Christmas imperfection

Following is a beautiful reflection written by Windy. It touched me.

Do you wish for perfection?

"We may not be perfect, things and people may not be perfect, situations or events may not be perfect… and yet, isn’t that a great part of what the celebration of Christmas is all about?

A loving father looked upon his beautiful creation–his children–yet realizing their own faults and shortcomings and that emptiness and longing for love and forgiveness that each one had, he sent his Perfect son, Jesus to a world full of imperfections.

The woman who would be his mother was in a pretty imperfect state to have a baby.

The timing for his birth couldn’t have been more imperfect.

A stable to call his first home, a manger as his first crib, tattered cloths as his first garments, and animal noises as his first lullaby. Nothing close to perfect I would say.

Yet the biggest miracle of Christmas is that He broke through those imperfections, He used them as a testimony that God doesn’t need perfection to bring his love, hope and salvation to the world. In fact, from what I see, He is quite fond of using odd and totally bizarre circumstances and turning them into something beautiful, something everlasting. I guess I could some that all up as: God loves to use broken things."

Oh, Christmas is near!

The joy of brightening other lives, bearing each others’ burdens, easing other’s loads and supplanting empty hearts and lives with generous gifts becomes for us the magic of Christmas.—W. C. Jones

A mother’s love for her baby boy

A sacrifice to bring others joy

A father’s care for one not his own

A message sent from a royal throne

A seeming wrong that was turned to right

An angel’s song in the dark of night

A prophet’s vision at last fulfilled

A miracle because God had willed

A gift of love from a caring heart

A bringing together what was apart

A reaching out to comprehend

How another felt by a sincere friend

A seeking soul that journeyed far

To find a dream, to follow a star

A bridegroom claiming a bride as his

All these things are what Christmas is.—Ian Bach

This is the message of Christmas: We are never alone.—Taylor Caldwell

Somehow not only for Christmas

But all the long year through,

The joy that you give others

Is the joy that comes back to you.

—John Greenleaf Whittier

Whatever else be lost among the years,

Let us keep Christmas still a shining thing;

Whatever doubts assail us, or what fears,

Let us hold close one day, remembering

Its poignant meaning for the hearts of men.

Let us get back our childlike faith again.—Grace Noll Crowell

True love story

"For You knew that Heaven’s touch

On this poor world would mean so much
So You lived and died, and rose to glory
To begin life’s deepest true love story"
-Bonita Hele

In One Blinding Moment

My favorite Christmas stories this season Part 2

I'm sorry this story is a bit long, but it's worth the read! It made me think a lot. It touched my heart, it convicted me and also washed my vision. It made me think about my past, present and future. And it ended up making me cry out of thankfulness for love, and shame. Jesus, forgive me.
I'll let you read now.

