And so it was

 Luke 2:6-7

6 And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.

7 And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn..

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"I truly believe that if we keep telling the Christmas story, singing the Christmas songs, and living the Christmas spirit, we can bring joy and happiness and peace to this world." -Norman Vincent Peale

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Somewhere in Your Silent Night

Performed by Casting Crowns

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nT-5cP4BeoI

Somewhere in your silent night

Heaven hears the song your broken heart has cried

Hope is here, just lift your head

For love has come to find you

Somewhere in your silent night

….

He knows your hurt

He knows your name

And you're the very reason that He came

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Apple Pie Oatmeal

1 cup quick-cooking oats

1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/3 cup packed brown sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1-1/2 teaspoons apple pie spice
1/4 teaspoon salt
3 large eggs
1-2/3 cups 2% milk, divided

1-1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
3 medium apples, peeled and finely chopped
Vanilla ice cream, optional

In a large bowl, whisk oats, flour, brown sugar, baking powder, pie spice and salt. In a small bowl, whisk eggs, 1 cup milk and vanilla until blended. Add to oat mixture, stirring just until moistened. Fold in apples.  Transfer to a greased 3-qt. slow cooker. Cook, covered, on low until apples are tender and top is set, 4-5 hours. Stir in remaining 2/3 cup milk. Serve warm or cold, with ice cream if desired.

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This is a great craft for children which will double as a service.  One you get the plates made, fill them with goodies of some kind, then deliver them 

Ribbon Wreath Plates

paper plates, any color or size (you can use plastic plates, but they’re harder to punch)

hole punch

ribbon, craft ribbon or curling ribbon

treats

Punch holes about every inch all the way around. Then pick a spot to start and thread the ribbon through each hole.

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The song for today and the following story are part 2 of yesterday's post dealing with grief.  I wish you well ~~~Marilee

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"Until the end of time"

 by Bob Perks

Off in the distance the old record player is stacked with the sounds of the very best of days gone by.  One by one the lp's drop, skid into place, and the sounds of Christmas fill the room.

 Perry Como, Frank Sinatra, Mel Torme and Ella Fitzgerald take turns serenading the old man as he opens the box marked "Christmas."

 "It's not the same, but it is the best it can be considering."

 "Considering what?" I ask.

 "Considering the fact that my love is not with me," he says quietly.

 "Have yourself a merry little Christmas" he sings above the scratchy sounds of Perry Como.

 If records are well before your time you would not appreciate this.  But there are many who believe the purest sounds come from a 33 1/3 lp even with the scratches. You learn to tune them out.

He pulls the box a little closer, then resting his hands on it for a moment, almost like the laying on of hands at a prayer meeting, he pauses, then unties the string.

It appears that the string he used, like his dreams, is old, a little frayed and unraveled, but still serving a greater purpose.

 Lifting the lid, he stops once more and gazes into the box.

"Ah, Christmas!" he says.

 Like a surgeon, he places his hands gently, slowly into the box before him and carefully removes the contents placing it on the table.

 Whatever this treasure may be, it is wrapped in plain brown paper.

 Moving it side to side, he pulls and tugs until it is revealed.

 "This, this is Christmas," he says.

 Then lifting it up slightly above his head he looks underneath as if searching for something.

 It is a classic old mantel clock.

 "Oh, my friend that is beautiful!" I said. "Mahogany wood?"

 He doesn't answer me.

 He sat there lost in a place and time perhaps when you and I did not even exist.  He held the clock, no embraced it like he was holding the most precious thing on earth.

"Oh, I'm sorry.  I love this clock.  It means the world to me," he said.

 "I can tell," I reply.  He smiles and glances back at me.

"This is Christmas," he whispers.

 "May I ask why?  Why do you see it as Christmas?"

 He then went on to explain.

His wife had been very ill for some time.  In the spring of that year she could no longer walk.

 By fall, her interest in things around her dimmed.  Then with the approach of Christmas she seemed to rise above it all.  Her husband thought that this was a sure sign that she would recover.

 Just before Christmas she told him to go to the local store.  He was to ask for the "Christmas Box" with her name on it.  She made him promise not to open it nor ask what was inside.

 He did and as requested he returned with the box in hand.

 "Place it under the bed," she asked of him.

 It was on that Christmas Eve that she presented him with the box.  Now weakened from the cold dampness and the return of her symptoms, she could hardly make it through the night.

"Open it," she told him.

 He untied the string, unwrapped the contents and read the small card inside.

 "This is a symbol of my love for you...forever until the end of time."

 She reached under the clock and removed a small key.  Opening the front glass covering the face of the clock, she took the key and began to wind it.  With all her strength she could only manage to turn the key a few times.

 She carefully closed the door and laid her head on his shoulder.

 "We fell asleep that way," he said to me.

 The next morning, Christmas day, she was gone.

 "With all her strength she could not manage to wind the clock completely.  It stopped just minutes short of midnight on Christmas day," he said.

Then turning toward where I was standing he said, "She loved me until the end of time, her time.  I have never wound that clock again.  It holds Christmas, our last Christmas inside."

 We sat together until the last record dropped.

 How appropriate it was.

 "I'm dreamin' tonight of a place I love,

Even more then I usually do

And although I know it's a long road back 

 I promise you. I'll be home for Christmas ..."

 May the most valuable gift you receive this Christmas be found not in a box, but in the hearts of those you love...  "until the end of time."

 "I believe in you!"

Bob Perks

Bob@BobPerks.com

 

copyright 2012 Bob Perks  I encourage you to share my stories with your friends but, when copying I ask that you keep my name and contact information attached so that new readers can find their way here. Use of this story for commercial use is prohibited without direct permission from the author.