This is the final installment of a story I wrote long ago. It was first published in “The Christian Home and School,” a publication of Christian Schools International.

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The Monday before Christmas, Christmas Eve

All day the Sheppard sisters had been battling traffic and crowds of last minute shoppers. Now as evening approached, the wash still needed to be done. “Why dontcha fix this?!” Nell snapped at Doris and flung a shabby sock in her direction. Nell had found a couple of large red and white Christmas stockings which the sisters had hung on the mantle every Christmas Eve. The stitching around the black Santa’s sleigh with the name “Doris” embroidered on it was coming undone as a result of its annual encounter with the Sheppards’ washing machine. It was Christmas Eve and Nell felt pressured to get the tattered stockings loaded and hung on the mantle over the dormant fireplace. The stockings were about the only bit of Christmas tradition the tired old sisters had left.

Nell had been getting grouchier as Christmas day inched closer. Today’s shopping excursion had just about put her over the edge. Doris remembered the days when Christmas shopping was accomplished by walking the block-and-a-half to Casey’s Corner Store. Of course, Casey’s had closed years ago when his son, Al, finally retired. He practically gave the building away to a group who used it for a church. But like everything else religious in Nell and Doris Sheppard’s lives, the congregation scattered and the building on the corner eventually deteriorated. It went from a place of worship… to a video store… to a derelict apartment building… to an empty lot.

Even though they were working on catching up on the laundry that they do so religiously on Monday’s, neither Nell nor Doris had forgotten about their curious neighbors. It had not gone unnoticed by them that every candle on the rag wreath, except the big white one in the center, were ‘lit’ with splotches of yellow.

“Why don’t they close their curtains, anyway?” By now, it was dark outside. Nell, bad mood and all, was back on the lookout while working on a basket of wool socks. “They’re just inviting anyone who wants, to take a peak,” she said. Then accepting their invitation, said, “Look over there, Doris.” Doris obediently looked up from re-stitching Santa’s sleigh. “There’s somethin’ glowing over there,” Nell whispered as if the Davidsons could hear her.

“Fire!” Doris put her hands over her mouth.

“Nonsense.” Nell stated flatly. “They’ve just got some candles or the fire place burning. I can see shadows…” She paused, and took a deep breath. “It looks kinda spooky over there.” Radiating through the window’s rag wreath, a curious aura of light reached across the snowy street toward the sisters. Doris suddenly envied everything about those people across the street – their friends, their fireplace and even the whatever-it-was in their window.

Nell broke in with, “Maybe they’re part of some kind of weird cult…?” Her voice trailed off.

“Stop it, Nell! You’re scaring me!” Nell was scaring herself, so she dropped the subject and went back to her socks.

That night, the Monday before Christmas, Christmas Eve, while the Sheppard sisters washed, fixed and folded their socks, they got their holiday gift. It came to them when the transformer on the electric pole in front of the next-door neighbor’s house blew up.

Like the CRACK!! of thunder in a June thunderstorm, the sound ricocheted along the canyon of houses on Hillside Avenue. When it crashed into the Sheppards’ living room they jumped simultaneously, like two kids in the backseat of a school bus zipping down a bumpy road. The socks in their hands went flying. The lights in the house flashed and went out.

Without saying a word, they sat in the blackness, hearts pounding. For the first time in an age, they didn’t know what was going on outside. For the first time in her lifetime, Nell was speechless. For the first time, Doris realized that she yearned for something to fill the lonely void inside her.

After some time, a loud pounding on the front door made them jump again.

“Ohhhh boooy!” Doris was the first to break the silence. “What’s that now?” she whispered. Slowly, Nell fumbled through the darkness toward the front door with Doris cowering behind her. Together they peeked through the curtain on the window next to the door. They spied someone bundled up standing on the front porch with a flashlight. Cautiously and against her better judgement, Nell opened the door a crack with Doris craning her neck to see around her sister.

The wide-eyed, worried looks that greeted the bundled up woman on the porch prompted her to reassure them, “Don’t be afraid. It’s me, Ruth, your neighbor, from across the street.” The sisters greeted her with silence. “Looks like the power’s going to be out for a while,” she continued with a warm disarming smile. “My husband just finished baking some bread right before the it went out and we were wondering if ….” Doris straightened up a stood next to Nell in the doorway. “… you’d like to come over and share the bread and cozy, warm fireplace with us. I’m on my way to get some of the other neighbors, too.” The sisters glanced at each other and nodded.

