charlie immediately realized his gift meant he was going to have a chance to be involved.  It thrilled him.

“Go ahead and hang your ornament on your Christmas tree, Charlie,” Santa encouraged, so Charlie hung the star on a high bow, but it was too heavy and the whole tree bent over.  “What the….” Charlie exclaimed as he grabbed the star and slid it off the branch.  “I guess I’d better try a different place.”

But wherever Charlie put it, the star pulled the tree off center.  The heavy metal overbalanced whatever branch he put it on. 

“I can help,” Santa suggested, when Charlie had tried every which way he could think of and looked ready to give up.  Reaching inside his bag he pulled out an identical iron star and handed it to Charlie.  “This should make the difference.”

Charlie took the star and looked at it.  There was writing etched on it, too, and he read, “You will have the gift of playing with your grandchildren this year, and you will get to teach them all the old games they can’t learn by watching TV.”

“But,” Charlie began, looking from the star to Santa and back again.  “I thought my gift was being involved in politics this year.  I won’t have time to spend playing if I’m going to be able to make a difference.  This second star must be fore next year, right?”

Santa smiled.  “Can you hang just one star on your tree,” he asked? 

“I’m trying,” Charlie grumbled, but even after another couple of attempts he had to admit defeat.  “Ok, show me how to do this,” he demanded.

Santa took the second star from Charlie and stood on the opposite side of the tree.  “You hang your star and I’ll hang this one at the same time.  Let’s see if we can get them to balance out.” 

Carefully, Charlie placed his star on the Christmas tree and Santa hung his, and the tree stood straight and tall.  Everyone clapped, and Charlie sat down with a thoughtful look on his face.



Christmas in Sweden, part 2

On the morning before Christmas my Great Grandfather,Johan, would go out into the forest and find a beautiful Christmas tree.  After he cut it down he’d bring it back to their house and the children would decorate it with paper and straw ornaments and homemade presents.  Then they would put real little candles on it.  It would look very pretty when the candles were lit, but they had to be very careful not to catch the tree on fire. 

Because Sweden is so close to the North Pole, Santa, or ‘Jul Tompton’ as he is called in Sweden, stopped there first before he went to give his presents to the rest of the world.  That meant that Swedish children got to open their gifts on Christmas Eve.  They would have a big dinner called a Smorgasbord on Christmas Eve, where they ate all the good things that had been made like the Lutfisk and pepparkakor cookies and limpa bread and little white creamed potatoes and all kinds of cheeses and sandwiches. As they ate and visited they listened for the sound of jingle bells, because that meant Jul Tompton was coming.  He didn’t come on a sleigh pulled by eight tiny reindeer, though. In Sweden, Jul Tompton rides on a goat!

Early on Christmas morning the family would get up, put on their Sunday clothes, and go into town to Church.  It began at 6:00, so it would still be very dark when they got into their sled, and they had to take a torch with them to light the way.  It was very beautiful to see all the other people coming to church, carrying their torches through the dark.  The church would be lighted with hundreds of candles lining the isles.  They would sing Christmas hymns and have a special service.

After church the family would go home and have a good breakfast and then the children could play with their toys.  The next day they would go and visit their friends and bring Christmas goodies to their neighbors.  But Christmas wasn’t over yet, it lasted until the 13^th of January when they would have another party.  Then they had another big dinner, and everyone danced around the Christmas tree and sang.  Then the tree was taken down and put outside in the yard, where they tied bits of dry bread and suet on the branches for the birds to eat.

Don’t you wish you lived in Sweden, and it was still Christmas time?

Christmas in Sweden (a long time ago)

I know Christmas is over, and I probably should start telling other kinds of stories, but do you mind hearing a few more Christmas tales?  I hope not.

Christmas in Sweden

My mother’s family is Swedish, and I grew up on stories about life in Sweden.  Christmas is a wonderful holiday there.  It begins on December 13^th with Saint Lucia’s day.  Early in the morning the oldest daughter in the family puts on a white dress with a red sash, and wearing a crown of candles in her hair she brings a hot drink and Lucia buns to each member of the family. 

