The Nativity Set by Carol Harrison

                                                              

I hurried into the department store, glad to be out of the bitterly cold December weather. Just inside the store I stopped at a display of nativity sets. Bins of individual figurines sat beside the shelves holding the complete sets. My Christmas shopping list quickly disappeared from my mind as I stared longingly at the display.

I had always wanted to have a nativity set as part of my Christmas decorations. Yet years of holidays had come and gone and owning my own set remained nothing more than a desire. I always told myself that someday I would get one. I just didn't know when. Usually all the sets I saw and liked were beyond my budget. The most beautiful ones were delicate and breakable which would have been impractical in a house with children.

But the prices attached to these bins were affordable. My hopes soared as I began sorting through the containers of pretty yet unbreakable pieces. I started wondering if I could find all the figures needed to make up a complete nativity set. Excitedly I picked up Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus. Next I pulled out a few different shepherds and three unique wise men. Then I found a donkey, sheep and even camels. Finally I discovered an angel. I put them all into my shopping cart and began searching the shelves for a stable but all of them were part of full sets. Undaunted I completed the rest of my shopping and purchased all the affordable figures. I could keep looking for an inexpensive stable or get someone to nail a few rough boards together to represent one.

Eagerly I headed home with all my Christmas surprises and treasures. Later that afternoon I gathered the children around the Christmas tree and began to tell them about Mary, Joseph and Baby Jesus while I placed them under the tree. Then I told them about the shepherds on the hillside and the choir of angels who announced the birth of the Christ child. I added the shepherds and a few sheep to my display while I told how they eagerly hurried to Bethlehem to see this amazing event for themselves. I stood the angel close by, as if watching protectively everyone surrounding the manger. I told them about the wise men who came from the East to worship the new born King and added three figures along with their camels. Finally I placed the donkey and cow behind the holy family to complete the scene. My youngest watched every move.

As I finished telling the story my three older children scattered to activities that more fully captured their interest. I headed to the kitchen to make supper but glanced back to admire my new, long waited for nativity set. I saw my two-year old, special needs daughter lying on her tummy staring intently at the scene. I continued to watch quietly for a couple minutes. Soon her little hand reached out and began to rearrange each piece. Baby Jesus remained in the centre but she moved Mary and Joseph even closer. Then she moved the shepherds, sheep, wise men and camels until all were crowded around the manger holding the baby. Finally she turned them until all were gazing in adoration at Jesus. Completing her task she got up, noticed me and smiled before coming to take my hand and pull me toward the Christmas tree. She possessed an almost negligible vocabulary but no words were needed to let me know how important this set already was to her. I realized she understood the Christmas story she listened to repeatedly at Sunday school and at home.

Each day, until we put the decorations away after New Year’s, she spent time lying in front of the Christmas tree looking at or rearranging the pieces. Baby Jesus always remained the central figure. I enjoyed watching this often repeated task and the huge smiles that always accompanied it. Several more years disappeared before I found a little, rough wooden stable to add to the scene but that didn't seem to matter to her. All she needed to act out the Bible story of Christmas were the figures themselves.

The years passed and each year my youngest daughter eagerly waited for the Christmas decorations to fill the house. She thoroughly loved this holiday season. Smiles wreathed her face especially when the nativity set made its appearance under the tree. It became her self-appointed job to arrange it until she was satisfied that all eyes were on the baby in the manger. She also continued to sit and listen to the Christmas story from the gospel of Luke as many times as someone would read it to her.

Tasks that we often take for granted proved difficult for her to learn to do. By the time she turned ten she had finally learned to read and received a children's Bible as her Christmas gift. As soon as she opened it she brought it to me so I could show her where to find the Christmas story. Over and over she read the words all by herself. This brought her so much pleasure and filled my eyes with tears of joy.

My children grew up and the oldest three married. Our family continued to expand with the addition of grandchildren. It had become our family tradition for my youngest daughter to arrange the nativity set under the tree each Christmas, a chore she relished. If anyone moved it around she'd go over and gently replace all the figures to her liking. One year as I took out the all the decorations, I wondered if the time had come to upgrade the nativity set to a fancier one. While we decorated the house I voiced my thoughts only to quickly be met with total rejection by my youngest daughter.

“A new fancy one will be breakable. How will all the nieces and nephews play out the Christmas story? They have to be able to play with it and move them around. You have to keep this set. It has to go under the tree.” she said with a worried look on her face.