By Max Ellerbusch

It was a busy Friday, six days before Christmas. I was in my instrument repair shop, working feverishly so that I could have all of the Christmas holiday at home with my family. Then the phone rang and a voice was saying that our five-year-old Craig had been hit by a car.
There was a crowd standing around him by the time I got there, but they stepped back for me. Craig was lying in the middle of the road; his curly blond hair was not even rumpled.
He died at Children’s Hospital that afternoon.
There were many witnesses. It had happened at the school crossing. They told us that Craig had waited on the curb until the safety-patrol boy signaled him to cross. Craig, how well you remembered! How often your mother called after you as you started off for kindergarten, “Don’t cross until you get the signal!” You didn’t forget!
The signal came, Craig stepped into the street. The car came so fast no one had seen it. The patrol boy shouted, waved, had to jump for his own life. The car never stopped.
Grace and I drove home from the hospital through the Christmas-lighted streets, not believing what had happened to us. It wasn’t until the night, passing the unused bed, that I knew. Suddenly I was crying, not just for that empty bed but for the emptiness, the seeming senselessness of it. All night long, with Grace awake beside me, I searched what I knew of life for some hint of a loving God at work in it, and found none.
As a child I certainly had been led to expect none. My father used to say that in all his childhood he did not experience one act of charity or Christian kindness. Father was an orphan, growing up in 19th-century Germany, a supposedly Christian land. Orphans were rented out to farmers as machines are rented today, and treated with far less consideration. He grew into a stern, brooding man who looked upon life as an unassisted journey to the grave.
He married another orphan and, as their own children started to come, they decided to emigrate to America. Father got a job aboard a ship; in New York harbor he went ashore and simply kept going. He stopped in Cincinnati where so many Germans were then settling. He took every job he could find, and in a year and a half had saved enough money to send for his family.
On the boat coming over, two of my sisters contracted scarlet fever; they died on Ellis Island. Something in Mother died with them, for from that day on she showed no affection for any living being. I grew up in a silent house, without laughter, without faith.
Later, in my own married life, I was determined not to allow these grim shadows to fall on our own children. Grace and I had four: Diane, Michael, Craig, and Ruth Carol. It was Craig, even more than the others, who seemed to lay low my childhood pessimism, to tell me that the world was a wonderful purposeful place. As a baby he would smile so delightedly at everyone he saw that there was always a little group around his carriage. When we went visiting it was Craig, three years old, who would run to the hostess to say, “You have a lovely house!” If he received a gift he was touched to tears, and then gave it away to the first child who envied it. Sunday morning when Grace dressed to sing in the choir, it was Craig who never forgot to say, “You’re beautiful.”
And if such a child can die, I thought as I struggled, lying in my bed that Friday night, if such a life can be snuffed out in a minute, then life is meaningless and faith in God is self-delusion. By morning my hopelessness and helplessness had found a target, a blinding hatred for the person who had done this to us. That morning police picked him up in Tennessee: George Williams. Fifteen years old.
He came from a broken home, police learned. His mother worked a night shift and slept during the day. Friday he had cut school, taken her car keys while she was asleep, sped down a street. … All my rage at a senseless universe seemed to focus on the name George Williams. I phoned our lawyer and begged him to prosecute Williams to the limit. “Get him tried as an adult. Juvenile court’s not tough enough.”
So this was my frame of mind when the thing occurred which changed my life. I cannot explain it; I can only describe it.
It happened in the space of time that it takes to walk two steps. It was late Saturday night. I was pacing the hall outside our bedroom, my head in my hands. I felt sick and dizzy, and tired, so tired. “Oh God,” I prayed, “show me why!”
Right then, between that step and the next, my life was changed. The breath went out of me in a great sigh—and with it all my sickness. In its place was a feeling of love and joy so strong it was almost pain.
Other men have called it the “the presence of Christ.” I’d known the phrase, of course, but I’d thought it was some abstract, theological idea. I never dreamed it was Someone, an actual Person, filling that narrow hall with love.
It was the suddenness of it that dazed me. It was like a lightning stroke that turned out to be the dawn. I stood blinking in an unfamiliar light. Vengefulness, grief, hate, anger—it was not that I struggled to be rid of them—like goblins imagined in the dark, in the morning’s light they simply were not there.
And all the while I had the extraordinary feeling that I was two people. I had another self, a self that was millions of miles from that hall, learning things men don’t yet have words to express. I have tried so often to remember the things I knew then, but the learning seemed to take place in a mind apart from the one I ordinarily think with, as though the answer to my question was too vast for my small intellect. But, in that mind beyond logic, that question was answered. In that instant I knew why Craig had to leave us. Though I had no visual sensation, I knew afterward that I had met him, and he was wiser than I, so that I was the little boy and he the man. And he was so busy. Craig has so much to do, unimaginably important things into which I must not inquire. My concerns were still on earth.
In the clarity of the moment, it came to me: This life is a simple thing! I remember the very words in which the thought came. “Life is a grade in school. In this grade we must learn only one lesson: We must establish relationships of love.”
Oh, Craig, I thought. Little Craig, in your five short years how fast you learned, how quickly you progressed, how soon you graduated!
I don’t know how long I stood there in the hall. Perhaps it was no time at all as we ordinarily measure things. Grace was sitting up in bed when I reached the door of our room. Not reading, not doing anything, just looking straight ahead of her as she had much of the time since Friday afternoon.
Even my appearance must have changed, because as she turned her eyes slowly to me she gave a little gasp and sat up straighter. I started to talk, words tumbling over each other, laughing, eager, trying to say that the world was not an accident, that life meant something, that earthly tragedy was not the end, that all around our incompleteness was a universe of purpose, that the purpose was good beyond our furthest hopes.
“Tonight,” I told her, “Craig is beyond needing us. Someone else needs us. George Williams. It’s almost Christmas. Maybe, at the Juvenile Detention Home, there’ll be no Christmas gift for him unless we send it.”
Grace listened, silent, unmoving, staring at me. Suddenly she burst into tears.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s right, that’s right. It’s the first thing that’s been right since Craig died.”
And it has been right. George turned out to be an intelligent, confused, desperately lonely boy, needing a father as much as I needed a son. He got his gift, Christmas Day, and his mother got a box of Grace’s good Christmas cookies. We asked for and got his release, a few days later, and this house became his second home. He works with me in the shop after school, joins us for meals around the kitchen table, is a big brother for Diane and Michael and Ruth Carol.
But more was changed, in that moment when I met Christ, than just my feeling about George. That meeting has affected every phase of my life, my approach to business, to friends, to strangers. I don’t mean I’ve been able to sustain the ecstasy of that moment; I doubt that the human body could contain such a joy for very many days.
But I know with the infinite sureness that no matter what life does to us in the future, I will never again touch the rock bottom of despair. No matter how ultimate the blow seems, I glimpsed an even more ultimate joy that blinding moment when the door swung wide.

