“Why don’t you give love on Christmas Day…” the song reminds us. As the Big Day is fast approaching, allow me to share this story written by a teacher:
Mark, a small elf-like student with wide, innocent eyes and soft rosy cheeks, was an 11-year-old orphan residing with his aunt, a bitter middle-aged woman who was greatly burdened by the responsibility of caring for her deceased sister’s son. She consistently reminded young Mark that, without her generosity, he would be a homeless vagrant. Despite the constant scolding and coldness at home, he remained a sweet and gentle child.
I had not particularly noticed Mark until he began to stay after class each day (which I later discovered was at the risk of inciting his aunt’s anger) to assist me in tidying up the room. We engaged in this task quietly and comfortably, speaking little but relishing the solitude of that hour. When we did converse, Mark primarily spoke of his mother. Although he was quite young when she passed away, he retained memories of a kind, gentle, and loving woman who devoted much time to him.
As Christmas approached, however, Mark stopped staying after school each day. I looked forward to his presence, and when the days went by and he continued to hurriedly leave the room after class, I decided to stop him one afternoon to inquire why he no longer assisted me. I expressed how much I had missed him, and his large gray eyes brightened with eagerness as he responded, “Did you really miss me?”
I described how he had been my greatest supporter. “I was preparing a surprise for you,” he murmured confidentially. “It’s for Christmas.” With that, he became shy and hurried out of the room. After that, he no longer stayed after school.
At last, the final school day before Christmas arrived. Mark quietly entered the room late that afternoon, his hands hiding something behind his back. “I have your gift,” he said hesitantly when I glanced up. “I hope you enjoy it.” He extended his hands, revealing a small wooden box resting in his tiny palms.
“It’s lovely, Mark. Is there anything inside?” I inquired as I opened the lid to peek inside.
“Oh, you can’t see what’s inside,” he answered, “and you can’t touch it, taste it, or feel it, but my mother always said it brings you joy all the time, warmth on chilly nights, and comfort when you are alone.”
I stared into the empty box. “What is it, Mark,” I asked softly, “that will make me feel so wonderful?”
“It’s love,” he whispered gently, “and my mother always said it’s most valuable when you share it.” Then he turned and quietly exited the room.
Josephine Dodge Daskam Bacon reminds: “Remember this December that love weighs more than gold!”
Dave Barry states matter-of-factly: “Once again we find ourselves enmeshed in the Holiday Season, that very special time of year when we join with our loved ones in sharing centuries-old traditions such as trying to find a parking space at the mall. We traditionally do this in my family by driving around the parking lot until we see a shopper emerge from the mall, then we follow her, in very much the same spirit as the Three Wise Men, who 2,000 years ago followed a star, week after week, until it led them to a parking space.”
Christmas means to different people. Author Charles Dickens wrote: “I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round, as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys.”
To D.D. Monroe, Christmas “is the one season of the year when we can lay aside all gnawing worry, indulge in sentiment without censure, assume the carefree faith of childhood, and just plain ‘have fun.’ Whether they call it Yuletide, Noel, Weinachten, or Christmas, people around the earth thirst for its refreshment as the desert traveler for the oasis.”
Instead of being a time of unusual behavior, Christmas, according to Francis C. Farley, “is perhaps the only time in the year when people can obey their natural impulses and express their true sentiments without feeling self-conscious and, perhaps, foolish. Christmas, in short, is about the only chance a man has to be himself.”
“That magic blanket that wraps itself about us,” and “that something so intangible that it is like a fragrance.” Those were the words Augusta E. Rundel used to describe Christmas. She further explains: “It may weave a spell of nostalgia. Christmas may be a day of feasting, or of prayer, but always it will be a day of remembrance – a day in which we think of everything we have ever loved.”
David Grayson admits that sometimes people expect too much of Christmas Day. He observes, “We try to crowd into it the long arrears of kindliness and humanity of the whole year. As for me, I like to take my Christmas a little at a time, all through the year. And thus I drift along into the holidays – let them overtake me unexpectedly – waking up some find morning and suddenly saying to myself: ‘Why, this is Christmas Day!’”
As we celebrate this year’s Christmas, remember this statement which appeared in the December 25, 1937 issue of New York Times: “We hear the beating of wings over Bethlehem and a light that is not of the sun or of the stars shines in the midnight sky. Let the beauty of the story take away all narrowness, all thought of formal creeds. Let it be remembered as a story that has happened again and again, to men of many different races, that has been expressed through many religions, that has been called by many different names. Time and space and language lay no limitations upon human brotherhood.”