My Great Grandmother, Ulrika, and her children baked in their wood burning stove for weeks before Christmas making sweet rolls and breads and cookies and other good things.  Whenever someone came to visit they were always given something good to eat.  Maybe that’s why my Grandma Johnson always fed us such yummy things whenever we went to her house. 

One special Swedish Christmas food is Lutfisk.  That is a kind of fish that is pickled in Lye water for two or three weeks.  Several weeks before Christmas the fish is taken out of the lye water and put in clean water to rinse.  The water is changed every day until the lye is washed out.  It takes a lot of work to make Lutfisk, but Grandma Johnson’s father, Johan, figured out a faster way to do it.  When the herring was done soaking in the lye water he would take it down to the lake.  After cutting a hole in the ice he would tie the herring up in a bundle and drop it into the water, tying one end to a stick to keep it from floating away.  The herring hung there in the clean water and by Christmas the lye was all rinsed away.  Johan always had to buy more herring than he needed, though, because the fish in the lake would eat some of it while it hung in their water.

Following in His Footsteps

“If you’ll follow in your brother’s footsteps you’ll never go wrong.”

By Elsie Peters

It started off as a lark, just something to do during the holidays while we waited for Christmas.  We’d finished finals the week before and come home on Friday.  Now, by Monday, we were all looking for something fun to do.  And what could be more fun than to go out to my family’s ranch to play in the snow?  At least, it seemed like a good idea on Monday morning.  If only we had known.

My name is Elsie Peters, though it was Elsie Johnson back then.  I was 18 years old, young, full of dreams, and in love.  George Willis had just asked me to marry him, which gave me another reason to go out to the ranch.

You see, dad had passed away a couple of years earlier from a bad heart.  In those last few days before he died, I was able to talk with him a lot.  I was scared.  I needed my dad and I didn’t know what I would do if he wasn’t there for me, but he comforted me by reminding me I would still have my big brother Joshua to watch out for me.  Joshua was five years older than me, big and strong, and I idolized him.  Dad said if I would follow in Joshua’s footsteps I would never go wrong, and he was right.

I was so excited when George and I got engaged.  With dad gone, George wanted to officially ask Joshua for my hand, and I wanted to get Joshua’s blessing, or advice.  I suppose even then I wanted to hear from my big brother’s lips the words that I had made the right choice.

We were raised out at the ranch.  Mom and Dad moved there when they were first married.  When dad died Joshua took over, and Mom and I moved permanently into the little house we owned in town.  Dad built it for us to live in during the winters so we could be close to school and church and other people.  Now that mom was older and alone it was good for her not to have to rough it, and I loved living in town, it was exciting and fun, but the ranch was still home.

Joshua was a good rancher, slow and careful and dedicated.  That kind of describes our whole family:  we weren’t very exciting, just solid, good people.  Perhaps that’s why I fell head over hills in love with George.  He was so different! 

Although we grew up in the same town, George never noticed me until we went to the same college.  There were a group of kids from our town that palled around together at college, and they pulled me in when I started school that fall.  George said he was amazed the first day he saw me there.  He’d never noticed me back home, but I guess I’d grown up, because from that first day he was my partner in all the fun things we did.  It was really flattering.  I’d had a crush on him since I was a kid.

George’s family had money, influence, and prestige.  They were important people in our town, and it made me feel like I was someone important when I was with him. 

Mom was excited when I came home from school with a ring on my finger.  18 wasn’t too young to get married back in those days, and the Willis’ were a good family.  Still, I wanted Joshua’s advice.

Monday morning when all the gang got together to plan something fun to do I was more than agreeable when they decided to go play in the snow.  It was me that suggested going to the ranch.  We had hundred’s of acres to romp in, with hills to slide down and a warm fire in the house to thaw out around when we were through. Joshua was planning to come to town that weekend for Christmas, but this way I wouldn’t have to wait until then to talk to him about my engagement, and he would get a chance to get to know George better.