“Good!” Ruth said. “We’re right there across the street.” She pointed in the direction of her house – as if Doris and Nell didn’t already know. “Just look for the strips of cloth in the window.” She grinned and rolled her eyes. “It’s supposed to be an advent wreath.” We have a real one, too, with real candles. We put it on the porch – to light the way.” She turned to go, then turned back. “You can help us light the Christ candle when you get there.” Ruth winked. “It’s Christmas Eve, you know.”

“Uh-huh…,” said Nell, having no clue what the neighbor was talking about. The sisters wondered more than ever about their curious neighbors, what with rags and wreaths and bread and a Christ candle, and all. “Uh – well sure,” Nell fumbled for words. “After we take care of our socks and –“

”Forget about the socks!” Doris insisted. “We’re going now!” She grabbed their coats off the hooks by the door, jammed Nell’s into her hands and and said, “Let’s go!” And…. off they marched across the dark street looking for strips of cloth and a light to brighten up their dark world.

This is the third part of a Christmas story I wrote some time ago.

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The Second Monday Before Christmas

The Sheppard sisters corralled another week’s worth of clean laundry into baskets and plunked down in front of the window to their universe, to sort and fold the clothes. It was the second Monday before Christmas and the view outside the window now included growing piles of dirty snow heaped alongside the narrow street.

“Hey, Doris, did you see all the cars parked in front of the house yesterday? A person could hardly get through,” Nell complained, even though, their trusty old Dodge Aries was parked in the driveway off the alley behind their house. “It must’ve been quite a party!” Nell shook out an inside-out wool sock. “Can’t you put your socks right-side out?” She barked at her sister. “I mean, it’d save me a lot o’ time if they weren’t tossed in the wash every which way!” she nagged.

“Yes…, Nell…,” Doris sighed sheepishly, “I’ll try to be more careful next time.” Having appeased her sister, she bowed her head over her work and allowed Nell to continue her harangue about the unusual neighbors. “… and there’s another one of those ragged old cloth candles ‘lit’ in their window. I watched ‘em do that yesterday at their party.” Now that she wasn’t the one being criticized, Doris looked up, interested in her sister’s observation. “That makes three of them, now. Seems mighty odd to me.” In spite of Nell’s assessment, Doris was developing some curiosity about the holiday ritual that seemed to be unfolding over there. More than that, though, if Doris was honest with herself she would have to admit that she was lonely and felt the need to have contact with people … other than Nell.

It wasn’t always that way, though, sitting by the front window and living vicariously through people she knew only through her remote observations. Back in the old days when the neighborhood was a close knit group of family and friends, things were different. But, a lot had changed since the sisters were young, living in the house on Hillside Avenue.  

Down through the years the Sheppard sisters’ dubious claim to fame among neighbors and friends had been their extensive knowledge of everything and everybody. Like the tabloids sold at the grocery checkouts, they were more than willing to share with anyone who wanted, a juicy slice of neighborhood gossip. However, one by one, their pool of family and friends evaporated. Many of the old timers had moved away or just died. As time went on, the only ones left who cared about such things were — Nell and Doris. As she gazed across the street and recalled last night’s party, an unsettled feeling came over Doris. There was something compelling about what was going on over there – the Davidson’s friends, the fun they seemed to be having and even that outlandish contraption hanging in their front window.

This is the second installment of a Christmas story I wrote awhile ago. 

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The Third Monday Before Christmas

The next week, right on schedule, the Monday-morning-laundry-routine took place. It was the third Monday before Christmas. Nell’s eyes were fixed on the frozen winter scene outside their picture window as her hands expertly felt for and folded the week’s wash. Doris did her part by sorting through some old rags used for a variety of cleaning chores around the house.

“They just don’t act like ordinary people,” Nell stated bluntly while she laid out a pair of white cotton socks one on top of the other. “They’re so different!” Mindlessly, she rolled the socks together. She stretched the opening of the bottom sock so that it engulfed the rest of the sock roll, making a ball, then she tossed it into the basket.

