On Santa's Team

My grandma taught me everything about Christmas. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," jeered my sister. "Even dummies know that!"

My grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her world-famous cinnamon buns.

Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me.

"No Santa Claus!" she snorted. "Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad. Now, put on your coat, and let's go."

"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second cinnamon bun.

"Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days.

"Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.

I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church.

I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobbie Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class. Bobbie Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out for recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough; but all we kids knew that Bobbie Decker didn't have a cough, and he didn't have a coat.

I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobbie Decker a coat. I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that. I didn't see a price tag, but ten dollars ought to buy anything. I put the coat and my ten-dollar bill on the counter and pushed them toward the lady behind it.

She looked at the coat, the money, and me. "Is this a Christmas present for someone?" she asked kindly. "Yes," I replied shyly. "It's ... for Bobbie. He's in my class, and he doesn't have a coat." The nice lady smiled at me. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons, and write, "To Bobbie, From Santa Claus" on it ... Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy.

Then she drove me over to Bobbie Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially one of Santa's helpers. Grandma parked down the street from Bobbie's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk.

Suddenly, Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his doorbell twice and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobbie. He looked down, looked around, picked up his present, took it inside and closed the door.

Forty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my grandma in Bobbie Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: Ridiculous!

Santa was alive and well ... AND WE WERE ON HIS TEAM!

Give generously to him and do so without a grudging heart; then because of this the Lord your God will bless you in all your work and in everything you put your hand to.

Deuteronomy 15:10

\

On Santa's Team



My grandma taught me everything about Christmas. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," jeered my sister. "Even dummies know that!"

My grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her world-famous cinnamon buns.

Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me.

"No Santa Claus!" she snorted. "Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad. Now, put on your coat, and let's go."

"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second cinnamon bun.

"Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days.

"Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.

I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church.

I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobbie Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class. Bobbie Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out for recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough; but all we kids knew that Bobbie Decker didn't have a cough, and he didn't have a coat.

I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobbie Decker a coat. I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that. I didn't see a price tag, but ten dollars ought to buy anything. I put the coat and my ten-dollar bill on the counter and pushed them toward the lady behind it.

She looked at the coat, the money, and me. "Is this a Christmas present for someone?" she asked kindly. "Yes," I replied shyly. "It's ... for Bobbie. He's in my class, and he doesn't have a coat." The nice lady smiled at me. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons, and write, "To Bobbie, From Santa Claus" on it ... Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy.

Then she drove me over to Bobbie Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially one of Santa's helpers. Grandma parked down the street from Bobbie's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk.

Suddenly, Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his doorbell twice and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobbie. He looked down, looked around, picked up his present, took it inside and closed the door.

Forty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my grandma, in Bobbie Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: Ridiculous!

Santa was alive and well ... AND WE WERE ON HIS TEAM!

Give generously to him and do so without a grudging heart; then because of this the Lord your God will bless you in all your work and in everything you put your hand to.

Deuteronomy 15:10

What Is Love?



1. When my grandma got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore. So my grandpa does it for her now all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That's love.
Rebecca - age 8

2. When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouths.
Billy - age 4

3. Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.
Kari - age 5

4. Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French Fries without making them give you any of theirs.
Chrissy - age 6
5. Love is what makes you smile when you're tired.
Terri - age 4

6. Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.
Danny - age 7

7. Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more. My mommy and daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss.
Emily - age 8

8. Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen.
Bobby - age 7

9. If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate.
Nikka - age 6

10. Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday.
Noelle - age 7

11. Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends, even after they know each other so well.
Tommy - age 6

12. My mommy loves me more than anybody. You don't see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night.
Clare - age 6

13. Love is when mommy sees daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford.
Chris - age 7

14. Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.
Mary Ann - age 4

15. When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you.
Karen - age 7

16. Love is when mommy sees daddy on the toilet and doesn't think it's gross.
Mark - age 6

17. You really shouldn't say "I LOVE YOU" unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget.
Jessica - age 8

And the winner was a 4 year old child whose next door neighbor was an elderly man who had just lost his wife. When the child saw the man cry, the little boy went over into the man's yard and climbed on top of the man's lap and just sat there.

When the boy's mother asked him what he'd said to the neighbor, the little boy said, "Nothing, I just helped him cry."

Make every effort to live in peace with everyone and to be holy;

without holiness no one will see the Lord.

Hebrews 12:14

The Perfect Gift

It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree at this time of the year for the past 10 years or so.

It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas. Oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it. You know, the overspending, the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma, the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else.

Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.

Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended. Shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner city church. The kids were mostly black.

These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.

As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without head gear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously couldn't afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat.

Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them." Mike loved kids-all kids. He understood kids in competitive situations, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present came.

That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me.
His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition - one year sending a group of mentally challenged youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas - on and on...

The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.
 
As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. Still, the story doesn't end there.
 
You see, we lost Mike last year due to cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. Yet Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad.

The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further, with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation, watching as their fathers take down their envelopes.
Mike's spirit, like the spirit of Christmas, will always be with us.

by Author Unknown

Remember this: Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows generously will also reap generously. Each man should give what he has decided in his heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver.

2 Corinthians 9:6-7

Gifts From the Heart

According to legend, a young man while roaming the desert came across a spring of delicious crystal-clear water. The water was so sweet he filled his leather canteen so he could bring some back to a tribal elder who had been his teacher. After a four-day journey he presented the water to the old man who took a deep drink, smiled warmly and thanked his student lavishly for the sweet water. The young man returned to his village with a happy heart.

Later, the teacher let another student taste the water. He spat it out, saying it was awful. It apparently had become stale because of the old leather container. The student challenged his teacher: "Master, the water was foul. Why did you pretend to like it?"