We all piled into George’s brand new 51 Chevy, and drove out to the ranch.  It was a tight fit, there were 7 of us kids in the group, but being packed in like sardines made the laughter that much more jolly.  We sang Christmas carols and told jokes all the way, and were in high spirits when we got there.  It had been a wet year, and there two feet of snow on the ground.  The last storm had been over a week ago, but although the main road was plowed the winding lane that led back to the ranch house was still packed. George decided he didn’t want to take a chance sliding off the lane into a tree, so he parked on the road and we piled out to walk back to the house. 

It stood in a little copse of trees, way back behind a huge, deep meadow that bordered the main road. During summer this meadow was the prettiest thing, with lush green grass that grew waist high, but in the spring after the snow melted and in late summer and early fall during the rainy season it often looked like a lake in front of our house.  Now it was a huge, smooth expanse of glistening white snow.  It was lovely.  The house was tucked inside the trees, so you could only see it’s green roof, with smoke drifting lazily up through the trees to prove that Joshua was home.  There were no truck tracks on the lane, showing my brother hadn’t left the ranch since last week, but his foot prints were there in the deep snow, going and coming from the mail box on the side of the road.

After getting our boots and gloves and hats on I grabbed George’s hand and pulled him towards the lane, intending to walk in Josh’s footprints up to the house. George had other ideas.  The vast expanse of unbroken snow across the meadow called to him with a challenge he just couldn’t pass up. 

It didn’t appeal to me.  It’s always easier to walk where someone else has broken the path for you, and drummed into my subconscious where dad’s words, “If you’ll follow in your brother’s footsteps you’ll never go wrong.” 

“George,” I tried, “let’s follow Joshua’s footprints up the lane.  I know he had a good reason for not crossing the field.”

“Don’t be silly, Elsie,” was George’s reply.  “It’s twice as far.”

“But Joshua wouldn’t go that way unless it was better,” I reasoned.  “Please, let’s just follow his footsteps.”

“What for?”  George laughed.  “We can make our own footprints this way.  I don’t mean to be mean, Elsie, but your brother is just not a very adventurous type of guy.  He walked by the lane because it’s the way he always walks. That doesn’t make it the only way to go.  Come on, we’ll cut half the time off going this way and have more time to cuddle by the fire later this evening,” and George gave me a wicked grin.

Although the meadow was lovely, we’d never played it when I was young.  It was something to be looked at and admired, but it was too marshy and deep to cross.  It might be longer to follow the lane, but it was smarter.  I tried to explain this to George, but it seemed like the more reasons I gave him for following the lane the more challenging it became to cross the meadow.    You don’t tell a Willis what to do.  They do the opposite just to prove they are in charge.

Soon George was leading the way through the deep snow, plowing a straight line towards the house back in the trees.  The other kids fell in behind him, but I hesitated beside the car.  I surely didn’t want George to think I was a scaredy-cat or a goody-two-shoes, nor did I want him to think I questioned his judgment, but I did.  It might be faster to take the straight path across the field, but I knew there would be a good reason why my big brother chose to follow the lane when he walked out to the road, and I felt compelled to follow his path.  

Tom Peters stayed back with me as I struggled with what to do.  He was a quiet fellow who usually just did whatever the group did, but he seemed worried about me.  When I decided I was going to follow my brother’s path instead of George’s, Tom fell in step beside me. 

It was easier going along the lane.  Under the snow the footing was gravel, and Joshua’s earlier footprints cleared the way for us and made our job easier.  We covered twice as much ground as our friends pushing their way through the meadow, and by the time we were almost to the house they were only half way across the field.  They were still having fun, laughing loudly and singing carols as they struggled through the snow.  Joshua must have heard them because as we got close enough to see the house the front door opened and he stepped out.

I waved and started to call out to him just as we heard the screams from the meadow.  Whirling around I saw George disappear into the snow.  The other kids stopped where they were, frozen in astonishment as they gaped into the hole where George had disappeared.  Where only seconds before had seemed to be solid ground covered in two feet of snow, George had walked straight into a marshy place where ice covered and supported the snow, but underneath the ground sloped sharply, hiding another two feet of stagnant, icy water.  Thank goodness it wasn’t really deep, and in a second George was floundering up, struggling to get his footing.  He couldn’t get on his feet, though.  The ice and snow and slimy grass were too slippery.