What about Mary?

I was looking at the manger scene and I thought: "What about Mary? Imagine how things must've been for her...My lord! She was just a teen! I remember researchers saying that she could've been from fifteteen to seventeen years old when she got engaged! How did the responsibility of raising Jesus feel for her?" -wide eyes-
That left me with something to think about and to parallel with my own life.
If it were me, I know I'd freak out at all that I'd have to do and be in order to become a good mother and set the right example for Jesus. I'm sure Mary did an amazing job though, imperfect and human as she was. She was picked out from all the women of the Earth for a reason. I can imagine Mary's tears, sweat and smiles; her effort to do the best she could and the love God had placed in her heart so that she would give it out and let it spill on others. She had the Son of God to love, as well as her fellow men.
And I know that as a human, she also must've failed, like any of us. It's also a fact she was young, quite young when she was given the biggest responsibility a woman could ever have.
Then I thought about my struggle with feeling incapable and giving myself reasons of why I can't do things, why I'm not prepared, how my experience and knowledge are insufficient. These things are true though, I am insufficient, I don't know what to do or how to go about doing things. The point is that all of that doesn't matter. Contrary to logic, Jesus can use that to do anything!
Actually there's logic there: when there's less of ourselves, there's more space for Jesus to fill, take over and use to accomplish His purposes.
My mind's favorite excuses are: "I'm too young", "I have no experience", "I won't do it right" and "I'll fail". But that's because my fears are completely afraid of drowning, burning, dying and passing into oblivion as steps forward are made.
This past year I found out I can do things I thought I couldn't, and do them right! I also fail, but I can get up! I can reach my full potential and I can do the things I don't feel prepared to do, simply because if they're in front of me it means God has sent them for a reason and He's been preparing me for them.
I don't know what's ahead. I just don't want to put limitations on what I'll do and what opportunities I'll take on. I don't care if I feel small and incapable and if I must face my fears to conquer them. I don't care if the world seems to be closing in on me when I'm in the middle of a struggle, fighting for success. I'll do the best I can, that's my job. And I'll let Jesus do all that I can't, that's His job.
As far of fear of failure goes, He and I are burning that one down together.
I'd like to tell you that this last year I had the privilege of meeting glowing individuals! I watched them shine, fill the need, lead a crowd, do things they had never done before and were afraid of doing! They rose to meet the challenges in front of them. And let me tell you, it didn't matter their age! Although some were years younger than me -smiles-, you know who you are.
How many excuses we come up with doesn't really matter. We'll always have to fight them to get to where we're meant to. They're just that, "excuses" -even if I like calling them reasons.
We can't let excuses keep our potential locked in, keep us from doing all we could, keep us from meeting the people God wants us to, keep us from helping someone else. Most of all, we can't let excuses keep us from fulfilling our destiny and living a full life!
What can a young boy or girl do?
One thing is for sure, Jesus has always used the foolish things of this world.
With Jesus, we have the possibility of doing anything!