I realized the intensity of her desire for my grandchildren to have the opportunity to enjoy the simple pleasures she had experienced year after year and I gave in. The original set stayed.

Over the years I have added other decorations that depict the Christmas story from the Bible. Yet none of them holds the special place in her heart that my original purchase does. This first visual representation, which made the story come alive for her, needs to remain part of our family tradition. My desire for a nativity set had a wonderful ripple effect within my family, but mostly with my youngest, which continues to surprise and amaze me.

Carol Harrison loves the Christmas season. This story originally appeared in Chicken Soup for the Soul, Tales of Christmas 2011. The picture is one she took of this nativity set which still sits under their tree each year even though the grandchildren are mostly all adults.

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.

 

 

 

 

Whispers of Tissue and Chiffon by Brenda Leyland

 

Me and Little Sis in our velvet and chiffon dresses

The whir of Mom's Singer sewing machine was a familiar sound growing up in the little farmhouse we called home. A young wife and mom, Mom often had some sewing project under construction—garments for her growing family, draperies, craft projects, bridesmaids dresses, quilts, etc. Of all the things she sewed, my favourites were the Christmas dresses she made for me and my sisters.

With the approach of December a sense of anticipation would begin to fill the air. Mom would study the Eaton's and Sears catalogues looking for ideas of what to make. Then came the time for Mom to visit the fabric store. Sometimes we tagged along with her; I always loved that starchy smell that greeted us when we walked into the store. Amazed at the bolts upon bolts of fabric in every colour and weight in tidy rows from floor to ceiling. Not to mention the dazzling array of buttons, ribbons, and laces. The cabinets were bursting with patterns... the possibilities seemed endless. There was so much to look at—but please don't touch—that we were rarely bored while Mom sat studying patterns, musing over  fabrics and colours, feeling this cloth and then that one. Should it be floral or plain? Satin, jacquard, or velvet? This shade of evergreen or that holly red?

Back at home, the big day arrived. The kitchen table was cleared. Amid scissors, tape measure, and stick pins, sheets of ecru tissue rustled as each pattern piece was carefully laid out on the fabric. Putting it this way and that way to find the best fit before pinning it down. There'd be that moment of slight tension—just before Mom made that first scissor snip through tissue and fabric. Before long, threads and fabric bits littered the floor, and there'd be the hot whoosh as the iron pressed damp cloth against newly sewn seams.

Trying on the dresses while some seams were still held together with stickpins created a balancing act. Arms held over our heads, Mom gently slipped the emerging garment over our shoulders. My little sisters and I would try not to wiggle, turning s-l-o-w-l-y like a stiff mannequin atop a chair, while Mom adjusted seams and checked hems for length. Finally all the pins were gone and we stood in our finished dresses. One last twirl. The wonder as we stared in the mirror. It was such a proud moment to stand in our newest finery on Christmas Eve with our Sunday school class, reciting mostly memorized verses and warbling partly familiar carols.

Many holiday outfits passed beneath the pressure foot of that old sewing machine. The holly red velvet dress trimmed with lace, the swirly skirted green taffeta with three-quarter sleeves, a jacquard textured royal blue shift offset by a white pleated organdy collar (a bit reminiscent of those Queen Elizabeth I fancy collars in her 16th century portraits—not that I knew anything about her in those days). And of all the dresses made through the years, it was the pretty peacock blue velvet with a skirt of whispering chiffon that ended up being my forever favourite outfit of my early childhood.

No matter how many Christmases come and go, recollections of pretty handmade dresses and annual concerts in the old country church are as carefully bundled in filmy memories as any treasured holiday ornament. The wonder of it all is that these gifts of love were wrapped in the celebration of the One who came to express the love of a generous God to our world. Who would have thought that the whisper of tissue paper on velvet would echo that great love to three little girls?

Photo above from the family archives

Growing up Brenda could never decide whether it was her birthday or Christmas Eve that was her most favourite day of the year. Some things never change, she still can't decide. She enjoys writing on her blog It's A Beautiful Life and here on InScribe. She can also be found on Facebook and Instagram.

 

The Night the Sky Sang by Lorrie Orr

 

December is a month filled with story, the story of God reaching down in love. This month’s prompt asks you to share a story about Christmas. It can be funny, poignant, sad, or inspirational.

