If You Look For Me At Christmas

If you look for me at Christmas,

you won't need a special star -

I'm no longer just in Bethlehem,

I'm right there where you are.

You may not be aware of Me

Amid the celebrations -

You'll have to look beyond the stores

and all the decorations.

But if you take a moment

from your list of things to do

And listen to your heart, you'll find

I'm waiting there for you.

You're the one I want to be with,

you're the reason that I came,

And you'll find Me in the stillness

as I'm whispering your name.

Love,

Jesus

Soldier's Poem

Twas the night before Christmas,

He lived all alone,
In a one bedroom house made of
Plaster and stone.

I had come down the chimney
With presents to give,
And to see just who
In this home did live.

I looked all about,
A strange sight I did see,
No tinsel, no presents,
Not even a tree.

No stocking by mantle,
Just boots filled with sand,
On the wall hung pictures
Of far distant lands.

With medals and badges,
Awards of all kinds,
A sober thought
Came through my mind.

For this house was different,
It was dark and dreary,
I found the home of a soldier,
Once I could see clearly.

The soldier lay sleeping,
Silent, alone,
Curled up on the floor
In this one bedroom home.

The face was so gentle,
The room in such disorder,
Not how I pictured
A United States soldier.

Was this the hero
Of whom I'd just read?
Curled up on a poncho,
The floor for a bed?

I realized the families
That I saw this night,
Owed their lives to these soldiers
Who were willing to fight.

Soon round the world,
The children would play,
And grownups would celebrate
A bright Christmas day.

They all enjoyed freedom
Each month of the year,
Because of the soldiers,
Like the one lying here.

I couldn't help wonder
How many lay alone,
On a cold Christmas eve
In a land far from home.

The very thought
Brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees
And started to cry.

The soldier awakened
and I heard a rough voice,
"Santa don't cry,
This life is my choice;

I fight for freedom,
I don't ask for more,
My life is my god,
My country, my corps."

The soldier rolled over
And drifted to sleep,
I couldn't control it,
I continued to weep.

I kept watch for hours,
So silent and still
And we both shivered
From the cold night's chill.

I didn't want to leave
On that cold, dark, night,
This guardian of honor
So willing to fight.

Then the soldier rolled over,
With a voice soft and pure,
Whispered, "carry on Santa,
It's Christmas day, all is secure."

One look at my watch,
And I knew he was right.
"Merry Christmas my friend,
And to all a good night."

The "W" in Christmas

Each December, I vowed to make Christmas a calm and peaceful experience. I had cut back on nonessential obligations - extensive card writing, endless baking, decorating, and even overspending. Yet still, I found myself exhausted, unable to appreciate the precious family moments, and of course, the true meaning of Christmas.

My son, Nicholas, was in kindergarten that year. It was an exciting season for a six year old. For weeks, he'd been memorizing songs for his school's "Winter Pageant."

I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd be working the night of the production. Unwilling to miss his shining moment, I spoke with his teacher. She assured me there'd be a dress rehearsal the morning of the presentation.

All parents unable to attend that evening were welcome to come then. Fortunately, Nicholas seemed happy with the compromise. So, the morning of the dress rehearsal, I filed in ten minutes early, found a spot on the cafeteria floor and sat down. Around the room, I saw several other parents quietly scampering to their seats.

As I waited, the students were led into the room. Each class, accompanied by their teacher, sat cross-legged on the floor. Then, each group, one by one, rose to perform their song.

Because the public school system had long stopped referring to the holiday as "Christmas," I didn't expect anything other than fun, commercial entertainment songs of reindeer, Santa Claus, snowflakes and good cheer. So, when my son's class rose to sing "Christmas Love" I was slightly taken aback by its bold title.

Nicholas was aglow, as were all of his classmates, adorned in fuzzy mittens, red sweaters, and bright snowcaps upon their heads.

Those in the front row- center stage - held up large letters, one by one, to spell out the title of the song. As the class would sing "C is for Christmas," a child would hold up the letter C. Then, "H is for Happy," and on and on, until each child holding up his portion had presented the complete message, "Christmas Love."

