Trust Your Instincts

"Hi, Opa." The little voice squeaked with worried tears.
"We have a big prob-wem!" His panic came through the phone.
"Songbear needs surgery, and there's nobody else who can help us."

Songbear is Benji's best friend, and he'd been hugged til his stuffing was coming out.
A holiday bath had made things worse, and Benji was feeling his buddy's pain.
"Can you help us?" he whimpered.

Opa perfected his sewing skills years ago with Cub Scout shirts and Boy Scout patches. There's nobody he'd rather pick up a needle for than a little boy. He arranged to meet his patient at the Christmas Eve party.

All during the festivities Opa snipped and stitched.

"I'm trying not to hurt him," he said as the needle poked a furry backside.

When Operation Songbear was complete, Benji tied the final knot.
The perfect Christmas present.
(Who needs Santa when you've got an Opa?)

Forty three years ago, when I was just nineteen, I met a 22-year-old boy. We were on a semester abroad without the accouterments we normally judge people by. I didn't know his family, what kind of car they drove, how they interacted. I'd never seen him in real life—his clothes, his friends, his house.

Ten days later we decided to get married. My parents freaked out when they got the letter. What was I thinking? They didn't know a thing about him! But I did. Our first Saturday together he shined my shoes.

Something told me he'd be an awesome Opa.

Wait!

A Piece of Cake by Jill Murphy

Don't look. It's not over yet.

What Did You Give?

Art by Eloise Wilkin

An African child listened carefully as his teacher explained why Christians give presents to each other on Christmas Day. "The gift is an expression of our joy over the birth of Jesus and our love for each other," she said.

When Christmas day came, the boy brought the teacher a seashell of lustrous beauty. "Where did you ever find such a beautiful shell?" the teacher asked. The child told her that there was only one spot where such extraordinary shells could be found. When he named the place, a certain bay several miles away, the teacher was left speechless. "Why . . . why, it’s gorgeous . . . wonderful, but you shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble to get the gift for me." His eyes brightening, the boy answered, "Long walk part of gift."

When you look at the living room today, and wonder why you worked so many weeks for an event that lasted only one day, remind yourself: "Long walk part of gift."

Merry Christmas!

Did he come yet?

Wow! That was fast.

He's already in my rear-view mirror.

Hope your Christmas is merry and bright!

Christmas Priorities

It's a Wonderful Life

"The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing."

Sometimes my Christmas packages are tied up with guilt—the zest I had on Thanksgiving starts to seep out until I feel like a tired balloon. So many people to see, so many places to be, so many things to make and bake and take. It's a challenge to focus and choose: things I'd hoped to do don't get done, friends get checked off my to-do list like chores, and I have to turn off the Christmas music to concentrate on finding a parking place. The Grinch is stalking me.

I get defensive when I feel guilty, and I start arguing my case in my mind (although it sometimes spills out) justifying myself to myself. And, as always when there's any kind of contention, the Spirit of Christmas leaves. It's time to check my list of priorities:

What do I want to have happen?

1. I want to remember the baby Jesus, the grown up Jesus, and the lessons He taught about how to find joy in living, and peace of mind.
   
2. I want to communicate love, encouragement and support to my husband, kids and grandkids in an unhurried way.
   
3. I want to share my heritage with them.
   
4. I want to slow down and bask in the beauty of the season.
5. AND . . . I want to see old aunts, new nephews, cousins, siblings, friends, neighbors; send cards, go caroling, frost cookies, listen to Handel's Messiah; write an Oma book, shop, wrap presents, read Christmas books . . .
   

Checking my priority list has calmed me down. Scrooge isn't out to get me and that lump of coal thing doesn't apply just because I can't do it all. There will still be life after Christmas. For now, the main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing. (A silent night can bring joy to my world, if I let it.)

