Good King Wenceslas

Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the Feast of Stephen,
When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even;
Brightly shone the moon that night, though the frost was cruel,
When a poor man came in sight, gathering winter fuel.

"Hither, page, and stand by me, if thou know'st it, telling,
Yonder peasat, who is he?  Where and what his dwelling?"
"Sire, he lives a good league hence, underneath the mountain,
Right against the forest fence, by Saint Agnes' fountain."

"Bring the choicest food of mine, bring me pine logs hither;
Thou and I will see him dine, when we bear them thither."
Page and monarch forth they went, forth they went together,
Through the rude wind's wild lament, and the bitter weather.

"Sire, the night is darker now, and the wind blows stronger;
Fails my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer."
"Mark my footsepts, my good page; tread thou in them boldly.
Thou shalt find the winter's rage freeeze thy blood less coldly."

In his master's steps he trod, where the snow lay dinted;
Heat was in the very sod which the saint had printed.
Therefore, Christian men, be sure, wealth or rank possessing,
Ye who now will bless the poor, shall yourselves find blessing.

The Little Blue Dishes

The Little Blue Dishes

Author Unknown

Once upon a time there was a poor woodcutter who lived with his wife and three children in a little cabin in the forest. There was a big boy named John and a little boy named Peter, and a dear little girl named Gretchen, just five years old.

Christmas was coming, and the children went to the village toy shop to look at all the toys. There were tops and balls and blocks. There were wooly bears and other stuffed animals, and also animals made of wood. There were all kinds of dolls, and there were furniture for dolls' houses – and many other things.

“Gretchen,” said Peter, “what do you like best?”

“Oh, that little box of blue dishes!” said Gretchen. “That is the best of all.” She could not take her eyes off the cunning teapot, the sugar bowl and cream pitcher, and the two little cups and saucers.

On Christmas Eve the children hung up their stocking's, although their mother had told them they must not expect much this year.

After supper John ran out to play with the big boys. Gretchen and Peter sat by the fire talking bout the toys they had seen.

“I wish I had those little blue dishes,” said Gretchen. But soon she became sleepy and went off to bed.

Peter ran to look at his bank. He found only one penny, but he took it and ran to the toy shop.

“What can I buy for a penny?” he asked the toy man.

“You can buy a little candy heart with a picture on it,” said the man.

“But I want that set of blue dishes,” said Peter.

“Oh, those cost ten cents,” said the man.

“Well, then I'll take the candy heart,” said Peter. He took it home and put it in the toe of Gretchen's stocking and then he went to bed.

Pretty soon John came home. He was cold and hungry. While he was warming himself by the fire he noticed the lump in Gretchen's stocking. He put in his hand and drew out the candy heart.

“Oh,” said John, “how good this smells!” And before he thought about what he was doing, he ate the candy heart.

“Oh, dear,” he thought, “that was for Gretchen for Christmas. I must run and buy something else for her.”

He ran to get his bank and he found he had ten pennies. Quickly he ran to the toy shop. The man was just ready to close up.

“What have you for ten pennies?” he asked the storekeeper.

“Well, I'm almost sold out,” said the toy man, “but here is a little set of blue dishes.”

“I will take them,” said John, and he ran home and put them in Gretchen’s stocking. Then he went to bed.

Early Christmas morning the children jumped out of bed and came running to look at their stockings.

“Oh,” cried Gretchen, “look at my stocking!” She had found the blue dishes and she was dancing for joy. But Peter could never understand how his candy heart changed into a box of blue dishes!

The Envelope

The Envelope

Author unknown

It’s just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree.  No name, no identification, no inscription.  It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.  It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas.  Oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it; overspending, the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma; the gifts given in desperation because you couldn’t think of anything else.

Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth.  I reached for something special just for Mike.  The inspiration came in an unusual way.  Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended.  Shortly before Christmas there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church.  These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.  As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler’s ears.  It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford.  Well, we ended up walloping them.  We took every weight class.  And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn’t acknowledge defeat.  Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly.  “I wish just one of them could have won,” he said.  “They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them.”

Mike loved kids, all kids, and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse.  That’s when the idea for his present came.  That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church.  On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me.

His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year, and in succeeding years.  For each Christmas, I followed the tradition.  One year I sent a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on.  The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas.  It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.  As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure.

The story doesn’t end there.  You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer.  When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more.  Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad.  The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing round the tree with wide-eyed anticipation, watching as their fathers take down the envelope.

Mike’s spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.  May we all remember the Christmas spirit this year and always.