“Did you see the way they decorated their house for the holidays?” Doris snorted in amusement.  

“What decorations?” the sarcasm in Nell’s voice dripped like the water trickling from the nylon stockings drying over the tub in the bathroom. “They just look like a bunch of rags hanging in the front window,” she giggled as she walked to the bedroom to deliver her load of clean clothes.

Doris peered through the frost painted the corners of the glass. “Ohhhh boooy… What’s this now?” she warbled. Nell dropped a ball of socks and scudded across the living room to see what Doris had discovered.

“What is it!? What is it!?” Nell insisted.

“Look at what they’ve done to their window rags,” Doris said pointing across the street at the neighbor’s decorations plastered to their front window.

“You mean the ‘green doughnut’?” Nell scoffed.

“Ya, just take a look.” Doris said. “You hafta see this.”

About a week ago, using scraps of cloth they had collected, the Davidsons had stuck a wide, flat green doughnut shaped wreath to their window. It filled up most of the large window which faced the Sheppards’ house. On it, they spaced four rectangular strips of cloth, three purple and one pink, each one extending from some point on the circle upward. They had placed one larger white strip of cloth in the middle of the circle.

“They added another one of those big yellowish splotches,” Doris observed with bewilderment, comparing today’s display with last week’s. “Looks like they’re sticking them right on the end of those purple strips.”

“They look like candles!” Nell said, leaning toward the window trying to get a better look at the neighbor’s odd window decor. “That’s it, I’ll bet! They’re candles!” she enthused. Last week there was only one of those things ‘lit,’ now there’s two.” She was so pleased with the revelation that she tried to make a joke. “Maybe, I should go over there and see if I might use one of them rag candles to light my cigarette….” The sisters laughed so hard that twenty minutes went by before they could finish folding their clothes.

Today is the first day of Advent… Soooo …. I’m running a four part Christmas story that I wrote long ago that reflects the waiting and anticipation of the coming of Jesus. 

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The Fourth Monday Before Christmas

“Doris, for the life of me, I just can’t figure them people out!” muttered Nell. The older of the Sheppard sisters, motioned toward the house across the street then bent over a basket full of laundry to be folded and put away.

It was Monday, laundry day, a bit less than a month before Christmas. Doris, the quieter of the sisters, looked up from the catalog in her lap and mumbled, “Uh-huh…” She was more interested in the catalog than the strange people who moved in across the street a couple of months back.

For most of the seventy-some years that Doris and Nell had lived there, they had been the eyes and ears of the old neighborhood. Nothing much escaped their attentive gazes. Daily, even though they would vehemently deny it, at least one sister was positioned within scouting distance of the front picture window, standing watch. So, when the Davidsons moved in, Doris did her duty. Like a pirate from the crow’s-nest, she sounded the alarm from her lookout perch. “Ohhhh boooy! What’s this now?” she trilled, which was enough to bring Nell a-running.

Perhaps to others, those ‘strange’ people, Joey and Ruth Davidson, appeared fairly normal. One time, Ruth tried to be neighborly, knocked on the Sheppard sisters’ door and introduced herself. She even invited them over to her house for tea. “My husband, Joey, just made some mighty fine pumpkin bread,” Ruth tempted. However, Nell and Doris weren’t use to such overt displays of neighborliness. To them it seemed peculiar. So, with Doris peeking around Nell’s shoulder, Nell cautiously, albeit politely, refused. And that was it for personal contact with the new neighbors. They went their separate ways, and from their solitary observatory the sisters’ surveillance began in earnest.

Sylvia’s guardian angel, William, and the others were no busier these days just because of Christmas. Angels are always praising the Father, after all. There had not been a more special Christmas for the angels since the very first one, when the Lord Jesus, himself, came to earth! Actually, as far as the angels were concerned, things have gone quite down hill since then — and that included the town’s annual Christmas bash!

* * * *

“Sylvia,” said Grampa, rising slowly from the worn armchair. “It’s coffee time!”

“Yuck,” she said, making a face. With her nose pointed at the ceiling and her eyes smiling, she continued, “Young women like me require a more sophisticated beverage than that. I’ll have the usual.”