The Night the Sky Sang

I know what people think about shepherds. Crude, smelly, and not very intellectual. Our lives are ordinary, even tedious. It's hot in the daytime and cold at night. Sheep are stupid animals - they get themselves into a lot of trouble if there's no one watching them. You can't be a shepherd and be lazy. It might not take much education, but it does take skill and perseverance. We shepherds usually work as a team and keep an eye out for each other's sheep. It's more efficient. 

I like the nights best of all. We find a bit of shelter from the wind, perhaps against a big rock, and build a fire. There's conversation. Mixed in with the chitchat some serious debate goes on. Philosophy, you might call it. Life, love, and politics. On such a night my life changed. 

The fire was dying down. I lay on my back, wrapped in my cloak, watching the stars. How far away they looked, and how beautiful. Conversation dwindled to silence. My eyelids sagged, weighted by sleep. Then, blinding light. I awoke with a start. From out of nowhere appeared this glowing being. I know it was an angel, but to this day I can't completely describe it. I jumped to my feet along with the other shepherds. Then I cowered in fear. I was certain I would be struck dead. Instead, I heard a voice say, 

"Don't be afraid. Listen to me. I have good news for you."

The angel went on to tell us about the birth of a baby, a Saviour, the Saviour we had been waiting for. He said it was news of great joy for the whole world. Before I had time to really think about his words, the sky filled with more angels, and music. It was as if the stars and angels whirled and danced together in a vast chorus of light and sound.

The sight tore at my heart and caused such an ache of longing deep inside that I clutched my hands to my chest. The song was perfect, the most perfect thing I'd ever heard. It made me long to join them, to raise my cracked warble in the same harmony of praise to Almighty God. Tears ran down my skin, and I knew the message of the angels was for me. God was sending his son into my stinky, dirty world.

Then just as suddenly as they came, the angels left. The stars had hardly changed position. The small fire still burned low. Everything was the same, and everything was different. We stood there, our hearts thumping wildly. 

"Did you see...?"

"Could it be?"

"Let's go!"

The angel had told us where to find the baby, and we stumbled over rocks and tufts of grass in our eagerness to get there. We stood outside the stable, hesitant for a moment. A man appeared, tired, with a puzzled look on his face. None of us knew what to say to him. Then Jethro stepped forward.

"Please," he said, "we want to see the Saviour, the baby."

And then we all spoke at once, blurting out words about angels and music. The man smiled slightly, then beckoned us to enter.

My eyes were drawn to the baby, so helpless, lying in a manger. His mother watched us carefully but said nothing as we crowded nearer. I even dared to reach out and touch his soft, tiny head with my rough fingers. 

We left soon after, seeing the fatigue on the young mother's face. I knew that I couldn't keep this news to myself. It was too wonderful, too amazing. I told everyone I met about the baby. And then, I went back to the sheep, to the hillside and the night fires, but I wasn't the same person inside.

God, who lived beyond the stars, was suddenly close. That night I caught a glimpse of him. Now when I go to the Temple and hear the priests' monotone reading of the glory of God, I think back and even now, my breath catches in my throat. 

            

           Lorrie Orr loves Christmas and is so glad for the gift of Immanuel, God with us. She writes from Victoria, BC, where she always hopes for a bit snow in winter, but celebrates whatever the weather. More of her writing can be found at her blog, Fabric Paper Thread, and on Substack, where she is posting excerpts from her memoir, Life is Short but Wide.  

            

A Xylophonic Vibration by Brenda Leyland

 

❦

This season brings with it

a xylophonic vibration of music for the heart—

From the wonderment of hoarfrost hanging on a winter morning,

To the giggle when jingle bells jangle in the snowy air,

To the comfort of hands holding fast in woolen mittens,

Icy fingers wrapping 'round a steaming mug,

The rapt pleasure of inhaling earthy pine needles and spruce gum,

Not to mention the glee on children's faces spying twinkle lights on a tree,

The shivery anticipation in whispered secrets and safe hidey-holes, 

with shouts of, You can't come in here!

Along with squeals and gasps of pleasure when presents are finally revealed.

 

From the wonderment of seeing a new star in the night sky, and imagining

the shepherds awestruck to watch the heavens burst with singing choirs,

To that tingle, that sweet swell inside, when your ears catch the first notes

of a forever favourite carol, heart soaring as you sing along:

"O holy night . . . a thrill of hope the weary world rejoices"

"God rest you, merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay"

"...yet in thy dark streets shineth an everlasting light"

The vibration repeats the sounding joy and hearts strain to hear

♪ One Perfect Note ♪

Jesus, Son of God

This Christmas Day we celebrate.

