From: Chris (grizcty2001@yahoo.com)
Date: Sun Dec 25 2005 - 04:55:03 PST
This is my yearly Christmas card.
I truly think that most folks, forget what Christmas
is about.
It is NOT, about receiving presents. But about GIVING!
For this reason, I have been sending the same
Christmas email.
These were not written by me.
But of all the Christmas cards, and poems, I have
received over the years.
These seem to be, the ones with the meanings. That I
prefer the most.
So, to continue my eight year of tradition.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
Take care, be safe.
God Bless or Troops.
Chris - Alaska
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/AmericanFreedoms/join
The Christmas Rifle
Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who
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 thnk 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! It 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
smoke house 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
gunny sacks 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 was 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 gunny sacks
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
Jensens, 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.
Don't be too busy today...
Share this inspiring message with friends and family!
Author Unknown
The Doll
=========
On the last day before Christmas, I hurried to go to
the supermarket to
buy the remaining of the gifts I didn't manage to buy
earlier. When I
saw all the people there, I started to complain to
myself: It is going
to take forever here and I still have so many other
places to go.
Christmas really is getting more and more annoying
every year. How I
wish I could just lie down, go to sleep and only wake
up after it...'
Nonetheless, I made my way to the toy section, and
there I started to
curse the prices, wondering if after all kids really
play with such
expensive toys. While looking in the toy section, I
noticed a small boy
of about five years old, pressing a doll against his
chest. He kept on
touching the hair of the doll and looked so sad.
I wondered who this doll was for.
Then the little boy turned to the old woman next to
him: "Granny, are
you sure I don't have enough money?" The old lady
replied: "You know
that you don't have enough money to buy this doll, my
dear."
Then she asked him to stay there for five minutes
while she went to look
around.
She left quickly. The little boy was still holding
the doll in his
hand. Finally, I started to walk towards him and I
asked him who he
wanted to give this doll to. "It is the doll that my
sister loved most
and wanted so much for this Christmas. She was so
sure that Santa Claus
would bring it to her."
I replied to him that maybe Santa Claus will bring it
to her after all,
and not to worry. But he replied to me sadly. "No,
Santa Claus cannot
bring it to her where she is now. I have to give the
doll to my mother
so that she can give it to her when she goes there."
His eyes were so
sad while saying this.
"My sister has gone to be with God. Daddy says that
Mummy will also go
to see God very soon, so I thought that she could take
the doll with her
to give it to my sister".
My heart nearly stopped. The little boy looked me and
said: "I told
daddy to tell mummy not to go yet. I asked him to
wait until I came
back from the supermarket." Then he showed me a very
nice photo of him
where he was laughing.
He then told me: "I also want mummy to take this photo
with her so that
she will not forget me. I love my mummy and I wish
she didn't have to
leave me but daddy says that she has to go to be with
my little
sister". Then he looked again at the doll with sad
eyes, very quietly.
I quickly reached for my wallet and took a few notes
and said to that,
"What if we checked again, just in case if you have
enough money?" "Ok"
he said. "I hope that I have enough".
I added some of my money to his without him seeing and
we started to
count it. There was enough for the doll, and even
some left over.
The little boy said: "Thank you God for giving me
enough money". Then he
looked at me and added: "I asked yesterday before I
went to sleep for
God to make sure I have enough money to buy this doll
so that mummy can
give it to my sister. He heard me. I also wanted to
have enough money
to buy a white rose for my mummy, but didn't dare to
ask God too much.
But He gave me enough to buy the doll and the white
rose." "You know, my
mummy loves white roses".
A few minutes later, the old lady came back again and
I left with my
trolley. I finished my shopping in a totally
different state from when
I started. I couldn't get the little boy out of my
mind.
Then I remembered a local newspaper article two days
ago, which
mentioned of a drunk man in a truck who hit a car
where there was one
young lady and a little girl. The little girl died
right away, and the
mother was left in a critical state.
The family had to decide whether to pull the plug on
the life- assisting
machine, because the young lady would not be able to
get out of the
coma. Was this the family of the little boy?
Two days after this encounter with the little boy, I
read in the
newspaper that the young lady had passed away. I
couldn't stop myself
and went to buy a bunch of white roses and I went to
the mortuary where
the body of the young woman was exposed for people to
see and make last
wish before burial.
She was there, in her coffin, holding a beautiful
white rose in her hand
with the photo of the little boy and the doll placed
over her chest.
I left the place crying, feeling that my life had been
changed forever.
