We really enjoyed your Thanksgiving stories last month. So, we decided to bring it back for Christmas 2016! We’re looking for your favorite holiday story (if Christmas isn’t your holiday, that’s okay). We’re looking for stories of hope, peace, sharing, giving; you get the picture. They can be funny or poignant. Please try to keep your story to no more than 500 words. Upload your story in the comments section or email them to donna@recollections.biz. The contest runs through Tuesday, December 27 at midnight. Then, we’ll pick our three favorites. Each winner will receive a $40 gift certificate as a way of saying thanks for sharing your memories with us! Winners will be notified by email on Wednesday, December 28.
Here’s a favorite story from my family’s vault.
My mother was a knitter. She never mastered crochet but, boy could she knit! Babies born into the family received a beautifully knitted Christmas stocking. The pattern was from a magazine published in the 1950s. I remember when the clipping wore out and she used graph paper to make a new pattern. This became her way of giving something that would last a lifetime to her children, nieces, nephews, and grandchildren. She even adapted it for Hannukah (menorah on one side and Star of David and a dreidel on the other!
On one side was Santa, complete with an angora beard that was so soft and, on the other was a Christmas tree. The child’s name and date of birth were also knitted into the stocking. My sister and I would watch her knit for many hours through all of the seasons. Some years, it seemed she worked on one after the other, even during summer! After completion, she would make a soft satin lining and lovingly finish it with shiny jingly bells.
My children received theirs not long after they were born. It always seemed a challenge to fill those stockings as it seemed with each one Mom made it got a little bit longer. Like many families, we didn’t have a lot of money when the children were small. But, we always wanted to make the holiday bright. We could always manage to put a few gifts under the tree but the stocking presented a problem. Do we stuff the bottom with tissue paper? We really didn’t want to do that. So, we came up with what has become a family tradition.
Everyone needs socks. So, every year we would fill the stockings with mostly wrapped up socks. A couple of gifts would fill the top along with a little bit of candy and a candy cane. The kids took it in the spirit in which it was intended and looked forward to what kind of crazy socks they’d find at the bottom of their stockings each year.
We continue this tradition to this day. One of our grown children moved in with us last year and was delighted to see socks in her stocking on Christmas morning!
So, that’s my favorite Christmas story. What’s yours?
This is a topic that is close to my heart… Best wishes!
Where arre your contact details though?
Here’s a story that came in under the wire.
It all started with a new Christmas book. Simple story line: Santa never got to play with the toys he made so one Christmas at the last house, he played with all the toys and rushed up the chimney right before the kids came running downstairs – ended with a question, whose house will be the last house next year? (Well, of course it had to be our house!!) And as Christmas approached, they kept wondering if it would be.
That Christmas Eve was another busy one. Got everything laid out under the tree and picked out a few of the toys to look like they were played with. Then I remembered an old Santa hat that I had found in a parking lot. Great!! I could set it right under the fireplace to make it look like it had gotten knocked off as he scurried up the chimney.
It was a perfect Christmas surprise as my oldest son found the hat – what a treasure!! Unfortunately I hadn’t planned on this becoming an annual tradition. After all, I had three children and they all wanted something of Santa’s, and they now “know” we were the last house so he would always play with toys here.
True to form, I (or should I say Santa) obliged. The following year, it was made to look like Santa had fallen asleep after playing with their toys. He awoke so quickly that all he could do was grab his boots and scurry up the chimney. Unfortunately, one of his socks got caught on the grate and came off. My other son found his treasure. My daughter worried and hoped that she could find something the next Christmas. I re-assured her that Santa must like our house, but he’s always so tired that it easy to forget things. We’ll look extra hard next year.
That following Christmas, the night was late and the toys had gotten more complicated to set up. “Santa” was really tired and his feet ached badly. He had gotten a new pair of work boots but hadn’t gotten around to trying them on. After everything was set up, I took off my work boots, threw them away and put on my slippers. As I went upstairs, I realized I hadn’t left anything for her to find. At first, I drew a blank, then I remembered the worn out work boots. I sprang into action. Black shoe polish, glue gun, fur around the top, brass bells and tassels, gold magic dust glitter. On the soles were written in old English calligraphy “Santa” on one and “Claus” on the other. The story would be that this time he left so quickly he forgot his boots.
