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. . ."
Behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that I will raise unto David a righteous Branch, and a King shall reign and prosper, and shall execute judgment and justice in the earth.
Jeremiah 23:5
Stockings Filled with Love
by Henry Copier
I chuckled to myself as I picked up one of the seven red stockings lying nearby on my mission companion's bed. "Who are these for?" I asked, trying not to laugh.
"For the Winkle family," he responded shyly as he packed away his needle and thread.
"They're . . . really nice," I said with some apprehension. Elder Johnson and I had been assigned to serve in the town of Muskegon, Michigan. The Winkles were a choice investigator family scheduled to be baptized on Christmas Day, and in all honesty I felt sheepish delivering these cute little stockings with hand-embroidered gold lettering.
"What are you going to stuff them with?" I asked.
Somewhat surprised at my question, he looked around the room at the oversupply of goodies we had received from home and replied, "Candy--what else?" Then in a more serious tone he added, "I was hoping that we could also include in each stocking a personal Christmas wish and our own written testimonies."
Still feeling uneasy with this idea, I nevertheless decided to go along with it for fear of offending my creative companion. Our month had been filled with preparing this family for baptism, and now the day of their interviews had arrived at last, Christmas Eve. Everything was ready, or so we thought.
Arriving at the Winkle home, we immediately sensed something was wrong. As I interviewed Brother Winkle privately, he told me that the children had been quarreling all morning and that everyone in the family was on edge. Some of the older children had even expressed doubts about being baptized. Upon returning to the family we encountered negative feelings.
"Elder Copier, this baptism has caused a lot of concern in our family," said Sister Winkle, "and I'm
not sure we should go through with it if it's going to cause so much contention."
After spending a few more minutes discussing the problem, we decided together that we should postpone the baptism until the family could feel better about it. To give the family time to sort out their feelings, Brother Winkle asked us not to return unless he contacted us.
With heavy hearts and deep concern we slowly walked home. Our apartment seemed quiet and gloomy that Christmas Eve. Hours passed as we sat in silent depression. Finally Elder Johnson broke the silence as he pulled out the paper bag filled with the stockings and candy.
"Do you suppose we could leave these at their home anyway?" he asked quietly. Numbly I nodded, and instantly the gloom turned to cheerfulness as we spent the rest of that Christmas Eve writing our testimonies for each member of the family and stuffing them in the little red stockings.
As we approached the Winkle home that chilly dark evening, Elder Johnson asked, "Should I knock?"
"No, let's just leave it by the door," I suggested. I did not want to cause any problem with the family.
Elder Johnson slipped the brown paper bag inside the screen door. Quietly we turned away and headed for home. How difficult it was for two young, inexperienced elders who loved a family so dearly to simply walk away. Snowflakes began to fall and we knew it was going to be a while Christmas.
We were awakened the next morning by the sound of snow shovels and the voices of children outside our window. "Merry Christmas, elders!" the Winkle children called to us as we opened our door. "We wanted to shovel your walks for you and also tell you that our whole family is ready to be baptized. Our parents want to know if you can come over right away!"
We dressed and ran to the Winkle home. Sister Winkle greeted us warmly and apologized for all that had happened the day before. "Baptism is such a big step in our lives." She paused, then pointed to the seven red stockings hanging by the fireplace. "Those," she said with emotion, "are what took away our fears and doubts. You see, elders, I was so touched by the love you showed our family yesterday--despite the way we acted--that I just couldn't put it out of my mind. I finally said a silent prayer and asked the Lord to let me know, just one more time, if the message you brought was true. As I prayed, I said, 'Heavenly Father, if the elders are really thy messengers, send them back today even though we asked them not to return.'
"Well, hours passed, and I kept hoping you would come, but you did not. At midnight I gave up hope and decided that my answer was that I shouldn't get baptized. It was then I went to turn off the porch light and noticed the brown bag in the screen door. When I opened it and realized it was from you, I began to cry. You had come back. I woke up the family, and together we read your testimonies and Christmas wishes. We shared a spirit of love and unity unlike anything we had known before and we knew it was time to be baptized."