Writing Dawn til Dusk

Yesterday morning I woke up with an idea for an Oma book. I sat down immediately and started writing the story. Six hours later I realized I was still in my nightgown and probably hadn't even eaten. I love it when I'm inspired. This came together like it had been hovering around my mind waiting for me to invite it in.

It's an autobiographical kids book about saying bad things to people you love. I got it written in about six hours (it's twenty pages long, kid's style) so then I started illustrating it with photos—finding them, tweaking the exposure, scanning, changing them to black and white,cropping them just right, laying them out on the pages. That took from 3:pm this afternoon to right now (2:am) and I have to say I'm pleased. I used photos of our grandkids to illustrate it, plus photos of me and my siblings and parents back in the day when I was at my bratty peak.

This will be an expose' of my own bad behavior and encouragement to improve our own—their own—it will apply to anyone who has trouble thinking over everything they say before they say everything they think.

I'm excited about it! I hope my little grands will learn from my experience and never say a naughty, mean, rude thing all their lives. I'm sending the PDF to the printer in the morning and hopefully I'll have a cute little Oma book to give for Christmas. I'll show it off to you sometime this week!

Tomorrow it's Christmas card design, print, address and mail, plus design and send my scrapbook page for my kids, for our round-robin exchange. I'm psyched to be getting it done, but I'm freaked because I only have a few more days! It's all fun stuff though, so it feels like a party all day long every day. And now, although I've never been drunk in my life, I feel totally drunk on words and I feel spacey and I need to go to bed! Or you'll really see my writing skills go wild—when my ambien kicks in I'm out of control.

Merry Christmas week and I hope you finish all your projects and still have time to sit down by the tree and just look at it and remember important, touching Christmases past.

Do you have time to comment on what your big plans are?

I'm anxious to hear!!!

Christmas Scenes

The Griswold's House

How do you picture the perfect Christmas?

I loved this talk by Dieter F. Uchtdorf:

"Sometimes it seems that our efforts to have a perfect Christmas season are like a game of Jenga ... each of those little wooden blocks is a symbol of the perfect Christmas we so desperately want to have. We have in our minds a picture of how everything should be; the perfect tree, the perfect lights, the perfect gifts and the perfect family party. We might even want to re-create some magical moment we remember from Christmases past, and nothing short of perfection will do.

"Sooner or later, something unpleasant occurs; the wooden blocks tumble, the drapes catch fire, the turkey burns, the sweater is the wrong size, the toys are missing batteries, the children quarrel, the pressure rises; and the picture-perfect Christmas we had imagined, the magic we had intended to create, shatters around us. As a result, the Christmas season is often a time of stress, anxiety, frustration and perhaps even disappointment."

"When we set aside our expectations of perfection, we will see Christmas in details around us. It is usually something small; we read a verse of scripture, we hear a sacred carol and really listen, perhaps for the first time, to its words, or we witness a sincere expression of love. In one way or another, the Spirit touches our hearts, and we see that Christmas, in its essence, is much more sturdy and enduring than the many minor things we often use to adorn it."

You must hear the rest of his talk!
To watch this Christmas devotional, click here.

Here are a few details from scenes that have lit up the Christmas season for me:

Long-lost cousins.


My own personal St. Lucia.

Displaying old decorations in a new place.

Elves.


Plays, recitals and Christmas concerts.

Meeting the stars after the show.

What are the Christmas scenes you'll remember from this year?

(Here's some ideas of where to look:)

1. The dreaded family Christmas party will be better than you think.
2. Drop in on a grade-school program and you'll leave jolly, I promise!
3. Send a note to a friend from your past and remind him (and yourself) what was special about your friendship.
4. Listen to some old Christmas CD's (Oakridge Boys, John Denver, Peter,Paul and Mary do it for me.)
5. Bake that cake your mom used to make and tell your kids how you got your tongue caught in the beater.
6. After you hear the whole Dieter F. Uchtdork talk, consider how you'd react with love if your darling four-year-old set your house on fire Christmas Eve.
7. Look up Luke chapter 2 in the Holy Bible. Read it out loud to someone, or have them read it to you. Listen for the words, but notice the majesty of the language and feel the Holy Ghost testify that the story is true.
8. Write a letter to a teacher/friend/frenemy? who you could thank for something.