When my daughter found them she screamed with joy and hugged them. Her brothers were quite jealous. As they leaned over for a closer look, she hugged them tighter and her face went down into one. When it emerged, she said “These are so cool, but boy does Santa’s feet stink!!
Becca S. via email
Best Christmas
It was the year 1980. I had just started sub driving school bus to help pay off a huge loan on a farm silo. We were burning garbage bags of polyester clothes donated to us to heat our 125 year old farm house. My husband had severe migraines and the only wood was what our 10-year-old son cut for fuel and green box elder doesn’t produce heat. I was sewing pajamas with cheap .29 cent a yard fabric for our sons ages ten and eight and a Care Bear for our 6 year old daughter’s Christmas.
We had no money for a Christmas tree so I placed the discarded bottom boughs of our church’s tree into a bucket that I placed on a chair against the door. I tied black thread to each branch and tied them to the curtain rod to make a wall hugger tree.
It was known among the small community that we were financially strapped and there would be no trip to our family out of state to make it Christmas with meat and milk which we had no money for. And my husband told me when I asked if we could go back to Ohio for Christmas that it would take $100.00 for that and he “didn’t see any $100.00 bill floating out of heaven”.
A sub run paid $5.25, but after I fell in the parking lot on freezing rain due to no boots, there would be no grocery money until I could return to driving because I incurred a mild concussion from the nasty fall. I continued my sewing with frozen fingers, in the back room with no heat, determined to make Christmas.
During my day off, three organizations delivered a couple bags of groceries and a local pastor brought wrapped gifts that he “had to find a home for before he could start his Christmas”. I was over whelmed with the generosity of our small community toward our family. When our children got home from school, they danced around the table in delight of the gloves with $5.00 tucked inside and socks and candy.
Then the most unusual thing happened. A maroon car drove into our snowy yard and blew the horn. Our older son put on daddy’s knee high boots and came running back into the house saying, the man asked if Tony Vitu lived here? Tony opened the delivered envelope with a Christmas card that read, “Merry Christmas” and thank you for letting me help. A $100.00 bill fell out! It was then my husband said, “God has shut my mouth”.
Well we wanted to frame it as a reminder, but with it we made the trip to our family in Ohio where there was a ham and all the goodies associated with Christmas.
To this day, our now adult children all say that that was the best Christmas ever! We saw a miracle. We were encouraged. We knew God was watching over us all those difficult years.
Carol V. via Facebook
Growing up, my younger brother Kevin & I were blessed to have all of our grandparents living within twenty minutes of our home. However, this made for a busy Christmas! My parents decided to hold Christmas Day dinner at our house.
When I was about 6, my maternal grandma Fay (Ams) mentioned to my mom that she missed decorating for Christmas. So, Ams decided to hold a “Trial Run” Christmas at her house. Several weeks before Christmas, Kevin and I would stay at Ams and Papa’s house for the weekend. We went with them to the local tree farm, picked out a Christmas tree, then decorated it with Ams and Papa. We used handmade ornaments from Ams’s friends, and vintage blown glass ornaments from the 1950’s. When we woke up the next morning, there was one small package for each of us under their Christmas tree. Often, I received Barbie clothes, which I have since passed on to my daughter for her Barbie dolls. Many of the special ornaments we used then are now on my family’s Christmas tree.
Even when we were teens and later, in college, we still kept the overnight Trial Run Christmas tradition with Ams and Papa. My Papa is 91 this year, and my grandma Ams passed away last year at age 87. My mom has continued Trial Run Christmas by holding it after Thanksgiving while decorating their house for Christmas. Both mine and Kevin’s kids all enjoy this family tradition.
Tricia P. via email
My favourite story is that my dog, Max, has survived to enjoy Christmas. We thought he’d die last month as he became ill, we feared his cancer had returned. We couldn’t put him through a second operation in a year.
Alan P. via Steampunk Threads on Facebook
Short and simple… My baby girl and her bf came home Christmas Eve and will be here until the 2nd… So happy to have them here for the holidays!