❦

Top Photo: Image by Van3ssa from Pixabay

Inspired by the beauty of God's world around her, Brenda loves shaping words into beautiful thoughts for good. Her sweet spot place for writing is on her blog It's A Beautiful Life. 

EXcited by Lorrie Orr

 

It's Christmas Eve. I'm a child - 7, 8, 10, 12 - and so excited for what the next day might bring. My sister and I awaken in the dark early morning and creep downstairs, our bare feet cold on the floor. We know to wait to open presents and our whispers soon rouse our brother. Yawning, our parents make their way downstairs. We turn on the Christmas lights and there are the presents. I remember matching doll buggies, dolls, and the year I turned 10, a gold ring with a pink zircon.

Now I'm a grown woman with grandchildren. I still love this season of the year. Advent, with all its heart-focused preparations for Christmas, is deeply meaningful. I lean into the longing felt for generations, and the joy in knowing that our Saviour has come. The story of Jesus come to earth fills me with delight and occasional shivers up my spine.

Then there are the physical plans - considering gifts to make or buy for loved ones, filling the freezer with cookies and other treats, and decorating the house with lights and festive greenery. I love the list making and planning, but all of it can add up to overly busy days when weariness erases excitement.

On top of all the preparations, I want to feel Christmassy. I want to be excited about the season, to revel in the glow of lights, to find myself smiling throughout the day. I've learned, however, that feelings come and go, and to be okay with that. Christmas doesn't mean that frustrations, difficulties, and sorrows disappear. Indeed, sometimes hard things are magnified by the expectations of the season. Walking under the stars (or in falling snow), sitting quietly by the fire, hearing Christmas music in the stores, or just being content puttering away in my home are moments when that elusive "Christmas spirit" fills me with a measure of happiness. I am learning to be content with those moments, knowing that they will pass, but also that they will come again. Ultimately, I know that no matter my feelings, Christ is here. Immanuel. God with us. God with me. God with you.

Merry Christmas!

Lorrie writes from Vancouver Island where she always hopes for a white Christmas, still shakes presents for clues, and enjoys tea and cookies by the fire.

X is For Keeping Christ in Christmas by Bob Jones

 

Some have labelled its use, blasphemy. For others it’s just Greek to them.

For people like you who use and care about words, what do you think of the word, Xmas? I think the term is about keeping Christ in Christmas. As a pastor, I’ve had interesting (some very emotional) reactions when I talk that way or certainly when I preach using that term.

But before I explain my thinking, a little context.

There is a prevalent Christian cultural myth that the use of the word Xmas stems from a secularizing tendency to de-emphasize the religious tradition of Christmas. The use of Xmas in advertising and conversation is the culprit. You’ve heard the lament, “Xmas?! Now they’re taking Christ out of Christmas.”

History

• In 1957 the use of X in Xmas was dismissed as “the unknown quantity” by the Church League of America.
• In 1966 a conspiracy theory around the use of Xmas was that “Jewry influenced the United Nations to outlaw the name of Christ.”
• In 2019, one of the most well-known Christian leaders in the world declared that using the term “Xmas” was the result of a war against using the name of Jesus.

Have you seen the 2024 cryptocurrency exchange that goes by the name, XT? Some see that as a mockery of Christ.

Nevertheless, the term's usage dates to the 16th century, and corresponds to Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, Church of England and Episcopalian liturgical use of various forms of the chi-rho monogram. In fact, the word Christ and its compounds, including Christmas, have been abbreviated in English for at least the past 1,000 years. In many manuscripts of the New Testament, 'Χ' is an abbreviation for Χριστος.

It's Greek To Me

The 'X' comes from the Greek letter Chi.

The Chi Rho, one of the earliest forms of the Christogram, is formed by superimposing the first two (capital) letters—chi and rho (ΧΡ)—of the Greek ΧΡΙΣΤΟΣ (Christos) in such a way that the vertical stroke of the rho intersects the centre of the chi.

Enough Greek, OK (which is from the Greek, Ola kala meaning “all good”)?

My preferred words are Christ and Christmas. I only use Xmas to make a point.