Surprise Ending

My favorite Christmas stories this season Part 1

By Irene B. Harrell

I turned up the fur collar of my coat against a near-freezing wind as I stepped from our warm station wagon into the bare dirt of a front yard on the outskirts of town. Our adult Sunday school class had chosen the address from a Salvation Army list in the evening paper, and my husband and I had driven out to meet the family. The idea was to find out their immediate needs so that we could provide a merry Christmas for them, and then, more importantly, to work with them throughout the year to try to make a real difference, a Christian difference, in their lives.
We had asked God to guide us to the right family, but now it looked as though the house we had chosen was going to be empty. No smoke came from the chimney, and in the front door there was only a hole where a knob and a lock might have been, once. But when we knocked, the rag of curtain at the window moved and a small face peered out. A minute passed and then the door was opened by a boy about eight years old.
“Hello,” I said. “Is your mother home?”
“Mama not home,” he announced gravely. “She workin’.”
“Well, ah—is any grownup here with you?”
He shook his head.
“Let’s step in for a minute,” my husband suggested. “The house’ll get cold with the door standing open.” The boy moved shyly back and we entered the tiny room.
I’ll never forget what we saw. There was a bed, sagging to the floor, the mattress oozing stuffing at every rip and seam. No sheets, no blankets. A small chest of drawers in the corner held a dusty glass punch bowl with cups hanging around the rim. A Bible lay beside it. On the floor a chipped enamel pan held some lumps of corn meal mush the children had been eating in fistfuls. The black wood stove was icy cold.
The boy who had let us in now stood protectively between two smaller children, a boy and a girl. The girl’s oversized slacks were held together by a safety pin. All three youngsters were barefoot.
And there was a baby. He was lying on a pile of straw and rags that had once been an upholstered chair. He was wearing the remnant of an undershirt and a diaper that hadn’t been changed in a long time.
I thought of my own children and my baby in her lovely birch crib with its clean white sheets and I started to cry. I’d never really seen poverty before.
That afternoon we went back with blankets, shoes, diapers, food, and clothes. Again, the mother was not there. But apparently she’d been home long enough to build them a blazing fire, so hot the children had the front door standing wide open. A coalscuttle held scraps of linoleum from a pile of debris in the yard next door.
The next day we finally found the mother at home. Her name was Virginia and the children, in order of age, were Arthur Lee, Violet, Danny, and the baby David Ray. Virginia was a tiny woman in a yellow bouffant organdy dress. She answered our questions quietly and was not offended that we had come to help.
What did she need most? A refrigerator so the baby’s milk wouldn’t sour, and something for a stove that wouldn’t burn as fast as linoleum.
The class found a refrigerator, a bed, a crib, several chairs, sheets, more blankets. On Christmas, there were toys for the children and clothes and food for everyone. The wood stove was replaced by an oil heater that would not go out while the mother was away. The class pledged the money to pay the oil bills for the coming year.
The family’s immediate physical needs had been relatively easy to satisfy. But what about the Christian difference?
Every week or two my husband and I would go to see Virginia and her family. Sometimes we’d carry hand-me-downs, or groceries, or books, sometimes we’d go empty-handed, just to visit. But she always gave us the same warm greeting. I remember the pride with which she invited me to sit down. She hadn’t been able to exercise that kind of courtesy before, when she had no chairs.
Frequently, our four other children went along with us on these visits, and occasionally we took the baby. I had to explain to Virginia about our baby. German measles during my pregnancy had left little Marguerite deaf. When I told Virginia that the doctors said nothing could be done about it, I could see she was deeply affected.
On our next visit she greeted us with shining eyes. “Oh, Mrs. Harrell,” she said, “I believe God is going to make your baby hear! Don’t you feel it too? Can’t she already hear a lot better than she could? I’ve been praying so hard ever since you told me. I know she’s going to hear!”
I just smiled at Virginia. She didn’t know as much about science as I did. I couldn’t expect her to understand that nerve deafness was not curable. Of course, I had prayed for my child; but my prayers had been ones of thankfulness for her, not prayers for healing. I took the doctor’s words as final.
Marguerite was almost a year old when we first noticed the change in her. For a while we couldn’t believe it ourselves, but at last we became convinced that she really was hearing certain loud sounds. When we took her back to the hearing clinic for testing, there was no doubt about it. Our daughter, whose nerve deafness had been pronounced complete and incurable, had begun to hear! In four short months her diagnosis had changed from “profoundly deaf” to “moderately to severely hard of hearing.”