Joshua plowed through the snow, around the marsh, and reached the edge where George had fallen in before the other kids could figure out what to do. Joshua waded into the icy water and grabbed George.  He helped him stand up, but then Joshua slipped and the two of them fell back into the water.  

By this time Tom and I had followed Joshua to the group, but we weren’t much more help. Anyone who got near the edge of the marsh broke the ice and made it that much farther for the boys to have to go to reach solid ground.  By this time they were both drenched and freezing, which zapped their strength and caused them to slip and slide even more.  All we could do was watch as they struggled together and slowly pulled each other out of the marsh and up onto firm ground.  They were both shaking all over when we finally got to them.  George’s teeth were chattering so loudly he could hardly speak, but he still blustered and made excused as we half carried him across the field to the house.  As usual, Joshua didn’t say much, but his lips were blue and his face white and tight, and I didn’t like the look of him at all.

A fire was burning on the hearth, and it was warm and cozy in the house.  Joshua and George were both wet to the bone.  We gathered dry clothes for them and the other boys helped them get out of their wet things while the girls made hot cocoa in the kitchen. Neither Joshua nor George had any strength left, but we bundled them in blankets and pulled chairs up by the fireplace for them, then we all stood around and tried to help them get warm. 

It seemed to take forever before George was able to stop his teeth from chattering.  He never could admit he was wrong, but he did thank Joshua for pulling him out of the marsh. 

“Don’t worry about it,” was all Joshua said.  I suppose it was just as hard for him to make his mouth work, and he was always quiet anyway.  But I didn’t like the pallor of Joshua’s face, or George’s either, for that matter.

We hadn’t set out for the ranch until late morning, and it took over an hour to get the boys out of the marsh.  By the time we got to the house it was the middle of the afternoon.  Night had fallen before Josh and George were dry and warm, and none of us felt like braving the snow again to walk to the car and drive back to town.  We decided it would be better to spend the night at the ranch and drive back first thing in the morning, so we heated soup from cans in Joshua’s cupboard and spent the evening sitting around his fireplace.  We weren’t nearly as jolly a group as when we had set out. 

I had intended talking to Joshua about my engagement, but I never got around to it.  He looked all done in, and went to bed early.  George wasn’t his normal bubbly self, either, and he soon went to bed as well.  The rest of us sat up by the fire for awhile, mostly just looking at the flames and thinking. I kept hearing my dad’s voice, over and over in my head.  “If you’ll follow your brother’s footsteps you’ll never go wrong.”  I wondered if he had known how literally his words could be taken.

By morning both Joshua and George were burning with fever.   It was obvious they needed to get to a doctor, so we bundled them into Joshua’s old truck and plowed our way out the lane to the main road.  George got into his car and Tom drove.  One of the other boys drove Joshua and me in the old ranch truck and we followed them into town.  We went first to Doc. Thornton’s, but as soon as he saw the boys he sent us directly to the hospital, where they were both admitted. 

That became the longest and saddest week of my life.  It was the week before Christmas, but I didn’t feel any joy.  By Christmas Eve both boys were fighting pneumonia and it seemed touch and go for awhile.  Late in the evening George made a turn for the better and he started to improve, but Christmas morning Joshua’s heart gave out and he slipped away.  My big brother was gone.

The Willis’ were truly amazing.  They took care of mom and me, helping us through the grief of loosing Joshua, and early in the spring they had a beautiful headstone placed on Joshua’s grave.  It was engraved with the scripture from John, 15:13, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

It was a lovely gesture, and it gave my mother a sense of peace.  I appreciated it, too, but I made my own memorial to Joshua later that summer.  Next to the lane, where my big brother’s footprints had once lead me safely through the snow, I placed a plaque which read, “If you’ll follow in your brother’s footsteps you’ll never go wrong.” 

PS.  I never did marry George.

