A Blue Christmas Story by Sharon Heagy

 

(I have been asked to supply a 'Blue Christmas Story' for an upcoming interdenominational service. What follows is the result. Constructive feedback welcome. Details at the end.)

The world faded away that day and became a foggy jumble of indiscernible voices and blurred vision. People walked around me in the days and hours after the accident but I couldn't tell you who was there or what they said. The odd little snippet would float by my brain like a clip from a movie but I was unable to discern if it was real and or fantasy. 

The exhaustion consumed me as a dark cloak of heaviness descended upon me, making it hard to even put one foot in front of the other. Slowly the house emptied of the shadowy figures of fellow human beings until there was only deafening silence and my own roaring thoughts of confusion. The nights I did sleep I'd awaken thinking it was all a dream. But it was a nightmare that greeted me instead.

Dragging myself through the motions of some semblance of daily routine, I'd brush my teeth and run a comb through the tangled mat of hair on my head and try to have something to eat. Tea and toast, tea and toast. Often I'd just go back to bed and try to remember to breathe.

Friends and family offered well-meaning advice with none of it making sense to my coddled brain. My face forgot how to smile, my spirit could not recall how to laugh, or to live and I didn't care because, really, what was the point without you.

I prayed and cried out to God. I railed and screamed and sobbed. Why, why, why? The word fell like a continuous waterfall from my lips but there was no answer. 

And now it is Christmas, a season I used to embrace but this year I have no energy to celebrate, or decorate....or....anything.

My mind drifts to Christmases past. Feasts with family, beautiful music filling our house, carols sung, candlelight services at church. Wait. What was that? Something stirs inside me briefly. The flicker of a warm glow in the centre of my being and then it's gone again. Snuffed out.

A further journey into the past leads me to ponder that first Christmas. The difficulty for a woman nine months pregnant to travel the 90 miles from Nazareth to the small town of Bethlehem. Did she walk? The Bible doesn't mention her riding on a donkey but it was possible. What an arduous journey either way. And once they arrive there is no place for them to stay. No room in the Inn and Mary is in labour. There's shelter where the animals are kept. A place filled with the mixed odours of hay and straw and dung and the animals too. But it's time for the delivery and the birth of the One sent to deliver us. A holy babe, laid in a manger. I can feel the beat of my own heart as I consider the magnitude of this moment and close my eyes.

As they flutter open again my eyes are drawn to a newsletter published by the town. It came with yesterday's mail. I flip through, absently scanning the pages until I freeze focus on an advert for an evening church service at the local church. A candlelight Christmas service, 7 p.m. Do I have the courage to go? Maybe. Nobody knows me in that congregation and the lights will be dim. I can slip into the back if I arrive just before the service starts, and that is what I do. 

There's a spot right on the end of the pew near the aisle, in case I need to escape, and I slip in. It isn't until the service starts that I realize the back row is reserved for parents with young children. A practical solution for those who may need to leave for a time to quiet an upset or hungry child. Or to take their kids on what seems to be rotating bathroom breaks. 

Beside me sits a young, sandy haired boy about 4 years of age. His dark eyes are alive with adventure and he's got the cheeks of a cherub. His warm smile is infectious and I smile back at him, almost automatically. He is very well behaved and understands what's expected of him. As the service begins I can feel his eyes on me from time to time and it makes me shift uncomfortably in my seat. Those big brown eyes, so honest, uninhibited and full of life are such a contrast to my own downcast gaze. My peripheral vision catches a glimpse of him as the service continues.

After the Christmas story is read from the scriptures, candles are handed out to each person there, young and old alike. A tall, well dressed man lights his own candle from the large candle on the altar, the Christ candle. He goes to the first row and lights the candle of another who turns and now lights the candle of her neighbour. The room begins to glow softly and then more brightly as each shares their flame with another. It will take a minute to get to our row at the back. 