Debbie M. via Facebook
My best friend died in November of 2000, when I was 13, from leukemia. His parents were feeling the loss so strongly that they had not decorated for Christmas at all.
His sister, who is a year older than me and also one of my dearest friends, called me up on Christmas Eve telling me how sad she was that there were no decorations and that Isaiah would have wanted them to celebrate Christmas. We made a plan and at midnight I got my dad to drop me off at her house.
She had snuck into the basement while her family slept and pulled up the boxes of decorations. They normally did a real tree, but none had been cut from their woods, so I brought over a spare artificial tree that we put together. We started pulling decorations from the boxes and realized that every decoration we were pulling out was one of Isaiah’s.
Before long the tree was covered in Scooby-Doo ornaments (Isaiah’s favorite TV show). We kept saying that we felt him there with us. At one point some things fell over, nothing broke, but we both swore we could hear Isaiah’s mischievous laugh immediately following (Isaiah was a prankster and it would be just like him to knock stuff over while we were trying to be super quiet). The two of us stayed up all night decorating the house for Christmas in absolute silence so nobody would wake up.
The following morning, at around 5 or 6 am, I called my dad for a ride home. When he got there, he had all kinds of wrapped presents to put under the tree for the family and my friend’s younger siblings. Later that morning we got the most wonderful phone call from the family thanking us for reminding them that, even when dealing with great loss, there is joy in the world.
Emily F. via Facebook
When I was young my mother would be cooking my father would help and all of
us and all of us loved each other how I miss those times I am Puerto Rican
my father was black my sister was Portuguese and my mother was Indian and
she would always cook something from all our different races.
Evelyne Z. via Facebook
Is Santa Real?
Yes, Santa Claus is real! Not only is Santa true, he is legendary!
I was embarrassingly old and still believing in Santa Claus. Of course, I being the eldest sibling had to keep believing so not to ruin it for the younger siblings. In the early 50s most kids believed in Santa much longer than they do now a day. By the time I was in the sixth grade, I really wanted to continue believing in Santa, but I was having doubts that Santa wasn’t real.
It was Christmas Eve when eleven years old. I and my sister were all snuggled in bed and supposedly sleeping. Our bedroom door was ajar a tad and I could get a small glimpse of my Dad making trips back and forth up and down the stairway from his and mom’s bedroom across the hall.
In those days we had a wood/coal furnace in the basement with a huge metal grate register in the dining room floor. The spruce Christmas tree was placed in the bay window area across the floor from the register. Above the register upstairs, Dad had made a wooden grate vent to place over the hole in the floor that was once used for a chimney pipe. During the daytime this allowed heat from the furnace to bring a little warmth to our bedroom. After everyone was in bed the wood or coal would die down at night, making for a cold house to wake up to. So back to the register. After Dad had made his last trip down the stair steps and with my growing suspicion that Santa was not real, I quietly slid out of bed and on hands and knees, I peeked down the register. Oh my, there was Mama sitting on Santa’s lap by the Christmas tree putting presents under the tree.
Knowing Santa Claus was no longer real, I continued to believe, if you can feel him, then he must be real.
Santa Claus is lots and lots of people who keep the magic and the spirit of Christmas alive and his work has gone on longer than any of us have lived. What he does is simple. He teaches children how to believe in things you can’t see or touch. Santa is the magical spirit of giving and being kind to each other. He isn’t a person who lives at the North Pole. He lives in our hearts. It is okay to believe in Santa and his magical spirit of giving!
So that’s the secret of how Santa gets down all of those chimneys on Christmas Eve. He has help from all of the people whose hearts he has filled with love, happiness and joy throughout the year. Santa’s team of giving is fun and magical.
Celebrating the birth of Jesus and believing in Santa’s magical spirit at Christmas time is what makes Christmas joyous and extra special!