The term, Xmas, is not a hill to die on. It’s a hill to light a light on. Somebody ultimately important to us said, you are the light of the world. Even a misunderstanding around the use of a word can be used to draw people to the Word rather than get up in arms and defend “our rights.” A Christian’s lead step is always love, or service, never power.

If you got this far in my final post of 2024 and you feel some level of frustration, anger, disbelief, or disappointment with me, I’m not sorry. I am grateful for you. You are my brothers and sisters.

In this day and age, everything is polarized for some advantage. Let's focus on Jesus. Remember the words of Bonhoeffer, "When Xt calls a man he bids him come and die."

More power to ya. 

 

Merry Christmas! Christ is glorified!

May 2025 be the best year of your life. Amen.

Bob writes at REVwords.com

Lend Your Ear by Joylene M Bailey

 

Lend your ear,

    if you would,

    to my song of Christmas.

Mary, Joseph understood,

    making them courageous.

Lend your voice,

    raise it high

    to the songs of Christmas.

Choirs of angels broke the sky to

    laud the Prince of princes. 

Lend your help,

    if you will.

    Tend the wounds of Christmas.

If the road seems all uphill,

    start it with forgiveness.

Lend your words,

    write them down.

    Share the hope of Christmas:

Prince of Peace, yet thorny crown.

    You must be the witness.

Lend yourself.

    Fill your sphere

    with your song of Christmas.

You have purpose while you're here;

    let Him be your richness.

*****

Feature Image by Jeremy Kyejo from Pixabay   

  

All is bright and all is calm (for the moment) in Lake Country, Alberta, where Joy lives with The Cowboy and his small livestock - a dog and a kitten. But soon, five little cowhands will arrive to break up the stillness and fill the atmosphere with squeals and snowmobiles. She wishes you all a very Merry Christmas!  Scraps of Joy

  

The Last Christmas ~ Valerie Ronald

  

My mother never told me how much she would miss me when I remarried and moved to Manitoba. Some years before, she came to live near me and my family after my father died, where our relationship grew closer. She stood by me as I struggled through a divorce and serious health issues, and I gave her companionship and help as she aged.

She was happy for me when I met my “Manitoba man”. Having witnessed my years of painful struggle in my first marriage, she wanted God’s best for me, even if it meant I would be leaving. She bravely expressed only joy and encouragement as we planned a wedding in the middle of my chemotherapy treatments. Later I learned how her heart was breaking at the thought of me going.

Before our first wedding anniversary, my mother was diagnosed with terminal liver cancer. She chose not to have treatments as they would only prolong the inevitable. She maintained her independence as long as possible, with help from my older brother and her church family and friends. That winter my husband and I prayed, receiving God’s peace in our decision that I would fly west for what would most likely be her last Christmas.

I tried not to cry as I greeted her with a long hug. She was small and fragile in my arms, yet her gaunt face shone with joy at my arrival. She was still living in her beautiful seaside apartment, making do with medical home care and other helps. Though in early remission from cancer myself, I took over her care as best I could.

Words cannot describe the warm presence of God in that cozy apartment as we settled in for what seemed like one long sleep-over. We openly talked about what was coming, which intensified our pleasure in being together. We cried, we laughed, we reminisced and we talked about God. My mother became a Christian later in life, during my father’s illness. She looked to Jesus as her constant companion through many lonely days. She had a hunger to learn about Him in His Word, as if she were making up for lost time. What a difference it made for her to face death knowing she would soon be with her Savior.

 That Christmas there were a few cards on the mantelpiece but that was it for holiday decorations, so one evening I dug out Mom’s beloved nativity set. She sat in her favourite rocker wrapped in a warm pink robe with a blanket over her knees, watching me carefully unpack the porcelain figures. A friend had built her a rustic creche some years ago, which she wanted set on a table close by her chair. She asked me to hand her the figures in a certain order. Tenderly cradling each piece, she told me how every Christmas she liked to imagine what it was like for those who were there when Jesus was born.

The animals in the stable watching curiously as this small, naked creature slept in their hay. The shepherds still dazed by their angel visitation, coming to see if there really was a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger, as they had been told. And solemn Joseph, weary yet vigilant as he watched over Mary and her newborn son ˗˗ what responsibility he must have felt.

My mother held the figure of a kneeling Mary for a long time, turning it over in her trembling hands before she spoke.