The chapel's entire front row was filled with Winkles dressed in white baptismal clothing that Christmas Day. It was indeed a very white Christmas.
Yea, even six hundred years from the time that my father left Jerusalem, a prophet would the Lord God raise up among the Jews--even a Messiah, or, in other words, a Savior of the world.
1 Nephi 10:4
Just a Few Stamps Short
by Wanda Daines Hammond Vetterli
As the years pass and Christmas memories fade, one Christmas stands above the rest. The year was 1918. There was a terrible flu going around in Logan, Utah, and my father was stricken. As there were no antibiotics in those days, we waited for the change that would mean life or death.
Because of my father's illness, Mother told us there would be no money for Christmas gifts that year. My brother and sisters and I secretly decided to do something special for our parents to show them how much they were loved. Oh, if only we could buy them special gifts! We decided we would each look for a job to earn money and then pool our savings. Henry, my older brother, found a job selling Christmas trees, chopping wood, and cleaning walks. Carmen did housework for others, and Luella, who was a fast knitter, made and sold her handiwork. I baby-sat for a mother down the street. Only Marie was too young to work. She just looked forward to Christmas.
The day before Christmas was a crisp, wintry day. A thick blanket of snow covered the streets, and the stores were full of shoppers. We all gathered in my sister's bedroom and counted our money. We had just enough to buy Father a warm robe and Marie a doll buggy. But what about Mother? What could we get or do for her, and where would we get the extra money?
We needed Heavenly Father's help so as brother and sisters we knelt down and prayed with all the fervor we could muster. And then we remembered: there was an almost-full book of green stamps from Christensen's Department Store, and the completed books could be redeemed for merchandise. We hurried downtown and found the robe for Father and the wicker buggy for Marie, which we purchased at Christensen's store. We received only a few stamps for our purchases, however, so we still lacked enough to fill the book. Carmen was walking through the store when a woman near the counter dropped her stamps. Carmen bent over, picked them up and handed them back to her.
"I don't save these," the woman said. "Would you like them?"
Would we? We were overjoyed! Now we could buy a gift for our mother. We found a small table for just one book of stamps, but it was too heavy to carry home. We asked the clerk if it could be delivered that night, but she told us the delivery truck had already left. We must have looked very sad because she offered to contact the driver and see if he would deliver the table after hours.
That night, for the first time in weeks, Father seemed better and even wanted to join us for the festivities. The temperature was below freezing outside, bur we were blanketed with a warmth of love for each other. We made chains of popcorn, colored paper, and cranberries for our tree, and the spicy smell of baked cookies and pies filled the air. Friends and family dropped by, and we sang our favorite Christmas songs and shared our treats.
Mother gave us all small gifts of knitted mittens, hard candy, and stockings, but still her gift had not arrived. What if it did not come? Then there was a knock at the door and someone shouted "Merry Christmas!" The delivery man was there with Mother's table. We jumped up and down and cheered, and Mother had tears in her eyes.
That Christmas I learned that loving someone was more important than loving something. We felt the joy that comes from giving of ourselves, and that evening we knelt in prayer to thank Heavenly Father for His help and kind blessings.
For behold, the time cometh, and is not far distant, that with power, the Lord Omnipotent who reigneth, who was, and is from all eternity to all eternity, shall come down from heaven among the children of men, and dwell in a tabernacle of clay, and shall go forth amongst men, working mighty miracles, . . . And he shall be called Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the Father of heaven and earth, the Creator of all things from the beginning; . . .
Mosiah 3:5, 8
The Christmas I Remember Best
by Rheuama A. West
It should have been the worst, the bleakest of Christmases. It turned out to be the loveliest of all my life. I was nine years old, one of seven children, and we lived in a little farming town in Utah. It had been a tragic year for all of us. But we still had our father, and that made all the difference.
Every year in our town, A Christmas Eve Social was held at the church. How well I remember Dad buttoning our coats, placing us all on our long, homemade sleigh and pulling us to the church about a mile away. It was snowing. How cold and good it felt on our faces. We held tight to one another, and above the crunch of snow beneath Dad's feet we could hear him softly whistling "Silent Night."