Forget-Me-Nots

Forget –Me-Nots

Last September there was a special world-wide women’s conference for all Relief Society Sisters.  President Uchtdorf gave a particularly good talk about five things we should never forget.  One thing was to remember the difference between a good sacrifice and a poor one.  He cautioned us to spend our time on the things that really mattered and to keep our priorities straight.  I really appreciated that talk.

The next afternoon I called each of my married daughters and we talked about the conference, especially President Uchtdorf’s address.  Alyssa, my middle daughter, was especially touched by it because of something that happened to her. 

She told me that one of her friends had been asked by the Stake Relief Society to make 250 cupcakes to serve at the dinner they hosted after the conference.  This girl had a small catering business and she was excited to make the cupcakes.  As soon as they gave her the job an idea popped into her mind how to decorate them.  Her only problem was how to transport 250 cupcakes from her house to the church, so she asked Alyssa if she would help drive them over in her mini-van.  Alyssa was glad to help, so she went to her friend’s house at noon to move the cupcakes.  She found her friend almost in tears, desperately trying to figure out a way to fix the cupcakes.  They were all made, and Alyssa thought they were lovely, but her friend had sent a picture of them to her mother-in-law, (perhaps a silly thing to do) and her mother-in-law had told her they were not fancy enough.  She said that if the Stake Relief Society asked her to make them for their dinner they were expecting something really elaborate and beautiful, and these cupcakes were too simple.  Alyssa’s friend was desperately trying to figure out a way to dress them up since there was not time to bake more before the conference.  In the end there was nothing she could do, and they had to take the cupcakes to the church like they were, her friend feeling like a miserable failure.

Then they went to the conference.  The first three talks were good, but it was President Uchtdorf’s talk that made the difference.  He used the five petals of the little forget-me-not flower to illustrate the five things he wanted us to always remember.  As he explained each of the five points a picture of the little blue flower was shown.  It was such a simple flower, but so beautiful with it’s delicately veined petals, and it touched everyone’s heart as he plead with us to not become so distracted with the large exotic blooms all around us that we forgot the five simple but important truths he was teaching us.

After the closing prayer the sisters got up and walked back into the cultural hall to have their dinner.  When Alyssa and her friend got there they found everyone clustered around the desert table, staring in wonder at the cupcakes.  “How did they know?” was the question on everyone’s lips.  Because each cupcake was frosted in plain white frosting with one simple, beautiful, delicate, five petaled forget-me-not flower, exactly like the picture from President Uchdorf’s talk.

The Other Wise Man

The Other Wise Man

Condensed from the story by Henry Van Dyke

Each year at Christmas time we read the story of the Three Wise Men of the East and how they traveled from far away to offer their gifts to the Christ Child.  This is the story of another wise man that might have followed the star, not only to Bethlehem, but throughout his life, and yet never found the king.  His name was Artaban.

Artaban was one of the Magi, a man of great wealth, learning, and faith.  He had spent his life studying the stars and searching the scriptures.  Along with three of his learned companions he had discovered that the Son of God was to be born, and that at his birth a new star would appear in the heavens.  It was agreed between Artaban and his three companions that he would watch for the new star from Persia and the others would observe the sky from Babylon.

As the time approached for the sign to be given, Artaban called together a group of his Magi friends to gather in his home.  He told them about the coming birth of the Son of God, and the new star that would appear.  He said, “My three brethren are watching in Babylon, and I am watching here.  When the star appears, they will wait for me ten days, then we will all set out together to follow the star.  I believe the sign will come tonight and I have made ready for the journey by selling all my possessions and have bought these three jewels, a sapphire, a ruby, and a pearl.  I intend to present them as my gift to the king.  I invite you to come with me that we may worship the newborn king together.”

While he spoke, he thrust his hand into the inmost fold of his robe and drew out three great gems, one blue as a fragment of the night sky, one redder than a ray of the sunrise, and one as pure as the peak on a snowy mountain.  He would give them all to the king.

One of his Magi friends arose and said, “Artaban, this is a vain dream.  No king will ever rise from the broken race of Israel.  He who looks for him is a chaser of shadows.”  Then he bid Artaban farewell and left his home.  One by one, each of the others offered his own excuse, until finally only his oldest and truest friend remained.  He said, “Artaban, I am too old for this quest, but my heart goes with thee.”  Then with his hand on Artaban’s shoulder he said, “Those who would see wonderful things must often be willing to travel alone.” And he too was gone.