The doctors were amazed, but Virginia wasn’t even surprised. “God did it, Mrs. Harrell. Didn’t I ask Him for an icebox and a good stove, and didn’t He give them to me? There’s nothing He can’t do, if we just ask Him.”
I stared at her, trying to understand faith like this, reaching out my own feeble portion to try to take hold of hers.
“Mrs. Harrell,” she said, “I’m going to keep on praying for that baby.”
“Yes!” I whispered, “Please keep praying. Don’t ever stop.”
It worked, you see, our Christmas project; it even accomplished the “Christian difference.” Of course, the difference was in our lives, not just in Virginia’s. But then, we’d asked God to guide us to the poor, and He generally knows where they are.

~~~
Even though I cry to think of the state they were in,
I think: "What a rich woman having that kind of faith!"

The Christmas tree

I felt sheer joy to reflect on this. I realized that these could be my words and felt happier yet to think of all who can say the same! I love you!

"A Christmas tree! What a beautiful sight! But what does it mean to me? I wondered, as I gazed at the Yuletide display before me.
The evergreen tree—it symbolizes Jesus, who lives in my heart for good. He never dies away in the winter of my difficulties, but is always with me.
The star on the tip-top of the tree is like that unforgettable star that lit the way to the first humble home of my Savior two thousand years ago. It also reminds me to always look up, that there’s always a shining star of hope, even in my darkest nights.
The baubles and pretty decorations are the good, happy things that fill my life with spice and delight. I don’t take time as often as I should to thank God for all my blessings, or even for the sad things and the hard times that have made me into the person that I am today. Life wouldn’t be life without both joy and sadness, the good and the bad.
The colorful string of lights reminds me of the things God does to light my way through life. “His Word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.” I never need feel alone.
And last but not least, the presents under the Christmas tree symbolize my gifts to Jesus. It’s His birthday, after all. The most meaningful gifts are gifts of love—time, friendship, company, giving, forgiveness, and understanding. I give Him gifts each time I give from my heart to others.
The heart of Christmas is not in the presents we give, but the love that we share. This is what makes Christmas."—Amanda White

Any day of the year

I love it how Christmas doesn't need a certain date in one's heart, cause when you love it suddenly is Christmas.

On Christmas Eve

We had a beautiful Christmas Eve.

Spent in Monterrey, with old friends around and new ones too.

Josiah and Linda's family opened their home to us, as they always do. And Gabriel and Ruth's doors were open too, for the Christmas dinner to be held.

Super yummy! Man, I forgot to thank the cooks!
We had different pastas with mushrooms, shrimps, cheese, chicken and other yumminess; some great juicy meet, salads, drinks, cakes. I felt quite spoiled -toothy grin-

The table lit with candles, gave this lovely Christmas feeling...but there was nothing like having everybody together, singing a few Christmas carols, with little Milly guiding us to sing "What can I give Him?" -the cutest-

Stephy -my long life friend of friends- put together all kinds of music for us to dance. The adults were the leaders, going back into the seventies, moving their feet to merengue and salsa, dancing like no one is watching. Great fun.

And the stars shone bright I swear.

Haha! I forgot to mention how we sang "Las Mañanitas" to Jesus when everyone got tired of dancing, and we passed on hugs! Big Christmas hugs -grins-

Gifts were an event as well. I loved mine -grins again-
Thanks Steph, mom and dad, Adrian and all the people who made this Christmas season special. With their presence, love despite the distance and smiles n hugs shared, thank you dear loves!

Here's a poem that Milly -Gabriel and Ruth's 7 year old daughter- wrote, describing a child's feelings at Christmas till she found Jesus, the meaning of it all, whose birthday we celebrate. Now if you know this kid and what her family has been through you know how this means a lot more.

(Non edited)
Why is there things that just go away
when they are actually meant to stay?
Why does my heart feel so empty when I have every kids' dream?
Is there actually something I don't have this Christmas?
Why is it that I feel so empty and sad?
Every Christmas I checked my list twice.
Every Christmas I felt so lonely,
until someone told me
that there's more to Christmas:
not just Santa and the toys he brings.
It's about love joy, love and the carols we sing.
It's not about what we get,
it's about what we give.
It's what us, good people live.
So that Christmas I was told a very good lesson,
and lots of people questioned me why did I feel so happy.
So I told them about the Person
that just told me the greatest lesson I've ever seen
and I told them my destiny,
so that they would do right,
so that we could live eternally,