The teacher replied, "You only tasted the water. I tasted the gift. The water was simply the container for an act of loving-kindness and nothing could be sweeter."

I think we understand this lesson best when we receive innocent gifts of love from young children. Whether it's a ceramic tray or a macaroni bracelet, the natural and proper response is appreciation and expressed thankfulness because we love the idea within the gift.

Gratitude doesn't always come naturally. Unfortunately, most children and many adults value only the thing given rather than the feeling embodied in it. We should remind ourselves and teach our children about the beauty and purity of feelings and expressions of gratitude. After all, gifts from the heart are really gifts of the heart.

by Michael Josephson


Michael Josephson is a nationally known ethicist and radio commentator. For more information, please visit this site: www.charactercounts.org

You May Give Without Loving, but You Cannot Love Without Giving.



 Mount Moriah Temple Mount Area in Jerusalem Today

Most authorities believe King David's Temple was built on Mount Moriah where Abraham was told to sacrifice Isaac.  But there's another Hebrew legend that presents a different story.

The legend says that two brothers lived on adjoining farms which were divided from the peak to the base of the mountain.  The younger brother lived alone, unmarried.  The older brother had a large family.

One night during grain harvest, the older brother awoke and thought, My brother is all alone.  To cheer his heart, I will take some of my sheaves and lay them on his side of the field.

At the same hour, the younger brother awoke and thought, My brother has a large family and greater needs than I do.  As he sleeps, I'll put some of my sheaves on his side of the field.  Each brother went out carrying sheaves to the other's field and met halfway.  When they declared their intentions to each other, they dropped their sheaves and embraced.  It is at that place, the legend claims, the Temple was built.

Whether this story is true or not, it exemplifies the best expression of love--giving.  Giving is one of life's best relation-builders.

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

John 3:16

Father's Day



Dad, your guiding hand on my shoulder will remain with me forever. 

~Author Unknown

This weekend we celebrate fathers.  Many of my friends have posted pictures of their dads on their Facebook pages.  It is wonderful to see these pictures of dear friends, some of whom are no longer with us.  Such wonderful memories we have!  These dads were shared by all of us.  When we were growing up, we knew and understood that all of these dads (and moms) were watching over us, teaching us, caring for us.  We were very fortunate to live in a time when this happened.

I have not posted a picture of my dad.  I think he would be uncomfortable with that.  You see, my dad has lived his life mostly in the background.  As one of eleven children, and being born in the middle, he was one of many.  Not that he wasn't loved and respected for himself, it's just with all of those children there wasn't a lot of time for individual attention.  My sister has a picture of my dad from his childhood on which my grandmother has written that she worries that he doesn't get enough time and attention.  I can't tell you exactly what it says, but something like, "He worries so."

That he does!  In my entire life, fifty-four years, I've never witnessed my dad concerned about himself.  He has always placed everyone before him and has acted on their behalf, sometimes to the dismay of those around him.  It is not uncommon for him to be late to go somewhere or do something because he has been in the midst of helping a friend or neighbor.  Two years ago, on the day my dad was going into the hospital for major surgery, I looked out in the neighbor's yard to find him in a tree helping the neighbor cut down some limbs.  Many are the times my mother has stood waiting at the door for him to get ready to leave for some event because he was helping someone else.

When there have been family crisis, my dad and his brother were the first ones there to care for those in need.  When it was time to go to war, my father received a deferment so that he could stay home and help my grandmother care for herself and the younger siblings after my grandfather's death.  Except for the time he was in Korea, he never left that 'assignment.'  He remained in the community with grandma and made certain that her home was repaired, her pipes thawed, the board put on her bed for her bad back, and whatever else she needed help with (not that she asked for help a lot). 

But even with all the assistance he gave to others, Dad was always there for his four children.  I'm pretty sure he wasn't thrilled about all of the music concerts and programs he attended on my behalf.  But he was there for every one of them.  He coached my brothers' baseball teams and attended every football game, basketball game, and even a few wrestling matches.  He was there for my sister's music programs and all of her activities.  He never missed anything that we did. 

As I watched this video, I thought of the first time I remember fishing with my dad.  At that time, it was just the three of us, before my sister was born so we were about the ages of 6, 4, and 3.  Fishing is challenging with children at any time, but fishing with kids of this age has to be a daunting task.  Of course, I don't know how much fishing we actually did, but I remember him showing me how to bait my hook and cast it into the water.  And then doing the same thing for my brothers.  I remember him sitting and watching us and laughing at the antics of my brothers and me.  We didn't bring many fish home that night, but he didn't seem to mind.

Now that I am a parent of a young man who has not had the advantage of a father who had time for him, I appreciate so much more the gift my dad gave and continues to give to me.  I never doubt that when I need him, he will be there.  Even when he is not physically with me, he is with me in my heart and in my head.  His words ring clearly now and forever and his lessons will never be forgotten. 

I laughed this past weekend at our family reunion when I watched my dad and his brother telling each other not to be so stubborn.  My cousins and I sitting around the table on the patio with them all grinned at each other and understood.  Yes, they are stubborn or as my uncle labeled it, determined.  And, yes, that gene has been passed on to my generation and to the next.  There are times when this trait is maddening, but I believe there are more times when it's a very good thing.

My dad has spent his life determined to help whomever he can.  He has spent his life determined to put himself last and everyone else before him.  He has spent his life determined to love each and every one of us in the best way he knew how.  In my estimation, he has been successful at each of these goals and more than that, he has taught his children and his grandchildren the same lesson.  He is respected and loved for being just who he is.

On this Father's Day, I don't have much to give my dad.  He would tell me not to 'waste' my money and that he doesn't need anything, so I won't do that, but I can give him this.  I can give him all of my love and all of my respect.

Thank you, Dad!  I love you!