Left to himself, Artaban put his jewels back into his robe.  Then he again took up his vigil to watch the night sky.  As he watched the heavens, Jupiter and Saturn rolled together and an azure spark was born out of the darkness beneath them.  The spark grew, rounding itself with purple splendor into a crimson sphere.

Artaban bowed his head.  “It is the sign,” he said.  “The King is coming and I will go to meet him.”  All night long, Vasda, the swiftest of Artaban’s horses had been waiting, saddled and bridled in her stall.  “God bless us both and keep our feet from falling and our souls from death,” Artaban whispered as he began his journey.

The Other Wise Man

Under his encouragement, each day his faithful horse measured off the allotted proportion of the distance and at nightfall of tenth day they approached the outskirts of Babylon.  In a little island of desert palm trees, Vasda scented difficulty and slackened her pace.  Then she gave a quick breath of anxiety and stood stock still.  Artaban dismounted.  The dim starlight revealed the form of a man lying in the roadway.  His humble dress and haggard face showed him to be one of the poor Hebrew exiles that still dwelt in Babylon.  His skin bore the mark of the deadly marshland fever.  The chill of death was in his lean hand.  As Artaban turned to go, a sigh came from the sick man’s lips and the brown, bony fingers closed convulsively upon his robe.

Artaban knew that if he lingered for but an hour, he could not reach his friends at the appointed time.  They would go without him.  He would lose his quest.  But if he went now, the man would surely die.  “God of truth and mercy,” he prayed, “direct me in the holy path of wisdom which only thou knowest.”  Then quickly, he went to work.  Hour after hour he labored as only a skillful healer can do, and at last the man’s strength returned.   Artaban gave him what was left of his bread and wine, and a potion of healing herbs, then he mounted his horse and rode into Babylon.

It was already long past midnight, and though Artaban rode with the greatest haste, it was after dawn when he arrived at the designated meeting place.  His friends were nowhere to be seen.  Finally his eyes caught sight of a piece of parchment.  He read, “We have waited till past the midnight and can delay no longer. We go to find the king.  Follow us across the desert.”

Artaban sat down upon the ground in despair and covered his face with his hands.  “How can I cross the desert?” he said, “with no food and a spent horse?  I must return to Babylon, sell my sapphire and buy a train of camels and provisions for the journey.  I may never overtake my friends.  Only God knows whether or not I shall loose my purpose because I tarried to show mercy.”

So Artaban followed his friends across the desert, following the star.  Eventually it led him to the tiny town of Bethlehem.  The streets were deserted.  Artaban saw a young mother standing by the door of a house, singing a lullaby to her child.  He asked her why the town was so quiet.  She told him it was rumored that Herod was sending soldiers to enforce some new tax.  The men had taken their flocks and herds back in to the hills beyond the soldier’s reach. 

Artaban asked if she knew anything of three wise men that had come looking for a baby, the King of the Jews.  “Yes, she had seen the wise men, she told him, but they had disappeared as mysteriously as they had come, and Joseph had taken his wife and babe that same night and secretly fled to Egypt. 

As Artaban listened, the baby reached up its hand and touched his cheek and smiled.  His heart warmed at the touch.  Then suddenly outside there arose a wild confusion of sounds.  Women were shrieking. Then a desperate cry, “The soldiers are killing the babies, they are killing the babies!”

The Other Wise Man

“Please, save my child,” the young mother cried as she darted into the house to hide her baby.  Artaban stood in the doorway and watched as a band of soldiers marched towards him, their swords dripping with blood. The captain approached the door to thrust him aside but Artaban did not move.  His face was as calm as though he were watching the stars.  “There are no children in this house,” he said. 

The captain drew his sword and ordered, “Move aside!”  But still Artaban did not stir. Just his hand moved as he slipped it inside his robes and then withdrew it to reveal the giant ruby, glistening on his palm like a drop of blood.  Quietly Artaban said, “I am waiting to give this jewel to the prudent captain who knows there are no children in this house.”