Leave us an idea to make someone's Christmas' better
(which is guaranteed to make ours better.!)

Yes Mom, There is a Santa

Art by Norman Rockwell

Today my alter ego, Kirby Puckernut, wrote a post answering the question "Is Santa Claus real?" (Personally, I've never doubted.) I love the true story of a little eight-year-old girl who wrote to the New York Sun in 1897 asking the same question.

“Quite naturally I believed in Santa Claus," said Virginia O'Hanlon. "He had never disappointed me. But when less fortunate little boys and girls said there wasn’t any Santa Claus, I was filled with doubts. I asked my father, and he was a little evasive on the subject.

“It was a habit in our family that whenever any doubts came up as to how to pronounce a word or some question of historical fact was in doubt, we wrote to the Question and Answer column in The Sun. Father would always say, ‘If you see it in the The Sun, it’s so,’ and that settled the matter.

“ ‘Well, I’m just going to write The Sun and find out the real truth,’ I said to father.

“He said, ‘Go ahead, Virginia. I’m sure The Sun will give you the right answer, as it always does.’ ”

And so Virginia sat down and wrote her parents’ favorite newspaper.

Her letter found its way into the hands of a veteran editor, Francis P. Church. Son of a Baptist minister, Church had covered the Civil War for The New York Times and had worked on the The New York Sun for 20 years, more recently as an anonymous editorial writer. When controversal subjects had to be tackled on the editorial page, especially those dealing with theology, the assignments were usually given to Church.

Now, he had in his hands a little girl’s letter on a most controversial matter, and he was burdened with the responsibility of answering it.

“Is there a Santa Claus?” the childish scrawl in the letter asked. At once, Church knew that there was no avoiding the question. He must answer, and he must answer truthfully. And so he turned to his desk, and he began his reply which was to become one of the most memorable editorials in newspaper history.

Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus

By Francis P. Church, first published in The New York Sun in 1897.

Dear Editor—

I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.” Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia O’Hanlon

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see . . .

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment . . . the eternal light of childhood that fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world . . .

Santa Claus! He lives and will live forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Kirby said that Santa is as real as you want him to be.

I want him to be very real!

(I can't imagine getting Christmas ready without him.)

What do you think?

How do you answer the question

"Is Santa Claus real?

Meeting Santa Claus

Marty and Santa Claus 1951

I sat on my dad's shoulders in a long line outside a tiny pavilion (near the statue in Sugar House) waiting for my turn. Cars and buses honked, surrounding our little island, and animated Christmas scenes decorated the Keith O'Brien store windows across the street—it must have been nighttime.

My coat and leggings were made of itchy red wool, and I sucked on the black velvet ribbon that tied under my chin. Santa Claus seemed scary and I cried at first, but the lady with the flashbulb held a candy cane that would be mine if I smiled for the camera. Meeting Santa Claus that year is my earliest memory—I was two. He must have made a good impression!

Do you remember meeting Santa?

St. Nicholas Day

Some folks are just naturally merry.

Take St. Nicholas, for instance. Can you imagine him complaining about the cold? Or feeling sorry for himself because he works 24/7? He's a jolly old soul whose main goal in life is to make us smile.

Today is St. Nicholas Day. Children in Holland and Germany (and lots of other places) know that St. Nick is out and about, so they leave a carrot or apple in their shoe as a snack for the reindeer. When they wake up, the carrot has been replaced with a tiny thank-you surprise, and the season of giving is ushered in.

In honor of St. Nicholas Day, I'm thinking of people who always live life as if it were filled with twinkling lights, inspiring music, exciting adventure and endless promise. The ones that make my life better just by being part of it. Optimistic people, merry people.