The performance was going smoothly, until suddenly, we noticed her; a small, quiet, girl in the front row holding the letter "M" upside down - totally unaware her letter "M" appeared as a "W".

The audience of 1st through 6th graders snickered at this little one's mistake. But she had no idea they were laughing at her, so she stood tall, proudly holding her "W".

Although many teachers tried to shush the children, the laughter continued until the last letter was raised and we all saw it together.

A hush came over the audience and eyes began to widen.

In that instant, we understood the reason we were there, why we celebrated the holiday in the first place, why even in the chaos, there was a purpose for our festivities.

For when the last letter was held high, the message read loud and clear:

"C H R I S T W A S L O V E"

And, I believe, He still is.

Amazed in His presence... .humbled by His love.

~ Author Unknown

Christmas Scout

In spite of the fun and laughter, 13-yr.-old Frank Wilson was not happy. It was true, he had received all the presents he wanted, and he enjoyed the traditional Christmas Eve reunions with relatives for the purpose of exchanging gifts and good wishes but Frank was not happy because this was his first Christmas without his brother, Steve, who during the year, had been killed by a reckless driver. Frank missed his brother and the close companionship they had together.

He said good-bye to this relatives, and explained to his parents that he was leaving a little early to see a friend, and from there he could walk home. Since it was cold outside, Frank put on his new plaid jacket. It was his FAVORITE gift. He placed the other presents on his new sled, then headed out, hoping to find the patrol leader of his Boy Scout troop. Frank always felt understood by him.

Tho’ rich in wisdom, his leader lived in the Flats, the section of town where most of the poor lived. His patrol leader did odd jobs to help support his family. To Frank’s disappointment, his friend was not home.

As Frank hiked down the street toward home, he caught glimpses of trees and decorations in many of the small houses. Then, thru one front window, he glimpsed a shabby room with limp stockings hanging over an empty fireplace. A woman was seated nearby….weeping.

The stockings reminded him of the way he and his brother had always hung theirs side by side. The next morning, they would be bursting with presents. A sudden thought struck Frank–he had not done his “good deed” for the day. Before the impulse passed, he knocked on the door. “Yes?” the sad voice of a woman asked. Seeing his sled full of gifts, and assuming he was making a collection, she said, “I have no food or gifts for you. I have nothing for my own children.”

“That’s not why I am here, ” Frank replied. “Please choose whatever presents you would like for your children from the sled.”

“Why, God bless you!” the amazed woman answered gratefully. She selected some candies, a game, a toy airplane and a puzzle. When she took the Scout flashlight, Frank almost protested. Finally, the stockings were full.

“Won’t you tell me your name?” she asked, as Frank was leaving.

“Just call me the Christmas Scout,” he replied.

The visit left Frank touched, and with an unexpected flicker of joy in his heart. He understood that his sorrow wasn’t the only sorrow in the world.

Before he left the Flats, he had given away the rest of his gifts. His plaid jacket had gone to a shivering boy. Now, Frank trudged toward home, cold and uneasy. How could he explain to his parents that he had given his presents away?

“Where are your presents, son? asked his father as Frank entered the house. “I gave them away,” he answered in a small voice.

“The airplane from Aunt Susan? Your new coat from Grandma? Your flashlight?? We tho’t you were happy with your gifts.”

“I was very happy,” Frank said quietly.

“But, Frank, how could you be so impulsive?” his mother asked. “How will we explain to the relatives who spent so much time and gave so much love shopping for you?”

His father was firm. “You made your choice, Frank. We cannot afford any more presents.”

With his brother gone, and his family disappointed in him, Frank suddenly felt dreadfully alone. He had not expected a reward for his generosity, for he knew that a good deed always should be its own reward. It would be tarnished otherwise. So he did not want his gifts back. However, he wondered if he would ever again recapture joy in his life. He thought he had this evening, but it had been fleeting. He thought of his brother, and sobbed himself to sleep.