Greedily the captain snatched the gem and ordered, “March on, there are no children here.”

Then Artaban prayed, “Oh, God, forgive me my sin.  I have spent for men that which was meant for God.  Shall I ever be worthy to see the face of the King?”  But the voice of the woman, weeping for joy in the shadows behind him, said softly, “Because thou has saved the life of my little one, may the Lord bless thee and keep thee, and give thee peace.”

Then Artaban, still following the king, went on into Egypt seeking for the little family.  For many years Artaban continued his search.  He was seen at the pyramids.  He was seen in an obscure house in Alexandria taking counsel from a Hebrew rabbi who told him to seek the king not among the rich, but among the poor.  He passed through countries where famine lay heavy upon the land and the people cried for bread.  He made his dwelling in plague stricken cities where the sick lay helpless.  He visited the oppressed and afflicted in the gloom of prisons.  H searched the crowded wretchedness of slave markets.  Though he found no one to worship, he found many to serve. As the years passed, he fed the hungry, clothed the naked, healed the sick, and comforted the captive.

For thirty-three years he searched.  His hair was now white as snow.  He knew his life’s end was near but he was still desperate with hope that he would yet find the king.  For this purpose, he had come to Jerusalem.  It was the season of the Passover and the city was thronged with strangers.  All of them seemed to be moving toward the Damascus gate.  Artaban inquired where they were going.  One answered, “We are going to the execution on Golgotha, outside the city walls.  Two robbers are to be crucified, and with them a man called Jesus of Nazareth, a man who has done many wonderful works among the people, but the priests and elders have said he must die because he claims to be the Son of God.  Pilate sent him to the cross because he said that he was the King of the Jews.

The King of the Jews.  How strangely those old familiar words fell on the tired ears of Artaban.  God moves in mysterious ways,” he thought.  “Perhaps even now I will be able to use my last gift to ransom the King from death.”

The Other Wise Man

Reaching inside his robe Artaban brought out his last gem, the beautiful pearl.  It seemed to have grown even more radiant from the long years it had been held next to his heart.  But even as he looked at it a troop of soldiers came marching by, dragging a sobbing young woman behind them.  As they passed Artaban she tore herself away and threw herself at his feet.  “Have pity on me,” she cried.  “My father was also a Magi, but he is dead, and I am to be sold as a slave to pay for his debts.”

Artaban trembled as he again felt the old conflict arising in his soul.  It was the same that he had experienced in the palm grove of Babylon and the cottage at Bethlehem.  Twice the gift which he had consecrated to the King had been drawn from his hand to the service of humanity.  Would he fail again?  But then the soldiers dragged the girl from him and he knew.  “Daughter, here is thy ransom,” he whispered as he handed her the pearl. 

While he yet spoke, the darkness of the sky thickened and the shuddering tremors of an earthquake ran through the ground.  The houses rocked.  The soldiers fled in terror, but Artaban sank beside a wall.  What had he to fear?  What had he to hope for?  He had given away his last gift for the King.  The quest was over and he had failed.  What else mattered?  Suddenly, a heavy tile shook from a roof and fell, striking him on the temple.  He lay breathless and bleeding.  The rescued girl leaned over him, fearing that he was dead.  Then there came a still, small voice through the twilight.  It was like distant music.  The notes were clear but the girl could not understand the words.

Then the lips of Artaban began to move as if in answer and she heard him say, “Not so, my Lord.  For when saw I thee an hungered and fed thee, or thirsty and gave thee drink?  When saw I thee a stranger and took thee in, or naked and clothed thee?  When saw I thee sick or in prison and came unto thee?  Thirty three years have I looked for thee, Lord, but I have never seen thy face.” 

Then the girl heard the voice again, but this time she understood the words.  “Verily I say unto thee, Inasmuch as thou hast done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren, thou hast done it unto me.”

A calm radiance of wonder and joy lighted the tired face of Artaban as he took one long, last breath.  His journey was ended.  His treasures were accepted.  The Other Wise Man had found the King.