A cute lady I know brightens a room whenever she enters, not because of her appearance but because of her attitude, her smile and her friendliness. She has lots of interests and is very interesting, but she still seems genuinely interested in me! Another friend always asks about everyone in my family, laughs about funny things I said years ago, and finds the best in any situation. Her enthusiasm is contagious; it's a gift I get whenever we're together.

A wise man said, "Like all human behavior, optimism is learned. No one is born with it or without it. You learn it. You practice it. You try it out until it becomes a habit. And then you can't imagine behaving any other way . . .

"Begin with a smile. Take a real interest in what others are thinking, saying, and doing. Get outside yourself. You can (and do) change everyone with whom you come in contact. The question is whether you add to or subtract from the day's experience." (Don Gale)

As my St. Nicholas Day gift to you, I asked the jolly old man his secret. "I wink a lot," he said. Mmmm . . . maybe that's why he sees only the best in us. (Haven't you always wondered why he leaves presents whether you're naughty or nice?) He looks at the bright side: maybe that's why he's so merry!

Merry Christmas!

Children's Nativity Play

Kids Nativity Play

(I'm repeating myself here—this is a post from 2008.)

I'm making a new Oma Kit. It contains everything necessary for the grandkids to act out the first Christmas at the family Christmas party: a simple nativity script in rhyme, no-sew costumes, easy-to-store props and scenery. (It all fits in a $7.00 Rubbermaid box from Target.) Here my how-to for a children's nativity play.

I've assigned the kids their parts ahead of time. At the party, while a couple of moms help them get their costumes on, the adults are divided into two groups—choir and scenery.

Kids are the stars of Christmas

The Nativity Scenery Committee gets a tri-fold display board (it's like three sides of a cardboard box, navy blue, and I got it at Michael's Crafts for $8.00) plus a baggie full of star-shaped foam stickers. (I got three bags of 30 multi-colored, multi-sized stars for $2.00 each and picked out the yellow ones.) The committee will stick on the stars to make scenery that looks like a night sky. Two of the scenery people will hold up the scenery during the play.

The Impromptu Nativity Choir will practice singing Away in a Manger and Silent Night.

Shepherd costumes for one, or a whole herd.

No-sew nativity costumes: At the fabric store I searched for very cheap remnants. I got a couple of yards of several different fabrics (a black and white cow print, gray fuzzy wool, white terry cloth, light blue silky something, tan jersey knit, striped drapery stuff, etc.) I've cut the material into 45"x 45" squares (roughly, depending on the width) and then cut a hole in the middle for a head. Everyone will just slip them on like a cape, and tie them around the waist with a length of rope. Or they can be draped over their heads and shoulders like a shawl.

Because of a great deal on cow fabric, I asked if any little kid wanted to be a cow. Now we also have a camel, a donkey and two lambs in the cast!

We're short on short people in our group, so a few adults will take some extra roles. From year to year we could add or subtract animals, shepherds, angels, wise men and shift around the speaking parts. Hopefully the kids full-length costumes can be adapted to a shawl or shoulder drape on a bigger actor.

Left over strips of material are for head coverings and ties to hold them on. Mary will wear a silk scarf draped over her head. I twisted some gold pipe-cleaners together and made a halo for the angel. She will wear white and carry a star, made by gluing a large yellow foam star to a dowel.

All illustrations by Wendy Edelson from One Baby Jesus.

Props include some fake jeweled pins, two boxes wrapped in gold and silver foil, an empty perfume bottle, a broom-stick for a staff, a few stuffed animals (lambs, a camel, and a cow) and a doll. This year we have a real baby, so I'm bringing a fleece to cover his car-seat for the manger.

So, when everybody's dressed and standing in their places, with the artistic scenery behind them, we're ready. I wrote the lines in rhyme so they're easy to remember; no rehearsal necessary. (Please feel free to use or adapt my poem for your own nativity play.)

Short and Sweet Nativity Script

(Choir sings "Away in a Manger" to set the mood.)