The next morning, he came downstairs to find his parents listening to Christmas music on the radio. Then the announcer spoke:

“Merry Christmas, everyone! The nicest Christmas story we have this morning comes from the Flats. A crippled boy down there has a new sled this morning left at his house by an anonymous teenage boy. Another youngster has a fine plaid jacket, and several families report that their children were made happy last night by gifts from a teenage lad who simply called himself the ‘Christmas Scout’."

No one could identify him, but the children of the Flats claim that the Christmas Scout was a personal representative of old Santa Claus himself.

Frank felt his father’s arms go around his shoulders, and he saw his mother smiling thru her tears.

“Why didn’t you tell us, son? We didn’t understand. We are so proud of you.”

The carols came over the air again, filling the room with music – "Praises sing to God the King, and peace on Earth goodwill to men.”

Deuteronomy 15:7-8 tells us: “If there are poor among you in one of the towns of the land the Lord your God is giving you, do not be selfish or greedy toward them. But give freely to them, and freely lend them whatever they need.”

LET US FOLLOW FRANK’S EXAMPLE.

~ by Sam Bogan

The Tablecloth

The brand new pastor and his wife, newly assigned to their first ministry, to reopen a church in suburban Brooklyn, arrived in early October excited about their opportunities. When they saw their church, it was very run down and needed much work. They set a goal to have everything done in time to have their first service on Christmas Eve. They worked hard, repairing pews, plastering walls, painting, etc. and on Dec 18 were ahead of schedule and just about finished.

On Dec 19 a terrible tempest - a driving rainstorm - hit the area and lasted for two days. On the 21st, the pastor went over to the church. His heart sank when he saw that the roof had leaked, causing a large area of plaster about 20 feet by 8 feet to fall off the front wall of the sanctuary just behind the pulpit, beginning about head high. The pastor cleaned up the mess on the floor, and not knowing what else to do but postpone the Christmas Eve service, headed home.

On the way he noticed that a local business was having a flea market type sale for charity so he stopped in. One of the items was a beautiful, handmade, ivory colored, crocheted tablecloth with exquisite work, fine colors and a Cross embroidered right in the center. It was just the right size to cover up the hole in the front wall. He bought it and headed back to the church. By this time it had started to snow.

An older woman running from the opposite direction was trying to catch the bus. She missed it. The pastor invited her to wait in the warm church for the next bus 45 minutes later. She sat in a pew and paid no attention to the pastor while he got a ladder, hangers, etc., to put up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry.

The pastor could hardly believe how beautiful it looked and it covered up the entire problem area. Then he noticed the woman walking down the center aisle. Her face was like a sheet. "Pastor," she asked, "where did you get that tablecloth?" The pastor explained. The woman asked him to check the lower right corner to see if the initials, EBG were crocheted into it there. They were. These were the initials of the woman, and she had made this tablecloth 35 years before, in Austria. The woman could hardly believe it as the pastor told how he had just gotten the Tablecloth. The woman explained that before the war she and her husband were well-to-do people in Austria. When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave. Her husband was going to follow her the next week. She was captured, sent to prison and never saw her husband or her home again. The pastor wanted to give her the tablecloth; but she made the pastor keep it for the church.

The pastor insisted on driving her home, that was the least he could do. She lived on the other side of Staten Island and was only in Brooklyn for the day for a housecleaning job. What a wonderful service they had on Christmas Eve. The church was almost full. The music and the spirit were great. At the end of the service, the pastor and his wife greeted everyone at the door and many said that they would return. One older man, whom the pastor recognized from the neighborhood, continued to sit in one of the pews and stare, and the pastor wondered why he wasn’t leaving. The man asked him where he got the tablecloth on the front wall because it was identical to one that his wife had made years ago when they lived in Austria before the war and how could there be two tablecloths so much alike? He told the pastor how the Nazis came, how he forced his wife to flee for her safety, and he was supposed to follow her, but he was arrested and put in a prison. He never saw his wife or his home again all the 35 years in between.