forever.

Merry Christmas! -Now and everyday!

A gift for all

"There was a gift to each of us left under the tree of life 2000 years ago by Him whose birthday we celebrate today. The gift was withheld from no man. Some have left the packages unclaimed. Some have accepted the gift and carried it around, but have failed to remove the wrapping and look inside to discover the hidden splendor. The packages are all alike: in each is a scroll on which is written, “All that the Father hath is thine!” Take and live!"—Frank S. Mead

Thank you so much sweet Jesus, I love you.
Happy Birthday!!

Christmas means Love

Someone tell me, why is Christmas so soon?!
I think I need more time. More Christmas time.
Maybe I'll have to stretch Christmas into all next year! (nods) Because starting Christmas in July is just not enough.
I love how Christmas is the perfect excuse to give love, time and more love! Everyone craves it!
But I think we forget -well I do- that the lonely hearts are there all year round. And the longing hands are also there, just not stretching out tentatively. Lord help me to love all year long, and to give, not just at Christmas.

I just had to share cutie-handsome Benji with you. Never mind the picture being focused wrong. Love you Benny!

"Take a lesson from God in gift giving: His gift didn’t show us how powerful He was, how rich He was, or what good taste He had. His gift simply showed us that He loved us more than anything else in the world, and that He was willing to do whatever it took to make our lives wonderful. Do your best to give Jesus the best birthday He’s ever had, and He’ll give you the most wonderful, happy Christmas season you’ve ever had."

"You may not have costly presents of gold, frankincense, or myrrh to lay at My feet, but you can give Me gifts of your love and service. Those are what please Me the most."—Jesus

"Jesus was God’s gift to the world, not just for Christmas, but for every single day—your whole life through—and even beyond for all eternity, and for every need that you will ever have."

Small Beginnings

A wise man once said:
"The story of Christmas reminds us that it's okay to start small. Jesus started in a stable, but He ended up at the right hand of the throne of God. And because of Him, our small beginnings will have greater endings in His eternal Kingdom."
...actually I don't know if it was a woman -grins-

The fellows who made me smile

It's midday.
My mom made me smile with the yummy breakfast she lovingly prepared, served so nicely.
Adrian made me smile as he was about to run out of the kitchen and go out the door, he peeped: "thanks for doing dishes Steph!" -It's been a long time since someone mentioned that.
Nala made me smile enormously while checking out her two latest blog posts. One titled "Smile", the best!
Phil made me smile another huge smile when he sent this, catching me offline and offguard: "well peeps, it's that time of year again. Merry Christmas 2 yah all. don't 4get to stuff urselfs full of C-mas dinner" (sends a hug) -Phil's hugs must be pretty huge..and warm (winks).
1st day of December.
Making people smile is not so hard. You can really be a sun beam to someone in the dark, or a snowflake for someone who's always yearned to enjoy one.
Like Sam and I, dreaming of a white Christmas.

Oh, let's pretend it's Christmas!

I have Christmas thoughts yet again and it's so weird. I've been thinking, and stumbling upon a few writings about it, and singing Christmas carols! There is just something about it that can bring life into the things you do. It can bring to life the reasons and meanings behind what we go through, what happens on Earth and the life we lead, and the love we all have to give -if we think about it.

Christmas means love, and there just is a certain bounce to my step if I think about love. And Christmas love was and is of the highest forms of love there is and ever could be. The ultimate.

The father sent His son. His son left it all behind, He gave up all he had to come, to live in the way a strange and very loved species does. He became a baby, a kid, a teen -special excitement on this one-, an adult, so that He could understand us all. And then He took all of our shortcomings and falling short of divine expectations, all on Himself. So that we could live with Him for eternity, do the things that make us happy and love forevermore! It's no fairy tale, no matter what we've done or haven't done.

You may know this all way too well, and I'm rambling. But it got me real happy just to think of it.

Merry Christmas! (grins)

Why wait till Christmas time again is here?

Why spend those precious hours in hectic ways,

Doing the things that you could do all year,

And let the noise and whirl of festival days

Drown out the angel’s song?

Why not take time to lift the eyes to candles in the sky,

To walk, some silent night, while carols chime,

And hear the hush of wings brush softly by?

Take time to meditate, to catch the spell

Of childish trust, that simple faith you knew

When love was everywhere, and all was well?

The gift you lost will then come back to you.

Seek not for Christmas in the busy mart,

But cradled somewhere in a trusting heart.

—Rachel van Crème