“I think I know some of what Mary felt ˗˗ relief, wonder and fierce love for her baby. Maybe she checked that he had all his fingers and toes, like I did when you were born.” She held me long in her loving gaze.

“Even though Mary knew who her baby boy was meant to be, she probably loved him first as most mothers love their babies, with all her heart.”

I rested my head against her knees.

“Just like you loved me,” I whispered as I felt her hand on my head.

That Christmas was filled with bittersweet moments ˗˗ memories of my mother to treasure, whose beautiful brown eyes spoke volumes when she could not speak. A few months later the family was called to come and say our final goodbyes to her in the hospital. By then she hardly knew we were there, yet I knew I had already said my goodbyes during our precious last Christmas together. Though my heart grieved, I knew it was not really goodbye, rather it was until we meet again, when I would join her in heaven.

Her nativity set resides with me now. It is the first thing I put up each Christmas season. In keeping with tradition, I think about what the first Christmas was like for each character as I place their figure in the creche. And I remember how God gifted me with a precious last Christmas with my mother.

More of Valerie's work can be read on her blog:

https://scriptordeus.wordpress.com/

Hope: The Message of Christmas by Carol Harrison

I have always loved the Christmas season. As a child, this time of year had a simplicity I never realized. Our family didn’t have much money and there were few presents under the tree and no lavish, over-the-top decorations. Yet I loved it – the time spent with family and extended family, the church services and Christmas carols, the concerts, and the Bible story from the gospel of Luke.

When I take time to reflect, I realize I grew up rich in relationships with a legacy of being shown the love of God in tangible ways by my family. My parents and grandparents lived out their faith and shared this with me.

But, this time of year can be stressful when the tough things of life happen. The messages bombarding us about the latest and greatest gift, the best way to entertain, or even the right décor can fill us with a feeling of not having enough or not being good enough. How do view this time of year, no matter what the circumstances we find ourselves in? Where is our hope? Why do we celebrate?

As I write this blog post late the night before it is time to post it, I think about these questions. I ponder Immanuel – God with us and what that means and has meant to me. Is there a significant time at Christmas where this came alive to me? Maybe I put off writing this post because I couldn’t think of the scenario to describe. Part of the procrastination happened due to the invasion of bronchitis and asthma for a few weeks. These unwanted guests didn’t want to leave and made life difficult. Maybe it is only because I never paused long enough to really think about how God is with me and all of us who follow Him at any time of year.

A couple of days ago I had the opportunity to travel to Prince Albert to speak at the Christian Women’s Club Christmas meetings in the morning and evening. I had promised them months ago to be their speaker. The topic was Life’s Tough but There’s Hope or as they changed it around a bit to fit the time of year it read Hope - the Message of Christmas. As the day drew near, the exhaustion from being sick for weeks made me wonder if I could keep the commitment and yet I felt a peace that God was wanting me to go.

My granddaughter offered to drive so all I had to do was the speaking and interacting with the ladies present. It gave us a special time together from early morning until late at night. I pulled out my notes. Yes, I love Christmas but sometimes it is a tough time for people. Health concerns – I have those in my own life and in my husbands too. Finances – I love giving gifts and the budget runs out long before I wish it did but I am more fortunate than many. Relationship issues – some are fragile while others can be toxic. Grief – death does not care it is close to Christmas any more than health related concerns. We all get the picture.

Life for me has been in a tough season due to many issues and yet I know God is still God. He promises new mercies every morning. He is my Rock, my Fortress, my Deliverer, and strength. I know this. I’ve experienced it many times. So I trusted Him for the words to say, the strength of voice to speak, and for open hearts to hear God and know He is our Hope and Joy. 

  God with us – Immanuel. Oh how I felt that a couple of days ago. Various ladies remarked about how what I shared must have been just for them and shared a bit of their stories – tough things with me. One lady said, “When I closed my eyes, your voice was beautiful and like and eighteen-year-old.”

Wow, only God could provide a voice for people to hear that had no trace of bronchitis or asthma to it. So I pause in the middle of tough circumstances and Christmas coming quickly and wonder at the goodness of God who loves me so much He sent Jesus to take my punishment. How can I not praise His name.

Merry Christmas and may Jesus, the Hope of Christmas, fill us with hope and peace as we trust in Him each day to use the gifts, He has given us. 

 

Carol Harrison loves to share stories and the good news of hope in Jesus with people of all ages and abilities. She enjoys speaking and writing as well as scrapbooking and making junk journals.