Georgean K. via email
The year I “met” my firstborn. 1999. Born on Halloween night, he was only a few
hours old on Nov 1,1976 when I signed away my parental rights. He was 23 when we
celebrated our FIRST Christmas together on Dec 25, 1999! We had been reunited less
than a month earlier, by findme.org, a mutual reunion registry. I registered hoping
that MAYBE there would be a match. A day or two later they contacted me telling me
that he had registered a year earlier! My firstborn and my 3 younger children and I
had the joy of going to a Christmas tree farm together as our first outing! What
FUN! We made many wonderful memories that Christmas!! That first Christmas I was
able to give him the baby blanket that I had never been able to give him before. He
still sleeps with it occasionally, this many years later. lol He has since that
Christmas given me a daughter-in-love, as well as two precious grandsons.
It was the best Christmas I have ever had!
Harriet B. via email
One Christmas eve when the kids were small, my husband took off his shoes and dragged them through the ashes of the fireplace. Then he left shoe prints made of ashes between the fireplace and the Christmas tree. You should have seen the kids’ big eyes and shocked expressions that Christmas morning when they looked at the hearth!
Jeanette S. via email
As kids my sister and I spent Christmas Eve with our dad’s parents, Oma and Opa. They would pick us up from home and drive us to their house about a half hour away. A string of large odd-colored lights traced their roofline: orange mostly, with some blue and green and a rare yellow or white. A four-foot table-top tree greeted us when we walked in the door. Presents were piled in the spare bedroom, all wrapped in the same paper. Every year, the same paper! White with red poinsettias and strange gold accents. Either she hit a good sale once and bought tons of the same print, or she had one monster roll of the stuff.
Oma spent the day preparing a large Christmas Day feast, so for Christmas Eve she needed something easy. Every year it was the same: spaghetti with meat sauce; green salad tossed with green onions, tomatoes, and ranch dressing; and homemade garlic bread with loads of parmesan cheese.
After dinner it was time for PRESENTS! We knew that the best presents of the year were hiding in that perpetual sea of mono-wrap, because Oma and Opa had the uncanny ability to give us the perfect gifts. If we got clothes (which were always stylish) we were obligated to try them on and model in front of the heavy, green, velvet-flocked curtains for pictures. By the time we were done squealing over our last presents, all the spent wrappings were gone and the room was spotless. New clothes were kept on and worn to the candle light service at church. Our other grandparents were there, too, so we’d all sit together.
Christmas Day at our other grandparents’ house was lovely. We always wore something pretty. Gifts were thoughtful, dinner was delicious, conversation was polite. Grandma was a gracious hostess. We tried to use our best manners and be considerate guests. It was all so…lovely.
As an adult, I learned that Christmas Eve broke Oma’s heart. Every year she hosted Christmas for her siblings and their adult children, but her own family wasn’t there. She and Opa had to take us on Christmas Eve or they wouldn’t see us at all.
“But Christmas Eve was the best!” my sister gushed when I told her. “Remember how all the wrapping paper was the same for years? And how it disappeared before we could even finish unwrapping the presents? Remember how their presents were always the best? And spaghetti, every year! And the salad always had green onions and ranch dressing. Remember taking pictures in front of those awful curtains? And the orange Christmas lights? Remember going to church and seeing Grandma and Grandpa, and then we’d see them again the next day? Remember how boring their house was? Does Oma still make Christmas Eve spaghetti? She has to make spaghetti!”
Oma didn’t remember it the way we did, but knowing how much the day meant to us mended years of sadness. It was the best gift ever.
Janine M. via email
Christmas Doll
That Christmas was a hard one when I was eight, as my Dad had moved from one job to another, finally coming back to our old home town. We went to three different schools that year, always the new kids with homemade clothes.
One day walking home from school I saw the most beautiful Madame Alexander doll in the store window, and she was named “Kathy”, too! Every day I made a point of passing by, imagining playing with her, hardly able to think of anyone else taking her home.
A few days before Christmas she disappeared, one of the most disappointing things I could imagine, as I still remember how she made me feel happier when I saw her beautiful face.
But then on Christmas morning our simple tree seemed magical when somehow underneath it I found HER…
Now I know that my Mom went without a new coat that winter so I could have my doll, the most important lesson I could have learned. My Christmas doll eventually went to the attic, then on to another little girl, but I’ll always remember the selfless love she represented.