Mama had died that previous summer. She had been confined to bed for three years, so Dad had assumed all mother and father responsibilities. I remember him standing me on a stool by our big round kitchen table and teaching me to mix bread. But my main task was being Mama's hands and feet until that day in June, her own birthday, when she died.
Two months later came the big fire. Our barns, sheds, haystacks and livestock were destroyed. It was a calamity, but dad stood between us and the disaster. We weren't even aware of how poor we were. We had no money at all.
I don't remember much about the Christmas Eve Social. I just remember Dad pulling us there and pulling us back. Later, in the front room around our pot-bellied stove, he served us warm milk and bread. Our Christmas tree, topped by a little worn cardboard angel, had been brought from the nearby hills. Strings of our home-grown popcorn made it the most beautiful tree I had ever seen or smelled.
After supper, Dad made all seven of us sit in a half circle by the tree. I remember I wore a long flannel nightgown. He sat on the floor facing us and told us that he was ready to give us our Christmas gift. We waited, puzzled, because we thought Christmas presents were for Christmas morning. Dad looked at our expectant faces. "Long ago," he said, "on a night like this, some poor shepherds were watching their sheep on a lonely hillside, when all of a sudden . . ."
His quiet voice went on and on, telling the story of the Christ Child in his own simple words. And I'll never forget how love and gratitude seemed to fill the room. There was light from the oil lamp and warmth from the stove, but somehow it was more than that. We felt Mama's presence.
We learned that loving someone was far more important than having something. We were filled with peace and happiness and joy. When the story ended Dad had us all kneel for a family prayer. Then he said, "Try to remember, when everything else seems to be lost, the greatest thing of all remains: God's love for us. That's the gift that can never be taken away."
The next morning we found that Dad had whittled little presents for each of us and hung them on the tree; dolls for the girls, whistles for the boys. But he was right, he had given us our real gift the night before.
All this happened long ago, but to this day it all comes back to me whenever I hear "Silent Night" or feel snowflakes on my face, or best of all, when I get an occasional glimpse of Christ shining in my 90 year old father's face.
". . . Behold, I say unto you that none of the prophets have written, nor prophesied, save they have spoken concerning this Christ. . . . and it also has been made manifest unto me by the power of the Holy Ghost: wherefore, I know if there should be no atonement made all mankind must be lost."
Jacob 7:11, 12
Pattern of Love
by Jack Smith
I didn't question Timmy, age nine or his seven year old brother Billy, about the brown wrapping paper they passed back and forth between them as we visited each store.
Every Christmas time, our Service Club takes children from poor families in our town on a personally conducted shopping tour. I was assigned Timmy and Billy, whose father was out of work. After giving them the allotted $4 each, we began the trip. At different stores I made suggestions, but always their answer was a solemn shake of the head, no. Finally I asked, "Where would you suggest we look?"
"Could we go to a shoe store, sir?" answered Timmy. "We'd like a pair of shoes for our Daddy so he can go to work."
In the shoe store the clerk asked what the boys wanted. Out came the brown paper. "We want a pair of work shoes to fit this foot," they said.
Billy explained that it was a pattern of their daddy's foot. They had drawn it while he was asleep in a chair.
The clerk held the paper against a measuring stick, and then walked away. He soon came back with an open box. "Will these do?" he asked.
Timmy and Billy handled the shoes with great eagerness. "How much do they cost?" said Billy.
Then Timmy saw the price on the box. "They're $16.95," he said in dismay. "We only have $8."
I looked at the clerk and he cleared his throat. "That's the regular price," he said, "but they're on sale, $3.98 today only."
Then, with shoes happily in hand, the boys bought gifts for their mother and two little sisters. Not once did they think of themselves.
The day after Christmas the boy's father stopped me on the street. The new shoes were on his feet, gratitude was in his eyes. "I just thank Jesus for people who care," he said.
"And I thank Jesus for your two sons," I replied. "They taught me more about Christmas in one evening than I had learned in a lifetime."
