Letter tells of love of Christmas

By Jim Bradshaw
jhbradshaw@bellsouth.net

very year about this time I pull down from the top shelf of the bookcase a worn, well-used copy of The Fireside Book of Christmas Stories. My copy belonged to my grandfather and was copyrighted the year after I was born. I've been read to or read from this book all of my life, and the stories in it have probably helped to shape my view of and love for Christmas.

I was particularly struck this year by a paragraph in the introduction written by the book's editor, Edward Wagenknecht, as he explained how he selected the stories he included in this anthology.

"It goes without saying," he wrote, "that most Christmas stories are bad. ... no subject is more likely than Christmas to bring out all the worst faults of the mawkishly inclined."

I'm afraid, it can also be said that most Christmas columns are bad. I can confess that I've made my more than my share of mawkish contributions over the years, some of them – upon a more mature consideration – real wincers.

But on my bookshelf is another little Christmas book. It is a bound collection of my grandmother's favorite stories, and includes a letter she sent one year to her large family. There's nothing mawkish about her vision of the day.

There were troubles the year she wrote the letter and little money to cope with them. She was reminded of the war years when her children were far away and sorely missed. But even in those times, there was Christmas.

She wrote this:

"Last night I heard White Christmas over the radio and it brought back memories (I heard it in war-time) that hurt until the tears came into my eyes, but it also made me remember that God gave me the gift of feeling near to my children – we were so sure of each other's affection. So, in all the stir and busy hours of this time I find myself forgetting here and being there with all of you.

"These last weeks have been hard for all of us, a poor preparation for Christmas, one would think, and yet it wasn't &ndash the world must have been a bleak place before the little Savior came – maybe some cares and anxieties are a proper way to lead up to the day.

"I can look back over Christmas-times in the past that bring sadness, but always I had Christmas joy too and the love of Christmas. I love even to see the word in print.

"When Christmas approaches, I begin to think of the First Christmas. My heart can be heavy with worry and grief and in the midst of all the worldly cares – family worries, hard financial times, feeling sick as I have at time – I suddenly see the stable in Bethlehem. It is always in half-darkness. ... To one side are just St. Joseph and Mary and the Baby in the manger. … There is a quiet brooding in the air. I feel that the Baby has just been born and the three of them are together, with no one else for just that time. The Mother and St. Joseph are in a quiet ecstasy of love – but there is a sadness there too for the future pain they will have.

"I can take my troubles there and feel that it brings comfort – these troubles fade before the feeling that a Savior has come into the world! What a desolate place it would be without the hope He brings.

"This pictured stable is not a shining, brilliant place filled with loud joy. It is saturated with peace and unearthly joy, and so quiet. I feel a sort of 'waiting' in the air. In a moment the shepherds and the rest of the world will break in on this calm lovely feeling – and in a moment I too am back in the noisy everyday world but with the strength to bear it with the 'love of Christmas' still safe within me. I hope I never lose it.

"I have something of the same feeling at Midnight Mass. I can forget the lights and the crowd around me and just take all my loved ones with me to this hidden place.

"This is why I love Christmas.

"God bless you and yours at Christmas always, in a special way – and in every way in the days that follow."