Kathy R. via email
When I was a young social worker, many, many years ago, I worked in an emergency room. Unfortunately, I had the Christmas Eve shift one year. It was freezing cold outside, below zero. The doctors, nurses, everyone working in the ER was grumpy.
At about 11 p.m., a very pregnant young girl, poorly dressed walked into the emergency room. She was followed by a scruffy young fellow. They told the admitting nurse that they had tried to get into the shelter down the street, but there was no room. They were very afraid of sleeping outside in the cold in the park where they usually set up camp.
I was called in to deal with the situation. The hospital policy was to toss out anyone that was not in need of medical or psychiatric services. And that policy was rigidly adhered to, no one could stay unless that they needed medical assistance.
We were about to turn them away, when it hit all of us at the same second. HOW COULD WE TOSS OUT A PREGNANT WOMAN AND HER BOYFRIEND ON CHRISTMAS EVE. I even looked outdoors expecting to see a donkey.
We defied the hospital policy that night. I made a plan for the young woman to be admitted. I put chairs together to make a bed for the young man. The gratitude they both expressed gave all of us in the emergency room that night a warm glow. I swear that when I left the hospital at midnight, there was a very bright star in the sky.
I will never forget that wonderful Christmas Eve.
Blessings,
Lynne M. via email
My husband had been working down in Tennessee for months, and it was a very difficult adjustment for our family. During the time that my spouse was out of town, we lost our very dear fur-baby, a male tabby cat named Oddball (who lived up to his name).
Oddball had developed chronic kidney disease, and needed special care, which included Sub-Q fluid infusions every other day. Our diligent efforts and loving care kept him alive for an additional 13 months, but he finally succumbed to congestive heart failure.
My son and I were devastated. I stayed in bed for several days, crying my heart out. My husband knew that I was in incredible pain, and simply stated, “NO MORE CATS!”
I knew that he was not trying to be cruel, but just didn’t want me to go through the emotional trauma of losing another animal again. The house was incredibly quiet, and I could feel the silence.
My son and I continued to grieve, and our emotional pain was overwhelming. Together we decided that the only way to honor the memory of our dear Oddball was to adopt another rescue kitty. I knew what my husband had said, but my heart told me that we had to bring another fur-baby into our home. So, we went on our search.
We found another gorgeous male tabby at a local pet supply store, and decided that he was THE ONE. So we brought him home, but I didn’t say a word to my hubby. The Christmas holiday was approaching, and I knew that my spouse would be coming home for a few weeks, but I didn’t quite know how to tell him about the new family member. I agonized over how I would tell him the news, as I knew that he would be quite angry.
I finally figured out what I would do. On the day that he left Tennessee to come home, I called him and told him that I had something to tell him. After a very long pause, I told him that there was “a new male” in my life. I proceeded to tell him that it had been very lonely being home alone, and that I needed a new companion.
There was silence on the other end of the line. He finally asked, “And who is this new male?” I answered, “You don’t know him, but he’s got four legs and fur.” After a long pause, hubby snarled, “You better NOT have!!”…..to which I replied, “Too late! This new male is in my life and he’s staying!”
When hubby got home, I got the cold shoulder for several hours. Later that evening, we accidentally kicked a small cat toy across the floor, and the new kitty chased it down, grabbed it in it’s teeth, and brought it back to us. After doing this several times, we were shocked to realize that our new fur baby knew how to play “fetch.” Husband loved him from that moment on!
Madelyn L via email
When my husband and I were newlyweds, we were living in Germany where
he was stationed with the Air Force. Germany is a magical place at
Christmastime, and being young and in love is a magical time; so it
seems appropriate that at Christmastime, magic happens.
One evening, on our way home from an evening out, we spotted St.
Nicholas walking through town. In Germany, Santa doesn’t come on
December 24; his German counterpart, St. Nicholas, visits on December
5/6, filling the shoes of good children with cookies and candy, while
naughty children get coal. And there he was, right across the street,
complete with his sack of goodies slung over his shoulder!