The love that this little boy had for his mother and
his sister is
still, to this day, hard to imagine. And in a
fraction of a second, a
drunk man had taken all this away from him.
Author Unknown
The Gas Station
The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas
Eve. He hadn't
been anywhere in years since his wife had passed away.
He had no
decorations, no tree, no lights. It was just another
day to him. He
didn't hate Christmas, just couldn't find a reason to
celebrate. There
were no children in his life. His wife had gone.
He was sitting there looking at the snow that had
been falling for the
last hour and wondering what it was all about when the
door opened and a
homeless man stepped through. Instead of throwing the
man out, George,
Old George as he was known by his customers, told the
man to come and
sit by the space heater and warm up.
"Thank you, but I don't mean to intrude," said the
stranger. "I see
you're busy. I'll just go"
"Not without something hot in your belly," George
turned and opened a
wide mouth Thermos and handed it to the stranger. "It
ain't much, but
it's hot and tasty. Stew. Made it myself. When you're
done there's
coffee and it's fresh."
Just at that moment he heard the "ding" of the
driveway bell. "Excuse me
be right back," George said.
There, in the driveway, was an old 53 Chevy. Steam was
rolling out of
the front. The driver was panicked. "Mister can you
help me!" said the
driver, with a deep Spanish accent. "My wife is with
child and my car is
broken."
George opened the hood. It was bad. The block looked
cracked from the
cold; the car was dead. "You ain't going in this
thing," George said, as
he turned away.
"But, mister. Please help." The door of the office
closed behind George
as he went in. George went to the office wall and got
the keys to his
old truck, and went back outside. He walked around the
building and
opened the garage, started the truck and drove it
around to where the
couple was waiting.
"Here, take my truck," he said. "She ain't the best
thing you ever
looked at, but she runs real good." George helped put
the woman in the
truck and watched as it sped off into the night.
George turned and
walked back inside the office.
"Glad I gave 'em the truck. Their tires were shot,
too. That 'ol truck
has brand new ..." George thought he was talking to
the stranger. But,
the man had gone. The thermos was on the desk, empty
with a used coffee
cup beside it.
"Well, at least he got something in his belly," George
thought. George
went back outside to see if the old Chevy would start.
It cranked
slowly, but it started. He pulled it into the garage
where the truck had
been. He thought he would tinker with it for something
to do. Christmas
Eve meant no customers. He discovered the block hadn't
cracked, it was
just the bottom hose on the radiator. "Well, shoot, I
can fix this," he
said to himself. So, he put a new one on.
"Those tires ain't gonna get 'em through the winter
either." He took the
snow treads off of his wife's old Lincoln. They were
like new and he
wasn't going to drive the car.
As he was working, he heard shots being fired. He ran
outside and,
beside a police car, an officer lay on the cold
ground. Bleeding from
the left shoulder, the officer moaned, "Help me."
George helped the
officer inside as he remembered the training he had
received in the Army
as a medic. He knew the wound needed attention.
"Pressure to stop the bleeding," he thought. The
uniform company had
been there that morning and had left clean shop
towels. He used those
and duct tape to bind the wound.
"Hey, they say duct tape can fix anythin'," he said,
trying to make the
policeman feel at ease. "Something for pain," George
thought. All he had
was the pills he used for his back. "These ought to
work." He put some
water in a cup and gave the policeman the pills.
"You hang in there. I'm going to get you an
ambulance." The phone was
dead. "Maybe I can get one of your buddies on that
there talk box out in
your car."
He went out only to find that a bullet had gone into
the dashboard
destroying the two way radio. He went back in to find
the policeman
sitting up. "Thanks," said the officer. "You could
have left me there.
The guy that shot me is still in the area."
George sat down beside him. "I would never leave an
injured man in the
Army and I ain't gonna leave you." George pulled back
the bandage to
check for bleeding. "Looks worse than what it is.
Bullet passed right
through 'ya. Good thing it missed the important stuff
though. I think,
with time, you're gonna be right as rain." George got
up and poured a
cup of coffee. "How do you take it?" he asked.
"None for me," said the officer.
"Oh, yer gonna drink this. Best in the city.
Too bad I ain't got no donuts."
The officer laughed and winced at the same time. The
front door of the
office flew open. In burst a young man with a gun.
"Give me all your
cash! Do it, now!" the young man yelled. His hand was
shaking and George
could tell that he had never done anything like this
before. "That's the
guy that shot me!" exclaimed the officer.
