Day 5

A Candy Maker’s Witness

A candy maker in Indiana wanted to make a candy that would be a witness, so he made the Christmas Candy Cane. He incorporated several symbols for the birth ministry, and death of Jesus Christ.

He began with a stick of pure white, hard candy. White to symbolize the Virgin Birth and the sinless nature of Jesus, and hard to symbolize the Solid Rock, the foundation of the Church, and firmness of the promises of God.

The candy maker made the candy in the form of a “J” to represent the precious name of Jesus, who came to earth as our Savior. It could also represent the staff of the “Good Shepherd” with which He reaches down into the ditches of the world to lift out the fallen lambs who, like sheep have gone astray.

Thinking that the candy was somewhat lain, the candy maker stained it with red stripes. He used three small stripes to show the scouring Jesus received by which we are healed. The large red stripe was for the bloodshed by Christ on the cross so that we could have the promise of eternal life.

Unfortunately, the candy became know as the Candy Cane – a meaningless decoration seen at Christmas time. But the meaning is still there for those who “have eyes to see and ears to hear.” I pray that this symbol will again be used to witness the Wonder of Jesus and His Great Love that came down at Christmas and remains the ultimate and sominate force in the universe today.

-          Author Unknown

Day 4

A Christmas Story

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; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner city church, mostly black. 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. But 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 sending 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 three for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around 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 Christ, who is the reason for the season, and the true Christmas spirit this year and always.

“There is nothing so healing to oneself as to heal another.”

Author Unknown

Day 3

A Masonic Christmas

Twas the Night before Christmas

And down at the lodge
Not a gavel was stirring,
And in the hodge podge
Of Aprons and jewels
And Chairs East and West

You could savor the silence,

Most gladly divest
All metal and mineral,
It mattered not,
Since Christmas was nigh

And the coals were still hot

In the hearth of your home place
All Masons abed,
As vision of trestleboards
Danced in their head;

When up on the roof there arose such a clatter

Our Tyler jumped up to see what was the matter!
He picked up his sword and ran fast to the door,

Three knocks shook the panels – he wondered “What for?”

He answered the knocking with raps of his own,
And once the door opened he saw, with a moan
Of delight, it was Santa, all jolly and red
Except for one notable feature instead!

Upon his large finger he wore what we knew

Was compass and square on a background of blue!
“Why Santa!” he shouted and lowered his blade,
“I see you’re a Mason!” the Tyler relayed.

He looked toward the Master’s most dignified chair

And said, voice near trembling, “Most Worshipful there
Is a Gentleman properly clothed at the gate!”
The Master replied, “Let’s allow him – but wait!
You tell me a Gentleman, but I don’t see
His apron beneath that red suit. Can it be
Our visitor hasn’t been properly raised?”
Must we offer a test that is suitably phrased?”

“I do beg your pardon,” ol’ Santa said quick

As he pulled up his coat and display not a stick
Nut a cane with engraving, two balls did appear
And oh, what and apron, he wore and held dear!

Adorned like the Master’s, complete with a sign

Of “Lodge Number One, the North Pole” on one line!
“Now let this man enter,” the Master declared,
And once in the Lodge room, the Brethren all stared,
For Santa was wearing a jewel not seen
For many a century – there in between

The fur of his coat and the splendid red collar
Gleamed two golden reindeer that shone line a dollar!
“It’s Donner and Blizten, who I must confess
Are actually images brought from the West
By my Warden, a craftsman like none in the world!”

And with a great laugh from his bag he unfuried

An ear of fine corn, and some oil from the East,
“My friend I have plenty.  Tonight we will feast
On all that is good! We are Masons, kind sir!”

As presents and promises flew from his sack!

This Santa, a Mason, showed he had a knack
For making this Christmas the best you could glean,

And soon even Deacons were laughing. They’d seen

On this very night only happiness reigned!
This jolly Saint Nicholas quickly explained
That only a Mason could be so inclined
To make all kids happy, make all people find
A Chistmas so special. Yes, Santa was right!
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a god night!

Arthur – Clayton L Wright

Day 2

A Soldier's Christmas  

'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
HE LIVED ALL ALONE,
IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE
MADE OF PLASTER AND STONE.

I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY
WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE,
AND TO SEE JUST WHO
IN THIS HOME DID LIVE.

I LOOKED ALL ABOUT,
A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE,
NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS,
NOT EVEN A TREE.

NO STOCKING BY MANTLE,
JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND,
ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES
OF FAR DISTANT LANDS.

WITH MEDALS AND BADGES,
AWARDS OF ALL KINDS,
A SOBER THOUGHT
CAME THROUGH MY MIND.

FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT,
IT WAS DARK AND DREARY,
I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER,
ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY.

THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING,
SILENT, ALONE,
CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR
IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME.

THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE,
THE ROOM IN SUCH DISORDER,
NOT HOW I PICTURED
A UNITED STATES SOLDIER.

WAS THIS THE HERO
OF WHOM I'D JUST READ?
CURLED UP ON A PONCHO,
THE FLOOR FOR A BED?

I REALIZED THE FAMILIES
THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT,
OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS
WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT.

SOON ROUND THE WORLD,
THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY,
AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE
A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY.

THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM
EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR,
BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS,
LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE.

I COULDN'T HELP WONDER
HOW MANY LAY ALONE,
ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE
IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME.

THE VERY THOUGHT
BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE,
I DROPPED TO MY KNEES
AND STARTED TO CRY.

THE SOLDIER AWAKENED
AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE,
"SANTA DON'T CRY,
THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE;
I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM,
I DON'T ASK FOR MORE,
MY LIFE IS MY GOD,
MY COUNTRY, MY CORPS."

THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER
AND DRIFTED TO SLEEP,
I COULDN'T CONTROL IT,
I CONTINUED TO WEEP.

I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS,
SO SILENT AND STILL
AND WE BOTH SHIVERED
FROM THE COLD NIGHT'S CHILL.

I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE
ON THAT COLD, DARK, NIGHT,
THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOR
SO WILLING TO FIGHT.

THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER,
WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE,
WHISPERED, "CARRY ON SANTA,
IT'S CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL IS SECURE."

ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH,
AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT.
"MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND,
AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT."

This poem was written by a Marine stationed in Okinawa Japan

Christmas Stories Day 1

The Guest

Author Unknown

Yet if his majesty, our sovereign lord,

Should of his own accord
Friendly himself invite,
And say, “I’ll be your guest to-marrow night,”
How should we stir ourselves, call and command
All hands to work! “Let no man idle stand.”

“Set my fine Spanish tables in the hall,

See they be fitted all;
Let there be room to eat,
And order taken that there want no meat.
See every scone and candlestick made bright,
That without tapers they any give light.”

Look to the presence: are the carpets spread,

The dazie o’er the head,
The cushions in the chairs,
And all the candles lighted on the stairs?
Perfume the chambers, and in any case
Let each man give attendance in his place.”

Thus is the King were coming would we do,
And ‘twere good reasons too;
For ‘tis a duteous thing
To show all honour to an earthly king.
And after all our travail and our cost,
So he be pleased, to think no labour lost.
 

But at the coming of the King in Heaven

All’s set at six and seven:
We wallow in our sin,
Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn.
We entertain Him always like a stranger,
And as at first, still lodge Him in the manager.