   “Grape soda it is then!” He chuckled as he shuffled over to the oak table, enjoying their weekly coffee time game. “You know the big Christmas program at church is coming up in a couple days,” said the old man as he settled heavily onto the wooden chair.

“Yaaaah,” muttered Sylvia, her mood changing. She set Grampa’s cup on the saucer and poured the black brew into it.

Grampa Peterson spooned a small pile of sugar and dripped a little milk into his coffee. He slowly poured a bit of coffee into his saucer to cool. “The house looks good.” He sighed and sipped from the saucer. The snowflakes were slowly falling outside the window, peeking past the curtains at Grampa and Sylvia. The two of them talked like old friends, as he and Gramma had done before …

“I got it all started, you know, back then, this Christmas Festival thing. It wasn’t like it is now.” His grandfatherly voice strengthened as he continued. “We needed something to help us focus on the real meaning of Christmas. We needed something to get us back on the right track.” Sylvia sipped her drink and noticed the ring of white hair surrounding Grampa’s bald head. It reminded her of the halo around the heads of angels she saw on Christmas cards. She had heard this story before, but didn’t mind hearing it again.

“Was it such a big deal back then, Grampa?” she asked.

“There was just one church that did anything in it then. We just got together and worshiped. That’s all, no fuss, no dressed up angels, no sheep and cows in the parking lot to clean up after.”

“P-U!” Sylvia plugged her nose. She remembered the breeze spreading the scent of the cattle’s Christmas offerings around the church.

“Just plain and simple,” he reminisced. “That’s what is was back then.” Grampa’s eyes traveled from the Christmas tree, covered with ornaments like a blanket of memories, to the fireplace. The old ashes in it were as cold as his heart felt after Gramma died. “Nice work on the mantle, Sylv,” he complimented.

“Oh, it’s not the way Gramma did it,” she replied. “She could get those family pictures in just the right places with the candles and evergreens.”

“Your grandmother hated the rat race that Christmas had become, especially the last few Festivals.” Grampa nibbled on the wing of an angel cookie. “Why, when it first began, we would get together and have a simple service of praise to the Newborn King. Now, it’s turned into the town’s greatest gift to itself.”

Six weeks ago Sylvia would have had none of this talk from her grandfather. She heard the story told and retold. It was beginning to sink what Christmas is all about. She slowly realized that it’s an inside thing. The Savior, who usually gets pushed aside and forgotten at Christmas, needs to be number one inside. Sylvia interrupted Grampa’s reminiscing. “I’m singing for the Sunday evening service, Grampa. I’d like you to be there if you can.” Sylvia knew that Grampa Peterson, still affected by Gramma’s death, hadn’t been to church since the Christmas decorations went up.

* * * *

Angel William watched as Sylvia finished her coffee time conversation, cleaned up the dishes and left for home. He noticed that even though she missed the final rehearsal of the grand, extra special Christmas Festival, the beginnings of a small smile curled around the corners of the girl’s mouth.

[to be continued…]

    “Amen!” Mr. deWit, the math teacher, ended his prayer and dismissed the class with, “Have a great Christmas vacation.”  The students dashed out, free to enjoy the holidays.

“Right!” grumbled Sylvia as she made her way past the faded Christmas decorations surrounding the door.  She dreaded the start of this vacation, because of Sunday!  “Have a nice vacation, yourself,” she mumbled. “Bah humbug!”

*     *     *     *

     William, busy as usual, performed his angel work which, of course, is doing the work of the Father.  Children need protecting, after all, and Sylvia needed special attention these days.

*    *     *     *

       “I don’t want to go to Grampa Peterson’s again!”, she spouted to Maria as they stepped from the bus.  Snowflakes melted on Sylvia’s long dark hair as she and Maria walked down the side of the road.  “Why me?  Why can’t he just, just….hire someone else to dust and shovel snow and –.”  A passing car splashed slush from the street in their direction showering her like a waterfall.  The soggy snow smacked Sylvia, soaking her socks.