The boy is staring at me now and I meet his gaze. It's like he is peering into the very depths of my soul. He kneels on the pew and then pulls himself up to his feet and stands beside me. Close. Laying his head on my shoulder he wraps his chubby arms around my neck and whispers into my ear, "Everyone needs love." He is in no hurry to let go and snuggles in. With tears brimming in my eyes, I find myself hugging him back with thanksgiving and love. My tears are different than my tears of grief. They are a gift. A gift given by a 4 year old boy, the spark to live, to step out into the faded world and find the colours once more. 

As the candle comes round, he oh so carefully lights my candle with his and for a moment we bask in the hope that came to the world on that very first Christmas night. Hope for life beyond loss, salve for the pain and the courage to live again. All delivered this night by the Christ child and one small boy who let his light shine.

Sharon Heagy writes from the wonderful town of Rockglen, Saskatchewan where she lives with her husband, a big dog and furry cats. Their kids have flown the coop and made lives for themselves and their families, as it should be. She writes to bring hope and humour to a world that needs both. She can be reached @ sharonheagy@gmail.com 

Thanks for taking the time to visit today.

God’s Provision Through the Storm: A Christmas We Won’t Forget by Dana-Lyn Phillips

 

Please welcome Dana-Lyn Phillips as she joins us once again as our Guest Blogger.

We didn’t have much money when I was growing up. Although we never did without, there wasn’t a lot of extra for vacations. One year we decided to forgo Christmas presents and drive to Disney World for Christmas day.

We began the trek from Canada to Orlando on December 22, 1989. That same day, the eastern states got hit with a blizzard that impacted our entire route to Florida. Southern states that never see snow were not equipped to handle it. Driving became treacherous and hotels filled quickly with stranded travelers.

We made it to Georgia but at the hotel we, like Mary and Joseph, were told that there was no room at the Inn. In fact, we were advised to turn around and head back in the direction we came from because there were no available rooms any further south.

We reluctantly pulled back onto the highway, praying we would reach the destination safely, and there would still be available lodging. We thankfully got the last room in the area. It was a motel end unit, on the second floor, that had its carpet cleaned that day leaving it soaking wet and frozen under our feet.

Exhausted and anxious we crawled into bed fully clothed in an effort to stay warm. We contemplated whether we should go on in the morning or turn for home.

As daybreak came, the storm raged on. We couldn’t stay in our frigid room, and travelers further south were not leaving their hotel rooms, so we made a decision to head home.

We reached West Virginia and found a hotel tucked up on a mountain. It wasn’t large but had a lobby with a stone fireplace and a restaurant that served the most amazing hot apple fritters.

Christmas Eve day the storm continued so we decided to stay through Christmas. The only hotel guests consisted of my family and a stranded family from California. We quickly became friends and spent our days around the fireplace. Hotel staff got to know us and brought us leftovers from their family Christmas dinners.

For the first time, there were no presents to open on Christmas morning. There was also no Disney World. What we did have though was God’s provision. God had provided safety as we traveled the roads, a warm place to stay, new friendships, a home cooked meal, the kindness of strangers, the beauty of His creation in the mountains, and memories to last a lifetime.

Scripture reminds us of the countless times God has provided for His people through land, food, shelter, children and protection but God’s most precious provision was Jesus. That’s what makes the Christmas season so special. We can remember and celebrate the birth of a baby born to a faithful teenager and arriving in the most humble of conditions. This baby is the Savior of the world. God provided Jesus to pay for your sins and mine. There’s no greater gift.

“He that spared not his own Son, but delivered Him up for us all,

how shall he not with him also freely give us all things.”

(Romans 8:32 KJV)

What I learned in 1989 is that Christmas is not about presents but about presence. The presence of God, the presence of family and the presence of strangers.

God is good to always give us the gifts we need - not necessarily the gifts we want. I’d like to encourage you this season that when it seems as though your whole plan may be falling apart, embrace it. It may just be the gift you didn’t know you needed.

Dana-Lyn is a wife, and mother to teenage boys as well as a 14 year old cava-poo named Hockley. She is passionate about encouraging Christian women in their faith and is stepping into her mid-life "calling" as a writer. Her happy place consists of a comfy chair, a great book, a hot cup of coffee and a chocolate…or three! You can read more of her work at https://plansfargreater.substack.com

Celebration in Betria by Steph Beth Nickel

Photo Credit: Steph Beth Nickel

The following is a short holiday story based on the characters in my yet-to-be published YA (young adult) novel, Rule and Reign. Think medieval, earth-like setting; political intrigue; and strained family relationships.

