Lift up your heads, O ye gates; even lift them up ye everlasting doors; and the King of Glory shall come in. Who is the King of Glory: The Lord of Hosts, he is the King of glory.
Psalm 24:9,10
A Boy Learns a Lesson
by Thomas S. Monson
In about my tenth year, as Christmas approached, I longed for an electric train. The times were those of economic depression, yet Mother and Dad purchased for me a lovely electric train.
Christmas morning bright and early, I was thrilled when I noticed my train. The next few hours were devoted to operating the transformer and watching the engine pull its cars forward, then backward around the track.
Mother said that she had purchased a wind-up train for Widow Hansen's boy, Mark, who lived down the lane at Gale Street. As I looked at his train, I noted a tanker car which I much admired. I put up such a fuss that my mother succumbed to my pleading and gave me the tanker car. I put it with my train set and felt pleased.
Mother and I took the remaining cars and the engine down to Mark Hansen. The young boy was a year or two older than I. He had never anticipated such a gift. He was thrilled beyond words. He wound the key in his engine, it not being electric, nor expensive like mine, and was overjoyed as the engine and three cars, plus a caboose went around the track.
I felt a horrible sense of guilt as I returned home. The tanker car no longer appealed to me. Suddenly, I took the tank car in my hand, plus an additional car of my own and ran all the way down to Gale Street and proudly announced to Mark, "We forgot to bring two cars which belong to your train."
I don't know when a day had made me feel better than that experience as a ten-year-old boy.
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.
And behold, this will I give unto you for a sign at the time of his coming: for behold there shall be great lights in heaven, insomuch that in the night before he cometh there shall be no darkness, insomuch that is shall appear unto man as if it was day.
Helaman 14:3
The Gift My Father Gave Me
by Ruth M. Anderson
For many of us, one Christmas stands out above all the others. I am now a great-grandmother, but I shall never forget a particular Christmas when I was a young child.
I was one of 14 children in my family, and we lived in a farming town. We were very poor as far as worldly goods are concerned, though I didn't know it then. A family in our town was even poorer than we were. Their mother had died, and the father was working away from home, leaving the older children to care for the younger ones.
On this particular Christmas, after we had opened our gifts, my father spoke to us of this motherless family and how they might not receive Christmas gifts as we had. He suggested that each of us choose one of our new gifts to be placed in a box, along with food and other goodies, to be taken to this family.
I had three presents--a doll, a necklace, and an article of clothing.What a hard decision it was for me! I needed the clothing and I wanted the doll badly, but the necklace was so pretty and sparkly. After a time, I reluctantly dropped the necklace into the box.
It was dark on Christmas night when Dad buttoned our coats and placed all of us in our horse drawn sleigh. We left the box on the doorstep of this family, with no indication of the giver.
The next Sunday, I saw the necklace around the neck of a girl my age from that family. She excitedly told me that Santa had left a box of gifts for them on Christmas night. Of course, my parents had sworn us to secrecy. Dad had told us that giving anonymously was the best part of giving. But at my young age I can't say it felt that good to see what had been my necklace on someone else's neck.
Though it wasn't an easy lesson then, I now realize the great impact this experience has had on my life. As a child I thought my father was asking me to give up a gift, but later I understood that he was actually giving me one of the most precious gifts I've ever received. I think of how much he must have loved me, to teach me that loving someone is far more important than having something. My father's showing his love in this way has helped me understand the love of our Heavenly Father, who presented us the greatest gift of all when He gave His only begotten Son.
The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, Make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low: and the crooked shall be made straight, ad the rough places plain: And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed. . . . Micah 5:2
A Brother Like That
Especially for Mormons, Vol. 2
Paul received a new car from his brother as a pre-Christmas present. On Christmas Eve when Paul came out of his office, a street urchin was walking around the shiny new car, admiring it.
"Is this your car, mister?" he asked.
Paul nodded. "My brother gave it to me for Christmas."
The boy looked astounded. "You mean your brother gave it to you, and it didn't cost you anything? Gosh, I wish. . ."
He hesitated, and Paul knew what he was going to wish. He was going to wish he had a brother like that. But what the lad said jarred Paul all the way down to his heels.
I wish," the boy went on, "that I could be a brother like that."
Paul looked at the boy in astonishment; then impulsively added. "Would you like a ride in my new car?"
"Oh yes, I'd love that!"
After a short ride, he turned, with his eyes aglow and said, "Mister, would you mind driving in front of my house?"
Paul smiled a little. He thought he knew what the lad wanted. He wanted to show his neighbors that he could ride home in a big automobile. But Paul was wrong again.
"Will you stop right where those steps are?" the boy asked. He ran up the steps. Then in a little while Paul heard him coming back, but he was not coming fast. He was carrying his little polio-crippled brother. He sat down on the bottom step, then sort of squeezed up right against him and pointed at the car.
"There she is, Buddy, just like I told you upstairs. His brother gave it to him for Christmas, and it didn't cost him a cent, and someday I'm gonna give you one just like it: then you can see for yourself all the pretty things in the Christmas windows that I have been trying to tell you about."
Paul got out and lifted the little lad into the front seat of his car. The shining-eyed older brother climbed in beside him and the three of them began a memorable holiday ride.
That Christmas Eve, Paul learned what Jesus meant when He said "It is more blessed to give. . ."