Because of her duties at Grampa Peterson’s she missed most of the rehearsals for the town’s Christmas program, the biggest event of the year, held the Sunday morning before Christmas. Rehearsals began six weeks ago, under the able direction of Mrs. Myrtle Smoot.  Sylvia tried out for the youth solo.  She wasn’t chosen, because she couldn’t be at all the practices.  She was stuck in a corner of the junior choir, and Becky Burnbaum would be the featured junior soloist with the adult choir!  Sylvia was steamed!

Sylvia’s mood improved somewhat by the time she reached Grampa’s house.  She loved Grampa Peterson and was always polite.  She worked hard for the old man.  Gramma died only a few months ago, and at seventy-two his arthritis slowed him down.

Grampa Peterson knew Sylvia was skipping practices.  Sylvia’s mother made her help out after school every Monday and Thursday.  Today, of all days, Grampa needed her to help decorate the house for Christmas — on the day of the dress rehearsal for the fantastic Christmas Show!

 

[to be continued…]

By David Koning

Warren and Rose Collins watched the biggest snowstorm of the winter season blast the window panes of the family room. The twinkling Christmas tree’s lights reflected in the glass intruded on their view of the scene. The east wind plastered the snow against the house, piling up drifts no one needed to shovel, since the kids weren’t coming over that Sunday evening.

“Just stay put.” Rose had told their son Todd over the phone that morning after she heard on the radio that everything was canceled on account of the storm. “You can come another time, when the weather’s not so fierce.”

“Okay, Ma. Take care of yourself ‘way out there’ in the country.” She pictured him smiling as static crackled in the earpiece of the phone. “Janey says ‘hi’… and save some popcorn for her.”

With the prospects of a Sunday evening visit obliterated by the storm, Warren and Rose popped popcorn for themselves, saving some for grand-daughter Janey who would be coming next week to celebrate Christmas with them.

“Whatcha got there Rosey?” Warren looked up from the holiday edition of the Fire Fighters Journal he was paging through.

“Just dusting off some of the picture albums.” She blew on the end of a red scrapbook filled with old pictures.

“Achoo…,” Warren faked a sneeze. They laughed. “OOOhh… Look at this picture of Todd and Steph.” Rose sat next to him on the couch. Warren smiled at the picture of the two kids sitting on old fire Engine Number 9, Todd’s long hair spilling out from under his dad’s oversized helmet, and his older sister ringing the bell.

Hauling out that old scrapbook was all it took for the two snowbound refugees to begin reminiscing. Before long it was, “Remember the time…” and “Weren’t they cute…” On and on it went with just the two of them sifting through old pictures, reviving memories of the good times now past. They had to admit that in spite of the inconvenience of the snowstorm raging outside, life was pretty good these days. In the quiet coziness of the family room, together, looking at old pictures of their two children, Warren softly breathed, “God’s blessed us real good, you know…”

The thing about old pictures is they rarely tell both sides of the story. More often than not, some proud parent is running around snapping pictures at happy occasions – the birthday parties, family gatherings and vacations. Pictures in old albums reflect the joy of a moment frozen on a piece of film, symbolizing that at that time and that place, all was well. They create the false illusion that if families would just smile and say, “Cheese!” everything would be just fine.

However, the difficult situations are rarely found in picture albums. The times when parents, even Christian folks like the Collins, despair over their children. The deadly illnesses, the disobedience and rebellion — these things do not find their way into family albums. The ways God works to heal a parent’s hurts or to change a kid’s heart, those images are reserved only for the album of a person’s mind and heart. Such was the case with Todd. Both Warren and Rose were reminded again of God’s goodness when they came to the photo of the strangers, Jack and Marci, and their brand new baby, Emily.

“Ah, look at her…” Rose cooed. “What a doll!” She gazed at a picture of a tiny baby and a proud looking boy of about thirteen, with an old quilt. “Todd’s hair was so long back then.” She didn’t need to remind Warren of that ‘little’ irritation.

“Remember that storm?” He looked out at this year’s version. “What a storm it was! About this same time of year, too.” As evening crept into the dimly lit family room. They recalled the storms of the past – the meteorological ones that came and went as well as the seemingly endless storms with their son Todd at the center. When they looked back they could see God woven through all of it. As they reminisced the wind howled around outside, adding its own special effects.