As we watched, entranced, he happened upon a little old lady. “Have you
been a good girl this year?” he asked in a stern voice. “Oh yes!” she
tittered, and solemnly he reached into his sack and produced a small
bag of goodies. She thanked him and wished him a Merry Christmas; he
wished her the same, and continued on his way.
How wonderful, in future years, to be able to tell our children that
St. Nicholas was real, and that we knew he was real because we had
seen him! And he delivered Christmas cookies to them even after they
left home; when our son was living 500 miles away from us, he told us
how depressed he was on December 6, until his doorbell rang and he
found a box of German cookies waiting for him.
St. Nicholas hadn’t forgotten him! But then, St. Nicholas is real, an actual Bishop of
the fourth century who delivered sacks of money to poor families –
which is where the custom of secretly delivering gifts originated.
It’s not that much of a stretch that he would deliver boxes of cookies
to homesick young men and women of modern times.
I always feel bad for kids when they find out there is no Santa, and
wish they could all know that St. Nicholas was a real person, and
still is real. And living, of course, in Germany.
Meg L. via email
The 2 granddaughters walked in the door from outside. Claire is looking at the filled stockings. “Gran look at the socks ….is one of those mine”. Her sister Bryn ” Forget about the socks look in here …it’s amazing! ” Oh my.
Michelle M. via Facebook
I was in high school–long past the “believing” stage. I preferred to open gifts with decorum rather than tearing them open with shouts and screams. Christmas preparations were fun, but the thrill was gone.
A couple of weeks before Christmas, my mother entered my bedroom carrying a wrapped package about the size of two shoe boxes side-by-side. She handed the present to me and I noticed my name was on it. She told me she was tired of taking care of it and thought I should take over since it was going to be mine on Christmas morning anyway. With a serious expression, she told me that it had to be turned over every day or it would rot. Then she turned and left my room.
I stared at the package in my hand. Come on! What could possibly need turned over every day to avoid rot? I wracked my brain for possibilities. Nothing came to mind. I was sure it was a joke and set the package on my desk.
As I prepared for school the next morning, my eyes fell on the package. Looking toward the door to make sure no one was watching, I turned the package over before leaving for school. As I continued to turn the package over daily, I suspected my mother probably checked my room each day to make sure I was caring for the gift. I was still convinced it had to be a joke, but didn’t want to take any chances with my Christmas present.
On Christmas morning, the mysterious package was the first one I opened. After pulling apart the tissue paper inside I saw…a sweater! Everyone laughed about the special care the sweater had gotten in the days leading up to Christmas morning. And I learned that even “non-believers” can have fun with Christmas.
Pam A. via email
I am one of the children named in the first few paragraphs. I was 5 years old when this story occurs back in 1960. It has been retold to me by my mother, and phrased so it makes sense to someone reading it. I remember that day, like it was yesterday when she found that job that will be described in the story.
In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and just 75 cents in my pocket. Their father was gone. The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two. Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared. Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds.
He did manage to leave $15 a week to buy groceries. Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but no food either. I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my best dress, loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job.
The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town. No luck. I had to have a job. Still no luck. The last place we went to, just a few miles out of town was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted to a truck stop. It was called the Big Wheel.
The owner needed someone on the graveyard shift. She paid 65 cents an hour, and I could start that night. I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people. With the little ones I knelt to say our prayers, we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job. I started at the Big Wheel the next night.
As the weeks went by, the tires on the old Chevy began to leak. I had to fill them with air on the way to work and again every morning before I could go home.
One bleak morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and found four tires in the back seat. New tires! There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tires. Had angels taken up residence in Indiana I wondered?
I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn’t enough. Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids.
On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big Wheel. There were the truckers, and a state trooper. The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up.
When it was time for me to go home at seven o’clock on Christmas morning, to my amazement, my old battered Chevy was filled full to the top with boxes of all shapes and sizes. I quickly opened the driver’s side door, crawled inside and kneeled in the front facing the back seat. Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box. Inside was a whole case of little blue jeans, and shirts sizes 2-10 !
Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes. There was candy and bags of groceries. There were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll. As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude. And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning.
Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they ate at the Big Wheel truck stop.
Happy Holidays !