• Joseph: My name is Joseph. I've been walking all day. In Bethlehem I hope there's a place to stay.

• Mary: My name is Mary. I'm tired and worn. I need a place for my babe to be born.

• Donkey: I carried Mary until she could lie down. There is no room in this whole town.

• Innkeeper: No, no. I haven't a place. In the back with the animals there's some space.
  

• Camel: We have a place where it's safe and sound, with loving animals all around. "Can my baby sleep there?" Mary said.

• Cow: Let my manger be his bed.

• Baby Jesus: (Sleeps peacefully.)

• Shepherd 1: I am a shepherd watching my sheep. I think I hear singing in my sleep.

• Shepherd 2: There's an angel above us. I'm filled with fear. But peace is the message that I hear.
  

• Angel: Jesus is born today. He's sleeping in a bed of hay.

• Lamb 1: Let's follow the star.

• Lamb 2: It's not very far.

• Wise Man 1: I'm a king from far away. I've looked forward to this day.

• Wise Man 2: In the east a star shone bright, on that sacred, holy night.

• Wise Man 3: Gifts of love we all can bring to worship Jesus Christ, our king.

• Reader: The Bible tells the story like this: (Reads Luke 2:1-16.)

Choir sings Silent Night.

"Sleep in heavenly peace."

Extended Family Christmas

Glancing at each other with sucked in grins, we tried not to giggle out loud. Our feet didn't touch the floor as we left the doctor's office that December 11, 1969, and burst out laughing, hugging each other before the door closed. It was true! Next year we would be known as Santa Claus to someone! We were going to have a baby.

We'd been married three months, and it was our first Christmas together. We were still kids ourselves, 20 and 23, and we were over the moon with excitement. Our own family. How could we celebrate such an eternal occasion? With an evergreen tree!

It fit in the corner of our 8' x 35' trailer (we're talking a pretty skinny tree) but it was green and crisply frozen; when it thawed out we swooned with the smell of fresh pine. We couldn't afford lights or ornaments, so we were creative. Strands of popcorn, and tissue paper snowflakes were hung, along with Christmas cards held on by fat red yarn bows. Even the cost of a package of cranberries stretched our budget too far, so Dee surprised me by stringing red pyracantha berries from the bushes near our mailbox. They shriveled within hours, so every morning he threaded new ones for fresh garlands.

Over our forty two Christmases we've had a forest of Christmas trees, but no tree stands out in my memory like our first one. It was like our marriage: it represented love, hope, effort, dreams and new traditions.

Christmas Eve we announced our good news by singing at the family party:

♬For unto us a child is born; unto us a son/daughter is given. ♬

(We each sang our own prediction.) It was snowing, so we left early and drove home for our own cozy celebration. After reading the Christmas story in Luke 2 we hung our brand-new, home-made stockings on the knobs of the stove and went to bed.

I'll admit, I wanted to stay at my mom's that first year, until I saw Dee's enthusiasm for our own Christmas. I couldn't imagine being away from my family on Christmas morning. Mom's Christmases were something from a fairytale, and Dad always had surprises on top of surprises. It took us a couple of hours to open our presents, and then our grandparents arrived with more. There were fires in both fireplaces, Mom made a lovely buffet in the dining room and Dad gave away cash prizes during football half-times.

I felt torn. I was the first kid to leave home and miss the big family event, and my parents were urging us to stay overnight. (Urge is a mild word—it was somewhere between insist and command.) They didn't support my new family when it upset their old family traditions. I felt traitorous choosing my little family over theirs, and I resented them for making it awkward to choose. I don't think that was their intention, but it was the result. Their lack of enthusiasm for our humble celebration encouraged me to resent Dee for hauling me away from their warm hearth to our chilly coal-oil hot plate.

I'm sure many newly-weds experience the same tug-of-war between childhood memories and adult responsibilities. It's easier to stay in mom and dad's Garden of Eden, than venture off into the cold and dreary world and work to plant a garden for ourselves. But it's a main part of the plan of happiness.

