Isaiah
7:14 Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, the
virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name
Immanuel.
*~*~*~*~*~*
“Blessed
is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of
love.”—Hamilton Wright Mabie.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Christmas
is a time when we find our way back home, whether in person or in our
hearts. It's a time to celebrate the birth of Jesus, relive childhood
memories, continue cherished traditions, and share hospitality and
good will with others. I am grateful to share with each of you my
love of, and faith in our Savior, Jesus Christ.
The
past year
has been challenging for people across my country
and my world. I started to list all of the problems we've faced:
war, fire, hurricanes, drought ... and realized that's not how I want
to start this year's emails. This year my blog will be centered
around "joy". What it is, where we find it, and how we
increase its presence in our lives.
Join me this year for
poems, slow cooker recipes,
decorating
tips
and
music. Join me and see the color, taste the flavors, feel the warmth
and texture of the season and delight in the ability that you possess
to make it memorable. Make every moment, every thought, every action
into a celebration of Christ’s life and love. ~~ Marilee
*~*~*~*~*~*
Sunday's
emails are generally a song and story. This
year’s music will be done differently. I have been notified that
printing the entire lyrics for songs on my blog is a copyright
violation, so this year I will provide links to some of my favorite
lyric Christmas videos as
well as
a few lines from the lyrics.
I hope that many of you will take the time to listen to this
beautiful music.
Music fills my heart with such joy. “Christmas time is Here” is a
song that we associate with “A Charlie Brown Christmas”. Sissel’s
version is incredible!
Christmas
Time is Here - SISSEL
"Christmas
time is here
Happiness
and cheer
Fun
for all that children call
Their
favorite time of the year …"
*~*~*~*~*~*
A
Story of the Christ-Child – A German Legend for Christmas Eve
As
Told By Elizabeth Harrison found on multiple internet sites.
Once
upon a time, a long, long time ago, on the night before Christmas, a
little child was wandering
all
alone through the streets of a great city.
There
were many people on the street, fathers and mothers, sisters and
brothers, uncles and aunts,
and
even gray-haired grandfathers and grandmothers,
all
of whom were hurrying home with bundles of presents for each other
and for their little ones.
Fine
carriages rolled by, express wagons rattled past, even old carts were
pressed into service, and all things seemed
in
a hurry and glad with expectation of the coming Christmas morning.
From
some of the windows bright lights were already beginning to stream
until it was almost as bright as day.
But
the little child seemed to have no home, and wandered about
listlessly from street to street.
No
one took any notice of him except perhaps Jack Frost, who bit his
bare toes and made the ends of his fingers tingle.
The
north wind, too, seemed to notice the child, for it blew against him
and pierced his ragged garments through and through, causing him to
shiver with cold.
Home
after home he passed, looking with longing eyes through the windows,
in upon the glad, happy children,
most
of whom were helping to trim the Christmas trees for the coming
morrow.
“Surely,”
said the child to himself, “where there is so must gladness and
happiness, some of it may be for me.”
So
with timid steps he approached a large and handsome house.
Through
the windows, he could see a tall and stately Christmas tree already
lighted. Many presents hung upon it.
Its
green boughs were trimmed with gold and silver ornaments.
Slowly
he climbed up the broad steps and gently rapped at the door. It was
opened by a large man-servant.
He
had a kindly face, although his voice was deep and gruff.
He
looked at the little child for a moment, then sadly shook his head
and said, “Go down off the steps.
There
is no room here for such as you.”
He
looked sorry as he spoke; possibly he remembered his own little ones
at home,
and was glad that they were not out in this cold and
bitter night.
Through
the open door a bright light shone, and the warm air, filled with
fragrance of the Christmas pine,
rushed
out from the inner room and greeted the little wanderer with a kiss.
As
the child turned back into the cold and darkness, he wondered why the
footman had spoken thus,
for
surely, thought he, those little children would love to have another
companion join them in their joyous Christmas festival.
But
the little children inside did not even know that he had knocked at
the door.
The
street grew colder and darker as the child passed on. He went
sadly forward, saying to himself,
“Is
there no one in all this great city who will share the Christmas with
me?”
Farther
and farther down the street he wandered, to where the homes were not
so large and beautiful. There seemed to be little children inside of
nearly all the houses. They were dancing and frolicking about.
Christmas
trees could be seen in nearly every window, with beautiful dolls and
trumpets
and
picture-books and balls and tops and other dainty toys hung upon
them.
In
one window the child noticed a little lamb made of soft white wool.
Around its neck was tied a red ribbon.
It
had evidently been hung on the tree for one of the children.
The
little stranger stopped before this window and looked long and
earnestly at the beautiful things inside,
but
most of all was he drawn toward the white lamb.
At
last creeping up to the window-pane, he gently tapped upon it.
A
little girl came to the window and looked out into the dark street
where the snow had now begun to fall.