Robert M. via email
My story begins twenty years ago with the birth of my daughter who is my Christmas baby. My daughter Amanda was born on December 18th 1996. The night she was born was the night a blizzard hit Holland. Her grandmother, great grandma and grandpa traveled from twin lake to Holland in this storm. But it was worth because I have my Christmas baby!
Sandra C. via Facebook
BELIEVE
The Christmas season when I was ten
Was the time that I became,
Convinced there was no Santa Claus
Since his handwriting and mom’s were the same
I accepted this fact because I assumed
This was a threshold every child crossed
But I felt a sense of sadness
Like my youth had just been lost
Now my little brother still believed
But we were on opposite sides of a widening gorge
When mom said “go to Toyland and visit Santa”
Sure, she probably had more signatures she needed to forge
I refused to sit on a phony’s lap
But my brother hadn’t been robbed of his youth
His own beliefs would be dashed soon enough
So I wasn’t about to tell him the truth
So for his sake I played along
While these new facts I tried to reconcile
When my faith was restored and hope renewed
If only for a little while
As we waited I told myself “It’s all a lie”
And finally when our turn came
This counterfeit Santa held out his arms
And called us both by name
My doubts screeched to a halt as my brother climbed on his lap
Santa asked if he still had that Angels baseball
Then he said to me “I hope you’re feeling better”
“Since you had your tonsils out last fall”
He asked if my father had enjoyed the book
On the old west pioneers
And was I taking care of that doll I named Mary
That he gave me just last year
Then he said “I hear you want to be an actress”
“Since you got the lead in your Christmas play”
“Remember, if you have faith and believe in yourself”
“You’re sure to succeed one day”
So I asked my brother “What makes you believe Santa Claus is real?”
Since I wasn’t quite ready to concede
He pointed back at Santa as he waved us goodbye
And simply said, “How much more proof do you need?”
He was right since this Santa knew so much about us
Names and dreams and a favorite toy
So I decided it was okay to believe again
Thanks to a Toyland Santa and a five year old boy
Well I continued to believe for a few more years
When I figured it out at last
That Santa had been an old friend of our dad’s
Who’d been to our home many times in the past
But that visit to Santa must have left an impression
Because one thing is abundantly clear
My brother has become that rarest of men
Who keeps Christmas in his heart all year
But finally learning the truth didn’t matter at all
And Santa’s validity we still staunchly defend
Because isn’t that what Christmas is after all
A welcome visit from an old family friend
Susan O via email
We want to share the stories that are coming in from Facebook and via email. They follow this comment.
It was Christmas 2009 and I wanted to kill myself. I was a newly divorced single father with full custody of one child and 50% custody of another.
In November 2009 I had recently finished my tech school certification in building maintenance and found out that both my financial aid and unemployment were discontinued. I was broke. I had to sell everything. Shoes, clothes, TVs, iPhones, anything I owned that had value. I had $9 in my checking account. I had barely any food to eat, no gifts to give my children, no tree to set up, I had lost all hope. I was a failure. I prayed for help but kept feeling like he wasn’t answering.
Well 2 weeks before Christmas I went to deposit some money in the bank from items I had sold. I had to buy food to feed my children. As I typed in my pin, I hit the enter button and the account screen came up. My eyes filled with tears (just like they are doing now) I had over $200 in my checking account and had no idea where it came from. I took out $60 and went to get my kids some gifts.
That day I made a decision to fight. Fight against the world. Fight against myself and fight to get my family in a better place. I went and applied for welfare, I was granted emergency assistance. I took classes in interview training so I could land a job. I quickly landed a job selling cars. I had also begun looking for work in property management and soon landed a $14 per hour job as a Maintenance Manager with a free apartment.
I got off welfare. The universe was helping me, driving me, positioning me, pushing me. The odds were stacked against me, but I wasn’t going to stop. I had always said I was a blue collar man with white collar ambitions.
On January 3rd 2017, I begin my new job as a Maintenance Operations Director, and am transitioning to the corporate world of Facilities management. THE UNIVERSE MADE A WAY!!! The gifts he gave me are allowing me to utilize my education, determination, and resilience. KEEP FIGHTING and KEEP BELIEVING!!!