Day 4 of 12

scripture: Isaiah 53:3-5

Why Christmas Trees Are Not Perfect

by Dick Schneider

They say that if you creep into an evergreen forest late at night you can hear the trees talking. In the whisper of the wind you'll catch the older pines explaining to the younger ones why they'll never be perfectly shaped. There will always be a bent branch here, a gap there......

Long, long ago evergreens were perfect, with each taking pride in branches sloping evenly from crown to symmetrical skirt. This was particularly true in a small kingdom deep in Europe beyond the Carpathian Mountains.

On the first Saturday of Advent the Queen's woodsmen would search the royal evergreen forest for the most perfect tree. It would then reign in honor in the great castle hall, shimmering with silver balls and gold angels that sparkled in the light of thousands of candles.

While a huge Yule log chuckled and crackled, the royal family and villagers together would dance and sing around the tree in celebration.

Out in the hushed forest every evergreen vied for this honor, each endeavoring to grow its branches and needles to perfection. All strained at the task, fully concentrating on their form and appearance.

One cold night when a bright white moon glittered on the rusty snow as if it were strewn with millions of diamonds, a small rabbit limped into a grove of evergreens, its sides heaving in panic. Beyond the hill rose the yelping of village dogs in the thrill of the hunt. The rabbit, eyes wide with fright, frantically searched for cover, but found nothing among the dark trucks extending upward into branches that were artfully lifted from the snow. Faster and faster the cottontail circled as the excited yelping sounded louder and louder.

The trees looked askance at this interruption of their evening (when growing was at its best). And then a small pine shuddered. Of all the young trees, it had the promise of being the finest of the forest. Everything about it from its deep sea-green color to the curl of its branches was perfect. But now ... its lower branches began to dip, down, down to the ground. And in that instant before the slavering dogs broke into the clearing, the rabbit found safety within the evergreen screen.

In the morning the bunny found its burrow. But the little pine could not quite lift its branches. But no matter, perhaps a little irregularity in a tree so beautiful would not be noticed.

Then a powerful blizzard lashed the land. The villagers slammed shutters closed while the birds and animals huddled in nests and dens. A small wren, blown astray, desperately sought sanctuary in the evergreens. But each time she approached that tree, the pine clenched its branches tight like a fist.

Finally, in exhaustion, she fell into the little pine. The pine's heart opened, and so did its branches and the wren slept within them, warm and secure. But the pine had difficulty rearranging its branches. There would be a gap evermore.

Weeks passed and winter deepened, bringing a gale such as never before experienced in the mountains. It caught a small fawn who had wandered from its mother. Head down, blinded by snow, it inched into the evergreen seeking a windbreak. But the trees held their branches open so the wind could whistle through them without dangerously bending or breaking their limbs. Again the little pine took pity and now tightly closed its branches, forming an impenetrable wall behind which the fawn huddled out of the gale.

But alas, when the wind ceased, the small pine had been severely and permanently bent out of shape. A tear of pine gum oozed from a branch tip. Now it could never hope for the honor it had longed for since a seedling. Lost in despair, the little pine did not see the good Queen come into the forest. She had come to choose the finest tree herself.

As her royal sleigh slowly passed through the forest, her practiced eye scanned the evergreens now preening themselves. When she saw the little pine, a flush of anger filled her. What right had a tree with such defects to be in the royal forest? Reminding herself to have a woodsman dispose of it, she drove on, but then stopped and glanced back at it. As she gazed on it, she noticed the tracks of small animals that had found shelter under it, and a downy feather within its branches where a bird had nested. And as she studied the gaping hole in its side and its wind-whipped trunk, understanding filled her heart.

"This one," she said. Her attendants gasped. And to the astonishment of the forest, the little pine was borne to the great hall. And everyone who danced and sang around it said it was the finest Christmas yet. For in looking at its snarled and worn branches many saw the protecting arm of their father, others the comforting bosom of a mother, and some, as did the Queen, saw the love of the Gods expressed on earth.

So if you walk among evergreens today, you will find, along with rabbits, birds, and other happy living things, drooped branches providing cover, gaps offering nesting places, forms bent for wrestling winter winds. For as have many of us, the trees have learned that the scars suffered for the sake of others make one most beautiful in the eyes of the Gods.

Day 3 of 12

scripture: D&C 88:6-13

The Littlest Angel

Charles Tazewell

Once upon a time -- oh many, many years ago as time is calculated by men -- but which was only Yesterday in the Celestial Calendar of Heaven -- there was, in Paradise, a most miserable, thoroughly unhappy, and utterly dejected cherub who was known throughout Heaven as The Littlest Angel.

He was exactly four years, six months, five days, seven hours, and forty-two minutes of age when he presented himself to the venerable Gate-Keeper and waited for admittance to the Glorious Kingdom of God.