I love the quote that advises parents to "Hold your loved ones to you with wide open arms." It was our turn to start traditions, and Dee was anxious to have our first year together as just a couple—we'd never have it again. My folks were hurt and mad, as they often were when we began "tearing their family apart," (mom's words.) During those years we wondered: Why do we have to debate and defend our efforts to strengthen our marriage and home to our own parents, who ought to be thrilled we're trying to do that very thing!

I had wonderful parents, but they viewed me as theirs, even when I wasn't anymore. It caused a lot of stress, sapped my confidence, created conflict between me and Dee, and resulted in hard feelings that were difficult to overcome. From that first year we started setting goals for when we had adult children, hoping to avoid adding pressure and anxiety to our kid's lives.

1. We will be enthusiastic and support their choices, always, and congratulate them on making tough decisions, never second-guessing.
2. We won't throw cold water on their dreams with all our supposed wisdom.
3. When we tell them they're so awesome, they could do anything, we'll actually let them do the thing they choose to do.
4. We'll remember it's their life—their chance to make decisions (even wrong ones,) their chance to set priorities, their chance to learn it all line upon line, here a little and there a little, and our chance to stand back and enjoy it all from a distance.
5. We will plan for and develop interests that will keep us occupied so we don't have tons of free time to try to live their lives for them. We'll be available when they want us, and thick-skinned when they don't.

I started stressing over next-year's holiday the day after Christmas. How could I explain to mom how we felt, and not have it turn into a debate or a lecture? Or worse, hurt-feelings and comments like, "Grandma said she hopes she dies before you stop coming to the Christmas Eve party."

There was no understanding of the difficulty of dragging seven kids away from their Christmas whatever and keep them entertained (during the most hyper time of year) and well-behaved in a beautifully appointed house full of valuable keep-sake decorations, surrounded by a bunch of adults the kids don't know and who are annoyed by the chaos kids live in.

I've gotten carried away. It's 4:00 am and I'm leaving for Denver at 8:00 am! You're going to have to carry on this discussion! What do you think? We need opinions from all sides of the issue. Comment!!!

And, on a more festive topic: Where do you find Christmas magic? I'm ghostwriting a blog this season—my pen name is Kirby Puckernut and I'm one of Santa's elves. Click here for a sleigh full of fun Christmas ideas! Please visit—Kirby's more light-hearted than me today!

The Season of Light

The snow was glistening in the sunshine when I sat down by the window with my book. I got so caught up in the story, and it happened so gradually, I didn't even notice the sun going down, and the shadows that crept into the room. Mom walked past a while later and asked, "Why are you sitting here in the dark?" and then she flipped on a light.

The action and suspense of my everyday drama sometimes takes over and I lose sight of the Son. Shadows creep in and I start to dim out. Luckily Christmas comes along and turns on the light.

Everything looks brighter!

Ghost of Christmas Present

Kirby Puckernut and the Christmas Surprise

I'm the ghost of Kirby Puckernut. He's a real guy—a real elf, I should say—and Santa Claus put him in charge of a blog this year. (They're trying to put the North Pole on the map, I guess.) Anyway, Kirby got hold of me and in a very high-pitched squeak asked if I was really a ghostwriter. I assured him I was, and he squeaked, "Will you be mine?" How could I resist?

It turns out Kirby is the star of a darling new Christmas book about Christmas magic, and Santa has received zillions of letters from folks asking for tips. With the Christmas rush and all, there just wasn't time for Kirby to learn the intricacies of blogging, so I've been entrusted with Santa's secrets. I'll be posting them on Kirby's blog every Thursday from now 'til Christmas.

But I'll let you in on a secret—I need your secrets. Do you have unique ways of creating Christmas magic? Here are some questions for you to mull over with your cider:

1. What is Christmas magic?
2. What unique Christmas traditions bring magic into your home?
3. What do you say to "Is Santa Claus real?"
   