**********

It was back when Todd was in 9th or 8th grade, Warren couldn’t remember, that he had to pick up his son from an after school detention. At that time, Todd seemed to be heading down the wrong path in life. ‘Class clown’ was the phrase some of his teachers used to described Todd. However, clowning around was minor compared to the temper tantrums he could throw when he didn’t get his way. Other than getting his way, Todd didn’t care much about anything or anyone, – an attitude that thoroughly frustrated Warren.

It was the day before Christmas break. Warren looked at the gangly adolescent as he mounted the passenger seat in the pick-up and muttered, “I believe there’s a storm coming! Somethin’s bound to change.”

Todd glanced over at him with a kind of a puzzled grin that said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I think I’m gonna find out.” Then he looked away, and stared out of the window as they drove home. It was a poor beginning to their Christmas vacation.

In spite of the detention, yelling, pouting, and subsequent punishment, Christmas Eve arrived on schedule. All day the gray clouds hung low and the air was cold and still. It was the kind of day that really didn’t call attention to itself, yet Todd found himself looking out of the window like he was anticipating the arrival of some great event. It wasn’t the family reunion, either.

The Collins family reunion occurred every year on Christmas Eve. The big family party, at Warren and Rose’s that year, was held in spite of the ominous threat of heavy snow in the weather forecast. Relatives from all over filled the house. Even Todd’s Uncle Paul came all the way from Vancouver this year, buoying Todd’s hopes of playing some hockey on the pond that week.

The east wind whooshed through the door as Aunt Eleanor lumbered into the house. She looked in Todd’s direction, smiled sweetly and gushed, “Hi, Toddie!” as she passed through the hallway. Todd mumbled some sort of greeting, as the bells on the pine wreath jingled when his not-so-favorite aunt brushed past it on her way to the kitchen to drop off her casserole.

The raging blizzard blasting outside made most of the relatives uneasy as the party progressed through the food, games and gifts. Because of the storm, most of them left earlier than usual. Aunt Eleanor insisted on helping Rose and Warren clean up before she would even think of going home. While most of the revelers gathered up their belongings and empty tupperware and made their way towards home down the slippery road, Rose sent Todd and Stephanie upstairs to bed, Todd protesting all the way.

The thought of the swirling snow, opening presents in the morning and the joy of hockey on the pond with Uncle Paul, kept any sleepiness from Todd’s eyes. He looked out the bedroom window at the wintery landscape below. There wasn’t much to see, actually. Gusts of wind blew up explosions of soft white powder that blocked Todd’s view of anything but his own yard light and the lights of the neighbors farther down the country lane. The tall weeds along the road marked the boundary between it and the frozen ditch alongside it.

The snowy scene was interrupted by two dim points of light emerging through a cloud of snow along the road. The headlights were like two eyes of a beast slowly searching for its way home. One was brighter than the other, which made the dim outline of the car look like a fatigued creature, too tired to continue the quest for the warmth of home, friends and family.

Todd watched as the car inched its way up the snowy road. He yawned. Suddenly the lights were gone. It was as if some great snow magician had waved a magic wand and turned that car and its occupants into another drift. The blowing snow had made it impossible to see the road in front of the car. Apparently, the driver couldn’t tell what was road and what was ditch. The sudden disappearance of the car was all the excuse Todd needed.

“Hey, Steph!” He shouted. “C’mon! There’s a car in the ditch!”

Warren, Stephanie, Todd and Aunt Eleanor rushed from the house to the road, toward the car. Todd exclaimed, “That’s it! There it is! Down in the ditch!” Warren kept up with Todd and surveyed the scene by his side.

They saw no signs of life, no tracks, no movement. The blowing snow cast an eerie halo around the yard light. Warren approached the side of the beat up old Ford, tipped sideways in the ditch and buried up to the roof on the driver’s side. A quick look around the car gave no clues as to what they might find inside. Knee deep in snow, Warren walked up to the window on the passenger side. The wind was whipping the scarf around his head as he brushed the snow from around the door. As if he were unwrapping the most fragile of Christmas gifts, he gently tried to open the door. The rusty door gave a croaking sound like its last gasp of life. The door opened to reveal the gift that the snowy package carried.

The first thing Warren noticed was the young woman’s big brown eyes. They looked as if they hadn’t seen a merry Christmas in quite some time. She tried to speak but the words caught somewhere in her throat.

