Stars Were Gleaming

Advent - Day 10

And behold there shall a new star arise, such an one as ye never have beheld; and this also shall be a sign unto you. And behold this is not all, there shall be many signs an wonders in heaven.
                                                                Helaman 14:5,6

The Unexpected Christmas

by Enid O. Ellis

     With wind howling down from the Cascade Mountains, December 1969 was bitterly cold and snowy in  Wenatchee, Washington. As a single mother, I and my children struggled just to stay warm and fed. I worked at minimum-wage jobs and attended nursing school, and often I went two or three days without eating at the end of the month to give the children more food. At times even the children went to bed hungry, and none of us had adequate winter clothing.

     Wendell was in grade school, Brent was in preschool, and my three year old twins, Michael and Michelle, stayed with a state-paid babysitter while I was gone. Just four months before, Wendell and I had joined the church, and as a result my parents, brothers, and sisters wanted nothing to do with us. With the holidays approaching we really had no one to turn to for help; as a new convert, I didn't know I could ask my bishop.

     Ten days before Christmas, after a great deal of whispering among themselves, my children approached me one evening while I was studying. Nine-year-old Wendell tugged my sleeve and asked, "Mama, when are we going to get a Christmas tree and some presents?" Brent piped up and asked, "Or are we going to Grandma and Grandpa's for Christmas this year?"

     These were the questions I'd been dreading. I swallowed a lump in my throat and blinked away my tears and said, "I'm afraid we're not going to have any Christmas presents this year."

     "Why not, Mama?" they asked.

     "Well, Grandma and Grandpa have asked us not to come over since we joined the Church, and we just don't have any money for our own Christmas," I answered.

     "Oh Mama, nothing?" asked Wendell. "Santa won't forget us though, will he?"

     I replied that Santa probably wouldn't be able to stop at our house that year.

     For the next few days the children seemed somber. They often stood by the front window and looked out at passers-by and neighboring festive houses. While their playmates bubbled with excitement about the presents and goodies being prepared in their homes, my children quietly accepted the fact that no packages or decorations or other signs of Christmas were appearing in our house.

     Our ward had a Christmas party planned for Saturday night, 20 December, but we decided not to go because the meetinghouse was a mile and a half away and walking was our only means of transportation. However, a car pulled up at our house on the evening of the party, and our home teacher knocked on our door.

     "Come on," he said. "Let's go to the Christmas party! Get your coats on, kids."

     The party was the first real Christmas flavor to come into my children's lives that year. I don't know what they talked with Santa about, but they appreciated his gifts of candy and oranges, and their spirits seemed much uplifted afterward. Buoyed by my children's renewed enthusiasm, I used their watercolors to paint a Santa face on our front window. Now we had some decorations.

     When Christmas Eve arrived, I had only $1.25 in my purse. We walked to the grocery store, where I bought each child two tangerines and the cashier handed them each a large candy cane. Along with the story of Jesus' birth, that would be the extent of our Christmas. As we rounded the corner on our way home, Wendell shouted, "Hey, Santa came!" The other children echoed his cries upon seeing a beautifully decorated Christmas tree on our porch. Mounting the steps, we saw two large boxes, previously hidden from view, placed next to the tree.

     One box was full of food, and the other was full of presents. I could hardly believe my eyes. Wendell plugged in the Christmas tree lights as soon as we moved the tree inside, and the children pinched and shook each present as they set it under the tree. Their eyes were full of wonder.

     Next we unpacked the food in the kitchen. The children had never seen so much in one place except at the grocery store. Even Wendell couldn't remember having a whole turkey in the house.

     "We won't have to go to bed hungry tonight!" said Brent.

     I fixed the children a special Christmas Eve supper. Afterwards we sat around the Christmas tree and enjoyed the lights while I read the story of the birth of Jesus. "We have a lot to thank Heavenly Father for tonight," I said. We knelt in a circle and said a prayer of gratitude.

     When we opened the presents the next morning, each child received exactly what he or she had wanted. In addition, each child got a warm outfit, gloves and mittens, and money for boots. Someone had made clothes for the doll my daughter received. The food was enough to last us several weeks beyond Christmas.

     I may never know who played Santa that year or how they knew what the children wanted. Everyone in our ward denied involvement, but I'm certain it was some of them. I'll always remember that Christmas as the best of my life, and my grown-up children feel the same way. We felt the Spirit of Christ that day more than we ever had before and realized that our Savior does watch over his children.

O Little Town of Bethlehem

Advent - Day 6

But thou, Bethlehem, . . . though thou be little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall he come forth unto me that is to be ruler in Israel; whose goings forth have been from of old, from everlasting.                                               Micah 5:2

A New Light

By Joe Fitzgerald from Boston Herald

The Markovitz family was one of just a few Jewish families in a quiet suburban neighborhood in Pennsylvania where Christmas decorations lit up the street. In their home, however, an illuminated menorah in the window reminded everyone it was also Hanukkah.

Around five o'clock one morning, Judy Markovitz was awakened by the shattering of glass. "My husband and I ran downstairs and saw our window had been broken and the menorah was on the floor. The frame was shattered. They must have used a bat. Whoever did it had to squeeze behind bushes to reach it."

For the Markovitz family it was an assault compounded by personal history. "Both of my parents were in the camps at Auschwitz; my husband's mother was there also, " explained Judy, who came to America in 1974. "All of my mother's family died. There are things we don't talk about, but I know older people like her have a need to feel safe, so I didn't tell her much about this. And I tried to isolate my children from it too."

"We were home much of that day because my husband had to get the window replaced," she recalled. "Neighbors kept approaching us to say how sorry they were."

One of those neighbors, Lisa Keeling, now living in North Carolina, explained their thinking. "I know a menorah represents a miracle by our God before our faith was known as Christianity. I know of the king who told the Jews they couldn't practice their religion. When they reclaimed Jerusalem and saw the Temple had been desecrated, they wanted to reconsecrate it, but found only a tiny bit of oil, enough for a night. They decided to use it anyway and it burned eight nights.

"That was a miracle from the same God we worship, and why anyone would take a symbol of His love and use it for hatred, I don't understand."

These were things the Markovitzes did not understand as well. After workmen repaired their shattered window, the family went to Judy's brother's home, unaware that their neighbors were working determinedly to repair something else.

That evening when the Markovitzes came home from their visit and turned onto their street, they were met by an extraordinary sight: Nearly every home on the block was adorned by an illuminated menorah.

Vicky Markovitz, Judy's daughter, now 18, remembers those glowing windows as an affirmation of the compassion and community. "It was as if they said, 'If you break their windows, you will have to break ours.'" 

And the light spread.