4. What about the Christmas when everything went wrong?
   
5. What's the most stressful thing about Christmas?

I'd love to hear your secrets! Since I'm just Kirby's ghost, I can't give you credit for your ideas on his blog ("The secret of creativity is knowing how to hide your sources."—Albert Einstein) but you'll get full credit here on mine!

Leave a comment, or a link to your post.

And go meet Kirby!

Christmas Week Advice

A Piece of Cake by Jill Murphy

Don't look. It's not over yet.

Christmas Dreams

Frosty the Snowman by Steve Nelson and Jack Robbins

♫ I'll be home for Christmas . . .
If only in my dreams. ♫

I like to visit Childhood at Christmastime—it's where I come from.

All Illustrations by Richard Cowdrey

Snow glittered in the late afternoon sun after a snow storm. We made snow angels in the backyard as lacy snowflakes floated from the sky, and wished the deep, fluffy powder would hold shape for snowballs. It caught in my eyelashes and melted on my tongue.

Leggings weren't made of spandex, and they weren't form fitting in those days. Mine matched my coat—red wool—heavy, prickly trousers with suspenders crossed in the back so they wouldn't fall down. I couldn't manipulate my fingers into gloves, so I had mittens on a string running through both sleeves.

Unless the snow was unusually wet, it didn't soak through my mittens, and our mountain powder snow didn't feel quite as cold then as it does now. My hat had a little brim in the front, with itchy earmuffs that tickled where they tied under my chin. Red rubber boots (with metal buckles on the front) made footprints that my brother's blue rubber boots followed around the yard.

My memory is probably a composite of many winter evenings. I can see the Christmas tree twinkling through the French doors in the dining room, and my mother in the kitchen feeding my baby sister in her high chair. It seemed that we played outside for hours, but having raised some kids myself, I know that it takes longer to get on the snowsuits than children can ever last in the cold out-of-doors. Maybe I'm just dreaming, but Childhood seems filled with laughter. I think that's why I want to visit at Christmas.

Henry B. Eyring said, "What all of us long for in our hearts, at Christmastime and always, is to feel bound together in love with the sweet assurance that it can last forever."

He goes on to say, "This is the promise of eternal life, which God has called His greatest gift to all his children. That is made possible by the gifts to us of His Beloved Son: the Savior's birth, Atonement, and Resurrection. It is through the Savior's life and mission that we have the assurance that we can be together in love and live forever in families.

"The feeling of longing for home is born into us. That wonderful dream requires faith, and enduring bravely the trials of mortal life. Then, in the next life, we can be welcomed by our Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son to that home of our dreams."


I hope when my little angels remember Childhood, the snow isn't cold, the lights shine like stars and love floods their hearts. That's how it feels to go home for Christmas.

We're On Our Way!

♫ Santa Claus is comin' to town! ♫

"Happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family...in another city."

—George Burns

Arizona Heroes

"And being able to visit."
—TravelinOma

Our Christmas Card

(now open the card)

Just a little Christmas mischief!

Entertaining Angels

"Refugees from Eastern European countries need a Christmas."

I heard this announcement on the radio in November, 1982, and called for information. Maybe we could help.

Our Sub-for-Santa tradition started on our second Christmas. Dee was in school, we lived in a tiny trailer with a new baby; we were poor as could be, but happy. Our neighbor was a single mom who lived in an even older, smaller trailer. She was a student with a two-year-old, also as poor as could be, but miserable. Anonymously we left a couple of presents and a small turkey outside her door on Christmas Eve and discovered it made our meager celebration brighter. Charles Dickens said, "No one is useless who lightens the burden of someone else." Our new tradition made us feel useful.

The newspaper offered sub-for-Santa opportunities, and over the years the kids earned money and bought a gift for a child in the family we were assigned. Just before Christmas we cleaned out closets and toy boxes, and spiffed up items that were in good condition, but outgrown. Some years we could afford more, sometimes less, but we always had enough to share.