Warren peered into the car past the woman and saw a young man with a ponytail and an earring, his hands still gripping the wheel. He grinned sheepishly, looked up and said, “Hi! I guess I really buried her this time!” An embarrassed smirk played around the corners of his mouth.

Warren glanced back over his shoulder to Aunt Eleanor and ‘whispered’, “Hippies!”

Todd didn’t know much about hippies, but he figured that we should get these people out of the ditch, back on the road and on their way, storm or no storm. Aunt Eleanor said something to Warren but her words were blown into the next county by the gale wind and were unheard by the rest. Warren surprised all of them when he invited these people to come into the house!

Todd gave an “I don’t know about this” kind of look out of the corner of his eye and thought, “What’s he up to… ?”

Not even a trained fire fighter like Warren could do more for the strangers that night. Their car was hopelessly stuck in the ditch. It was too far to drive to a motel in that kind of weather. They couldn’t afford to spend the money to rent a room, anyway.

What finally convinced Warren to let these people stay in the house was when he realized that it wasn’t a basketball that the woman was hiding under her five dollar Salvation Army coat.

It turned out that this young couple, Jack and Marci, married just a year and a half ago, were on their way to Pittsburgh. Jack lost his job. No work means no money for rent. No rent means no place to live… except in that old Ford. It was when Marci became pregnant that they started thinking about going back to live with Marci’s folks.

Aunt Eleanor and Rose did all they could to make the young couple comfortable. Their thin coats and worn gloves had provided little protection from the cold in the heatless old car. As their bodies thawed, the mood also warmed in the room. After a while it seemed like Jack and Marci were part of the family.

Midnight was approaching. Nobody was going anywhere that night. The excitement of the snow storm and the unexpected guests kept Todd and Stephanie wide awake. They blended into the background and listened while the adults talked about past Christmases, family and, of course, the weather.

The next few hours were a blur to the kids. Stephanie fell asleep on the couch. Todd snored, wrapped up in his favorite old quilt on the floor. His sub-conscience recorded fragments of the night’s action — the excited adults — no snow plows — the ambulance couldn’t get through — something about a delivery to the house. Todd dreamed of a mail truck roaring through the snow to deliver a special package. The young couple faded away — then Jack was there — Aunt Eleanor was in and out of the guest room — everybody looked worried, except Todd’s dad, who seemed in control as ever — the crying, it sounded like cat screeching in the middle of the night —

Todd figured it was just a dream, and a weird one at that, so he pulled the quilt up to his neck, rolled over, and continued his slumber.

Not many hours later, the sun shone through the east window of the living room where the ‘dreamers’ had fallen asleep. The rays caught the tin foil Christmas tree ornament that Todd made when he was in first grade. The sun’s bright light filled the room. The aroma of Warren’s famous Christmas breakfast, nudged the sleep from Todd’s foggy brain. Stephanie was already up, wrapped in an afghan like a cocoon. She was asking all kinds of questions, the same questions Todd was forming in his mind. “What happened? A baby? Nah! When? Who? Boy or girl? Can I see him, uh, her? Wow! Right in the house? Wow!”

Along with the birth of tiny Emily, came the end of the raging storm of the previous night. The sun sparkled brightly on the freshly fallen blanket of snow. The whole house was filled with the pure light of the Christmas sun dancing on the tinsel and decorations, reflecting the joy of the day.

Uncharacteristically, at that moment, Todd was not interested in breakfast, hockey on the pond, presents under the tree or the Christmas stocking hung by the fireplace. His whole attention was on that baby.

Rose nudged Warren. They looked on with interest as Todd. He folded up the quilt, the one his grandma made for him for his first Christmas. He gently handed it to Marci and said awkwardly, “Umm… I think I’d like your little girl, uh … Emily, to have this.” He cleared his throat. “And … oh, yeh, merry Christmas…”

“Thanks… a lot,” she said, her tired brown eyes expressing a more profound level of gratitude than were implied in her words.

“No problem,” Todd replied, with an expanding grin. The camera flashed as Warren captured the moment. A moment that testified to the beginnings of a change of heart which the photograph could not show … but, is now obvious … to his parents, waiting out a different storm and remembering…