"Again." Definitely Under Officer Othar's favourite word.

The newly appointed Betrian Council Lead, Princess Unita Jumalik, sighed as she pulled her horse to a stop in front of the under officer. "Really? I've hit the target three times."

"Out of seven attempts. While trotting—slowly. While riding Tenacious. You'll need to do this at a full gallop on the back of a warhorse when the time comes."

"Let's hope that time never comes."

"Still . . . we must prepare for the eventuality nonetheless."

"I will never be ready to host the Arrival Day celebrations," Unita muttered as she led Tenacity away from the under officer.

Just as she got her mount up to speed and nocked her arrow, she caught a glimpse of Vice Chancellor Selton Wright's carriage approaching the castle. Miraculously, she let the arrow fly in time, but it hit the edge of the straw bale.

"Four out of eight?" she asked sheepishly when she came to a stop.

Othar shook his head and pointed to the stables. "We will work on your skills four sun-risings from now. First thing."

Unita made quick work of handing Tenacity off to the royal stable hand and taking the less-travelled route to her chambers. While she had instituted many changes since becoming council lead, wandering the castle in her late father's shirt and riding trousers wouldn't impress the guests who had begun to arrive. 

“Quickly, Princess,” Marra said, as the princess entered her chambers. “I’ve drawn a bath and laid out your gown. The welcome reception officially begins in less than two full measures.”

In three-quarters of a full measure, Unita was ready to greet her guests. “You will come with me, won’t you?”

Marra looked down and shook her head slightly. “But, Princess . . . Unita . . . It’s unheard of.”

Unita reached out and touched the young woman’s forearm. “Marra . . .”

She looked up.

“What is your title?”

Marra took a deep breath. “I am chief advisor to her highness.”

“And so, it’s settled. I have never hosted a gathering for the Betrian people, residents of the Borderlands, and Children of the Promise. No one has. I will most definitely need an advisor.”

A smile spread across Marra’s face. “I have no doubt that you will do an amazing job on your own, but I would be pleased to join you. And . . .”

“Yes?”

“I want to apologize again.” The advisor’s voice was just above a whisper. “For my role in your capture. For my cousin. For making assumptions about you.”

“Marra. My advisor. My friend. That is all behind us. And the Promise had a plan all along. And you were—and are—part of that plan.”

When the two entered the reception hall, the princess saw that the guests were clustered in segregated groups. It would take time to overcome their differences and to accept—and forgive—one another. She hoped the assigned seating at the sun-setting meal would spark pleasant conversation and perhaps, be the first step in breaking down some of the barriers.

Vice Chancellor Wright approached Unita and bowed. “Princess. Your Highness. Council Lead.” His eyes sparkled, and he grinned widely. “What exactly should I call you?” he added quietly.

Unita felt the faintest flush in her cheeks. “You may call me any of the three.” She glanced around, but no one seemed to be paying attention to their exchange. “And I will do my best not to refer to you as VC Selton.”

Just then, the double doors behind them opened. “His Majesty, King Hart Jumalik of Betria,” a steward announced.

 “Grandfather?” Unita exclaimed.

The king beamed at his granddaughter. “You didn’t think I would miss the princess’s greatest achievement to date? And the first Betrian celebration of the Arrival of the Promise?”

Steph Beth Nickel is the former Editor of FellowScript and the current InScribe Contest Coordinator. Steph is an editor and author and plans to relocate to Saskatchewan from Ontario to be close to family in 2026. (Headshot Photo Credit: Jaime Mellor Photography)

When the Angels Came on the Night the Christ-Child was Born by Sandra Rafuse

Christmas Eve Day is such a unique day of the year. It is the culmination of hundreds of years of prophesy and waiting for the promised Messiah. Few people knew was was going to happen in Bethlehem on the night we now celebrate as Christmas Eve.