The pastor asked him if he would allow him to take him for a little ride. They drove to Staten Island and to the same house where the pastor had taken the woman three days earlier. He helped the man climb the three flights of stairs to the woman’s apartment, knocked on the door and he saw the greatest Christmas reunion he could ever imagine.

True Story - submitted by Pastor Rob Reid Who says God does not work in mysterious ways.

4th Sunday of Advent

Today we celebrate the Fourth Sunday of Advent.  Christmas is four days away.  In the three weeks leading up to today many of us have worked hard to prepare for Christmas.  The cards are sent.  The decorations are up.  Hopefully, most of the shopping is finished.  The gifts are wrapped and under the tree or stored in a safe place.  Now it's time to stop and reflect on what we are celebrating.  We are celebrating God's incredible gift to us - the gift of His son, Jesus who came to "save his people from their sins" (Matthew 1: 21).  We are celebrating the birth of Emmanuel - God is with us. 

The Gospel for today and for the Christmas Vigil Mass, Matthew 1: 18-24, focuses our attention on St. Joseph.  The birth of Jesus posed a serious problem for Joseph.  Although he was betrothed to Mary, they were not formally living together.  They had a contract to marry.  Joseph must have felt very hurt and betrayed when he discovered that Mary was pregnant with a child that was not his.  He could have divorced her, an act that would destroy her life and possibly the life of the child.  But he didn't.  Joseph listened to God and did what was just and honorable.  He took Mary and the baby Jesus into his home and into his heart.  Joseph trusted God and God entrusted His son to Joseph. 

Joseph is our very human model of faith, compassion and mercy.  He also is the perfect example of a strong and caring parent.  Joseph protected Jesus from the murderous wrath of Herod.  He provided a safe and secure home in which Jesus could grow and develop.  Most importantly, Joseph was responsive to the Spirit of God.  In these last few days before Christmas, take some time to reflect on St. Joseph.  And remember that all of us are called to be like Joseph.  We are called to make room for Jesus in our hearts, in our spirits, in our homes and in our community.  We are called to welcome Emmanuel; God is with us right here in Peachtree City. 

Eternal God,
in the psalms of David,
in the words of the prophets,
in the dream of Joseph
your promise is spoken.
At last, in the womb of the Virgin Mary,
your Word takes flesh.
Teach us to welcome Jesus, the promised Emmanuel,
and to preach the good news of his coming,
that every age may know him
as the source of redemption and grace.
Grant this through your Son, our Lord Jesus Christ,
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
God for ever and ever.

AMEN.

I Felt it Melt my Heart

Snowflakes softly falling,

Upon your window they play.
Your blankets snug around you,
Into sleep you drift away.

I bend to gently kiss you,
when I see that on the floor.
there's a letter, neatly written.
I wonder who it's for.

I quietly unfold it,
making sure you're still asleep.
It's a Christmas list for Santa
one my heart will always keep.

It started just as always,
with the toys seen on TV.
A new watch for your father
and a winter coat for me.

But as my eyes read on,
I could see that deep inside.
There were many things you wished for,
that your loving heart would hide.

You asked if your friend Molly,
could have another Dad;
It seems her father hits her,
and it makes you very sad.

Then you asked dear Santa,
if the neighbors down the street
Could find a job, that he might have
some food, and clothes, and heat.

You saw a family on the news
whose house had blown away,
"Dear Santa, send them just one thing,
a place where they can stay."

"And Santa, those four cookies that,
I left you for a treat.
Could you take them to the children
who have nothing else to eat?"

"Do you know that little bear I have,
the one I love so dear?
I'm leaving it for you to take,
to Africa this year".

"And as you fly your reindeer,
on this night of Jesus' birth.
Could your magic bring to everyone,
goodwill and peace on earth".

"There's one last thing before you go,
so grateful I would be.
If you'd smile at Baby Jesus,
in the manger by our tree."

I pulled the letter close to me,
I felt it melt my heart.
Those tiny hands had written,
what no other could impart.

"And a little child shall lead them,"
was whispered in my ear.
As I watched you sleep on Christmas Eve
while Santa Claus was here.