She saw the child, but she only frowned and shook her head and said,
“Go
away and come some other time. We are too busy to take care of you
now.”
Back
into the dark, cold streets he turned again.
The
wind was whirling past him and seemed to say, “Hurry on, hurry on,
we have no time to stop.
‘Tis
Christmas Eve and everybody is in a hurry to-night.”
Again
and again the little child rapped softly at door or window-pane. At
each place he was refused admission.
One
mother feared he might have some ugly disease, which her darlings
would catch;
another father said he had only enough for his own
children and none to spare for beggars.
Still
another told him to go home where he belonged, and not to trouble
other folks.
The
hours passed; later grew the night, and colder grew the wind, and
darker seemed the street.
Farther
and farther the little one wandered.
There
was scarcely any one left upon the street by this time, and the few
who remained did not seem to see the child,
when
suddenly ahead of him there appeared a bright, single ray of light.
It
shone through the darkness into the child’s eyes.
He
looked up smilingly and said, “I will go where the small light
beckons, perhaps they will share their Christmas with me.”
Hurrying
past all the other houses, he soon reached the end of the street and
went straight up to the window from which the light was streaming.
It
was a poor, little, low house, but the child cared not for that.The
light seemed still to call him in.
From
what do you suppose the light came?
Nothing
but a tallow candle, which had been placed in an old cup with a
broken handle, in the window, as a glad token of Christmas Eve.
There
was neither curtain nor shade to the small, square window and as the
little child looked in he saw standing upon a neat wooden table a
branch of a Christmas tree.
The
room was plainly furnished but it was very clean.
Near
the fireplace sat a lovely faced mother with a little two-year-old on
her knee and an older child beside her.
The
two children were looking into their mother’s face and listening to
a story.
She must have been telling them a Christmas story, I
think.
A
few bright coals were burning in the fireplace, and all seemed light
and warm within.
The
little wanderer crept closer and closer to the window-pane.
So
sweet was the mother’s face, so loving seemed the little children,
that at last he took courage and tapped gently,
very
gently on the door. The mother stopped talking, the little children
looked up.
“What
was that, mother?” asked the little girl at her side.
“I
think it was some one tapping on the door,” replied the mother.
“Run
as quickly as you can and open it, dear, for it is a bitter cold
night to keep any one waiting in this storm.”
“Oh,
mother, I think it was the bough of the tree tapping against the
window-pane,” said the little girl.
“Do
please go on with our story.”
Again
the little wanderer tapped upon the door.
“My
child, my child,” exclaimed the mother, rising, “that certainly
was a rap on the door.
Run quickly and open it. No one must be
left out in the cold on our beautiful Christmas Eve.”
The
child ran to the door and threw it wide open.
The
mother saw the ragged stranger standing without, cold and shivering,
with bare head and almost bare feet.
She
held out both hands and drew him into the warm, bright room.
“You
poor, dear child,” was all she said, and putting her arms around
him, she drew him close to her breast.
“He
is very cold, my children,” she exclaimed. “We must warm him.”
“And,”
added the little girl, “we must love him and give him some of our
Christmas, too.”
“Yes,”
said the mother, “but first let us warm him…”
The
mother sat down by the fire with the little child on her lap, and her
own little ones
warmed his half-frozen hands in theirs.
The
mother smoothed his tangled curls, and, bending low over his head,
kissed the child’s face.
She
gathered the three little ones in her arms and the candle and the
fire light shone over them.
For
a moment the room was very still.
By
and by the little girl said softly, to her mother,
“May
we not light the Christmas tree, and let him see how beautiful it
looks?” “Yes,” said the mother.
With
that she seated the child on a low stool beside the fire, and went
herself to fetch the few simple ornaments
which
from year to year she had saved for her children’s Christmas tree.
They
were soon so busy that they did not notice the room had filled with a
strange and brilliant light.
They
turned and looked at the spot where the little wanderer sat.
His
ragged clothes had changed to garments white and beautiful;
his
tangled curls seemed like a halo of golden light about his head;
but
most glorious of all was his face, which shone with a light so
dazzling that they could scarcely look upon it.
In
silent wonder they gazed at the child.
Their
little room seemed to grow larger and larger, until it was as wide as
the whole world,
the
roof of their low house seemed to expand and rise, until it reached
to the sky.
With
a sweet and gentle smile the wonderful child looked upon them for a
moment,
and then slowly rose and floated through the air, above
the treetops, beyond the church spire, higher even than the clouds
themselves, until he appeared to them to be a shining star in the sky
above.
At
last he disappeared from sight.
The
astonished children turned in hushed awe to their mother, and said in
a whisper,
“Oh,
mother, it was the Christ Child, was it not?”
And
the mother answered in a low tone, “Yes.”
And
it is said, dear children, that each Christmas Eve the little Christ
Child wanders through some town or village, and those who
receive him and take him into their homes and hearts have given to
them this marvelous vision which is denied to others