"Son, why are you doing this?" asked George. "You need
to put the cannon
away. Somebody else might get hurt."
The young man was confused. "Shut up old man, or I'll
shoot you, too.
Now, give me the cash!"
The cop was reaching for his gun. "Put that thing
away," George said to
the cop. "We got one too many in here now." He turned
his attention to
the young man. "Son, it's Christmas Eve. If you need
the money, well
then, here. It ain't much but it's all I got. Now, put
that pee shooter
away." George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed
it to the young
man, reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same
time.
The young man released his grip on the gun, fell to
his knees and began
to cry. "I'm not very good at this am I? All I wanted
was to buy
something for my wife and son," he went on. "I've lost
my job. My rent
is due. My car got repossessed last week "
George handed the gun to the cop. "Son, we all get in
a bit of squeeze
now and then. The road gets hard sometimes. But, we
make it through the
best we can."
He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on
a chair, across
from the cop. "Sometimes, we do stupid things." George
handed the young
man a cup of coffee. "Being stupid is one of the
things that makes us
human. Comin' in here with a gun ain't the answer.
Now, sit there and
get warm and we'll sort this thing out."
The young man had stopped crying. He looked over to
the cop. "Sorry I
shot you. It just went off. I'm sorry officer."
"Shut up and drink your coffee," the cop said.
George could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A
police car and an
ambulance skidded to a halt. Two cops came through the
door, guns drawn.
"Chuck! You ok?" one of the cops asked the wounded
officer.
"Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How did you find
me?"
"GPS locator in the car. Best thing since sliced
bread. Who did this?"
the other cop asked as he approached the young man.
Chuck answered him,
"I don't know. The guy ran off into the dark. Just
dropped his gun and ran."
George and the young man both looked puzzled at each
other. "That guy
work here?," the wounded cop continued. "Yep," George
said. "Just hired
him this morning. Boy lost his job."
The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the
stretcher. The young
man leaned over the wounded cop and whispered, "Why?"
Chuck just said,
"Merry Christmas boy ... and you, too, George, and
thanks for everything."
"Well, looks like you got one doozy of a break there.
That ought to
solve some of your problems." George went into the
back room and came
out with a box. He pulled out a ring box. "Here you
go. Something for
the little woman. I don't think Martha would mind. She
said it would
come in handy some day."
The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond
ring he ever saw.
"I can't take this," said the young man. "It means
something to you."
"And now it means something to you," replied George.
"I got my memories.
That's all I need." George reached into the box again.
An airplane, a
car, and a truck appeared next. They were toys that
the oil company had
left for him to sell. "Here's something for that
little man of yours."
The young man began to cry again as he handed back the
$150 that the old
man had handed him earlier. "And what are you supposed
to buy Christmas
dinner with? You keep that, too," George said. "Now,
git home to your
family."
The young man turned, with tears streaming down his
face. "I'll be here
in the morning for work, if that job offer is still
good."
"Nope. I'm closed Christmas day," George said. "See ya
the day after."
George turned around to find that the stranger had
returned. "Where'd
you come from? I thought you left?"
"I have been here. I have always been here," said the
stranger. "You
say you don't celebrate Christmas. Why?"
"Well, after my wife passed away I just couldn't see
what all the bother
was. Puttin' up a tree, and all, seemed a waste of a
good pine tree.
Bakin' cookies like I used to with Martha just wasn't
the same by myself
and besides I was getting a little chubby."
The stranger put his hand on George's shoulder, "But,
you do celebrate
the holiday, George. You gave me food and drink and
warmed me when I was
cold and hungry. The woman with child will bear a son
and he will become
a great doctor. The policeman you helped will go on to
save 19 people
from being killed by terrorists. The young man who
tried to rob you will
make you a rich man and not take any for himself. That
is the spirit of
the season and you keep it as good as any man."
George was taken aback by all this stranger had said.
"And how do you
know all this?" asked the old man.
"Trust me, George. I have the inside track on this
sort of thing. And,
when your days are done, you will be with Martha
again." The stranger
moved toward the door. "If you will excuse me, George,
I have to go,
now. I have to go home, where there is a big
celebration planned."
George watched as the old leather jacket and the torn
pants that the
stranger was wearing turned into a white robe. A
golden light began to
fill the room. "You see, George ... it's my birthday.
Merry Christmas."
George fell to his knees and replied, "Happy Birthday,
Lord."
Author Unknown
__________________________________
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