It was important that the families kept their dignity, and knew we respected them. We didn't want to intrude, or inject ourselves into their holiday, either. Santa does his work quickly and quietly and disappears, and we were his substitutes. It pleased us that the kids didn't pass judgment on the people we visited, and we talked about how to be friendly to strangers who usually felt awkward and embarrassed.

Since our kids were always part of the planning and earning process, we wanted them to experience the actual giving as well. They were always so sweet and generous, even though they knew this came out of their own stash of stuff.

One year we took some gifts to a tiny, old duplex in a very poor area of our city. The family had three children, but there were grandparents and other adults all living together. Curtains were hung between several beds in the living room providing a bit of privacy. They were Vietnamese refugees, and nobody spoke English. We were directed to the kitchen and we walked through with our bags of goodies, while they all looked on, expressionless. It was an opportunity for us to see circumstances very different than our own.

On the way back to the front door, the kids held hands tightly, and smiled nervously at the people sitting on the floor staring at them. Micah (who had just turned eight) stuck out his hand to shake hands with a very elderly man, and said, "Nice condo." When we were outside, we looked at him with amusement and he said defensively, "Well, it was."

After hearing the radio announcement in 1982, we signed up for two families. It was just after Thanksgiving, but we were told these people had arrived from Europe with nothing, and needed Christmas early.

The Hlinovski's had escaped from Czechoslovakia. There were two children, and the parents were both doctors. The father in the Paslowski family was a political refugee who had been highly placed in the solidarity movement against the Communist government in Poland. His life was in danger, and they were lucky to get out.

The adults were highly educated and respected in their homelands—they loved those places enough to fight for freedom and a release from the bondage of Communism. Now they were at the mercy of a new country, where they didn't speak the language, and were lucky to get jobs as janitors.

When we arrived at the home of our Polish family we carried our offerings of toys, pajamas and food into an apartment that was almost empty. Three children and their parents had been sleeping on the floor under newspapers for a week. There was a card table, but not a single chair or piece of furniture. A crucifix hung in the living room, and they had the clothes on their backs. They didn't have silverware, or dishes, or a pot or a pan. It was shocking to us. We felt silly giving them dolls and toy cars when they needed soap and toothbrushes.

The other family had beds, a couch and card table. They had been in Utah a couple of weeks and had some acquaintances in the city, so their situation wasn't as desperate, but they were in need of more than we expected.

On the way home we decided to keep the kids out of school the next day. Providing basic necessities was going to take some effort. After a few phone calls to neighbors and family, we sent the kids off to collect blankets, towels, groceries and clothing.

Dee borrowed a truck and he and the boys went to Deseret Industries to purchase some used furniture. We had two old beds, so they loaded them up while the girls and I cleaned out our closets to find everything from coats to quilts. After seeing their condition, it was almost sickening to realize how much extra stuff we had.

Later that afternoon we returned to their apartments and unloaded everything.

At the Czech home, they offered us beer and biscuits. We turned down the beer, so they made us some orange juice. The dad put a few whole oranges (with the peels) into the blender we'd brought, and ground it all up. Our kids bravely drank (chewed) the thick, bitter concoction and ate leetle keeks, which turned out to be cookies.

The young Polish mom sat and cried as we carried in our old scratched up coffee table, and the wobbly bunk beds. Her children spoke a little English and translated her words of thanks. Then she grabbed each one of us and hugged and kissed us. Peter (who was three) ran and hid in the drapes, but she chased after him and scooped him up to kiss him on each cheek.

We lost track of both families by spring. I've always wondered what happened to them as they assimilated into our society and culture. I hope things worked out for them, and that they are happy now.

Illustrations from: The Truth About Santa, Green Tiger Press

"Be not forgetful to entertain strangers:
for thereby some have entertained angels unawares."
—Hebrews 13:2

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