In our present time, over two thousand years later, Christmas Eve Day is the last day before December 25, the day when you rush out to finish your Christmas gift shopping (remember the stores close at 3:00), you pick up the last of the groceries you need, and you wrap the presents that still need wrapping (or all of them if that's the case) late in the evening. Or maybe you have done all that already and you are so enjoying the relaxed atmosphere of this special day. Oh, and make sure your car is gassed up for any unexpected trip you might need to take later in the day. Things happen you know. 

Christmas Eve Day at my home with my family was always very busy. The enticing aromas of food cooking were floating around the kitchen and drifting into the other rooms of the house long before the evening meal started. One of my brothers was sent to the grocery store for more butter. "Hurry," my Mother would say, "They will be closing soon!" The table was set with the Christmas china and the best cutlery. Even though it could be hectic, it was also a happy time. Finally we were all seated around the table. The candles were lit and grace was said, "Our Father, who art in heaven . . . ".

I step out the back door dressed warmly in my winter gear. It's cold out. Brrrrrrrr. The  temperature is -25C. I am heading out on my annual Christmas Eve walk. Supper is over. The warmth of the house and the delicious aromas of the festive meal we just finished are left behind. I walk down the street, the crunching sound of my boots in the snow rises up in the silence around me and fills my ears. I walk until I can see the sky above me in all its crystalline beauty. I stop. There's a feeling of something different in the air tonight. A feeling of expectancy. The sense of a holy hush. It's so quiet out. I listen to the silence. I'm thinking, "What a night it must have been when Christ was born. Mankind had no idea what was about to happen in a crude and dirty little stable in Bethlehem so long ago." 

But the angels did.

This is the night God chose for the arrival of his Son, Jesus Christ. It is time for Jesus to be born. I am still. Frozen in time. Not because of the cold. I am still because I know what is about to happen. The angels are waiting. They are watching. They are ready. I wonder what they are feeling in their hearts as the moment of Christ's birth approaches.

And then it happens. Suddenly. Gloriously. JUST LIKE THAT! The long expected Saviour is born and the angel appears to the shepherds.

"And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified." Luke 2:8-9 (KJV)

An angel? An angel appeared? How big are angels anyway? How much room did this first angel take up in the sky?  And how do angels go from being invisible to being visible? From being out of sight from everyone to all of a sudden being present in the air seemingly just above your head. The shepherds were terrified. TERRIFIED! They were "feeling extreme fear". They were "very afraid". Not only were they seeing an angel . . . a celestial being . . . but the glory of the Lord was shining around them! What was happening?

I wonder if the shepherds had to cover their eyes because of the dazzling display of brightness that was streaming down upon them. I wonder if they had to but didn't really want to. 

Then they heard words of comfort and reassurance; "And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger." Luke 2:11-12  (KJV)

A baby? The long-expected Saviour was born a baby? In a cattle stall? And the shepherds believed the angel.

"And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." Luke 2: 13-14 (KJV)

A multitude. Suddenly there was a multitude of angels. JUST LIKE THAT! A multitude is an awful lot of angels.  And the shepherds got to see them in all their splendour and to hear them giving praise to God. 

"And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us." Luke 2:15 (KJV)

The multitude of angels . . . did they leave quickly? Or did the shepherds have several seconds to watch as they faded from the sky? What had just moments before been a celestial display of the most incredible angelic sightings ever was now the former familiar expanse of sky they were used to seeing to the men watching over their sheep. Or was it familiar anymore? Did they look at it differently in the months and years to come? Did they hope the angels might come again? 

Then the shepherds, believing the words the angel had told them, went into Bethlehem to find the baby lying in a manger in a stable. The one who was born to set us free. 

Merry Christmas, Everyone! 

 

Sandra Rafuse lives in the small town of Rockglen, Saskatchewan, with her husband Bob, a Gordon Setter named Sadie, and a Peregrine falcon named Peet. She is a retired teacher, an amateur writer, and is thoroughly enjoying having the opportunity to share what God is teaching her through her life experiences.