Standing defiantly, with his short brown legs wide apart, the Littlest Angel tried to pretend that he wasn't at all impressed by such Unearthly Splendor, and that he wasn't at all afraid. But his lower lip trembled, and a tear disgraced him by making a new furrow down his already tear-streaked face -- coming to a precipitous halt at the very tip end of his small freckled nose.

But that wasn't all. While the kindly Gate-Keeper was entering the name in his great Book, the Littlest Angel, having left home as usual without a handkerchief, endeavored to hide the tell-tale evident by snuffling. A most unangelic sound which so unnerved the good Gate-Keeper that he did something he had never done before in all Eternity. He blotted the page!

From that moment on, the Heavenly Peace was never quite the same, and the Littlest Angel soon became the despair of all the Heavenly Host. His shrill, ear-splitting whistle resounded at all hours through the Golden Streets. It startled the Patriarch Prophets and disturbed their meditations. Yes, and on top of that, he inevitably and vociferously sang off-key at the singing practice of the Heavenly Choir, spoiling its ethereal effect.

And, being so small that it seemed to take him just twice as long as anyone else to get to nightly prayers, the Littlest Angel always arrived late, and always knocked everyone's wings askew as he darted into his place.

Although these flaws in behavior might have been overlooked, the general appearance of the Littlest Angel was even more disreputable than his deportment. It was first whispered among the Seraphim and Cherubim, and then said aloud among the Angels and Archangels, that he didn't even look like an angel!

And they were all quite correct. He didn't. His halo was permanently tarnished where he held onto it with one hot little chubby hand when he ran, and he was always running.

Furthermore, even when he stood very still, it never behaved as a halo should. It was always slipping down over his right eye. Over his left eye. Or else, just for pure meanness, slipping off the back of his head and rolling away down some Golden Street just so he'd have to chase after it!

Yes, and it must be here recorded that his wings were neither useful nor ornamental. All Paradise held its breath when the Littlest Angel perched himself like an unhappy fledgling sparrow on the very edge of a gilded cloud and prepared to take off. He would teeter this way--and that way--but, after much coaxing and a few false starts, he would shut both of his eyes, hold his freckled nose, count up to three hundred and three, and then hurl himself slowly into space!

However, owing to the regrettable fact that he always forgot to move his wings, the Littlest Angel always fell head over halo!

It was also reported and never denied, that whenever he was nervous, which was most of the time, he bit his wing-tips! Now, anyone can easily understand why the Littlest Angel would, sooner or later, have to be disciplined.

And so, on an Eternal Day of an Eternal Month in the Year Eternal, he was directed to present his small self before an Angel of the Peace. The Littlest Angel combed his hair, dusted his wings and scrambled into an almost clean robe, and then, with a heavy heart, trudged his way to the place of judgment. He tried to postpone the dreaded ordeal by loitering along the Street of the Guardian Angels, pausing a few timeless moments to minutely pursue the long list of new arrivals, although all Heaven knew he couldn't read a word. And he idled more than several immortal moments to carefully examine a display of aureate harps, although everyone in the Celestial City knew he couldn't tell a crotchet from a semiquaver. But at length and at last he slowly approached a doorway which was surmounted by a pair of golden scales, signifying that Heavenly Justice was dispensed within. To the Littlest Angel's great surprise, he heard a merry voice, singing!

The Littlest Angel removed his halo and breathed upon it heavily, then polished it upon his robe, a procedure which added nothing to that garment's already untidy appearance, and then tip-toed in!

The Singer, who was known as the Understanding Angel, looked down at the small culprit, and the Littlest Angel instantly tried to make himself invisible by the ingenious process of withdrawing his head into the collar of his robe, very much like a snapping turtle.

At that, the Singer laughed, a jolly, heartwarming sound, and said, "Oh! So you're the one who's been making Heaven so unheavenly! Come here, cherub, and tell me all about it!" The Littlest Angel ventured a furtive look from beneath his robe.

First one eye. And then the other eye. Suddenly, almost before he knew it, he was perched on the lap of the Understanding Angel, and was explaining how very difficult it was for a boy who suddenly finds himself transformed into an angel. Yes, and no matter what the Archangels said, he'd only swung once. Well, twice. Oh, all right, then, he'd swung three times on the Golden Gates. But that was just for something to do!

That was the whole trouble. There wasn't anything for a small angel to do. And he was very homesick. Oh, not that Paradise wasn't beautiful! But the Earth was beautiful too! Wasn't it created by God, Himself? Why, there were trees to climb, and brooks to fish, and caves to play at pirate chief, the swimming hole, and sun, and rain, and dark, and dawn, and thick brown dust, so soft and warm beneath your feet!

The Understanding Angel smiled, and in his eyes was a long forgotten memory of another small boy long ago. Then he asked the Littlest Angel what would make him most happy in Paradise. The cherub thought for a moment, and whispered in his ear.

"There's a box. I left it under my bed back home. If only I could have that?"

The Understanding Angel nodded his head. "You shall have it," he promised. And fleet-winged Heavenly messenger was instantly dispatched to bring the box to Paradise.

And then, in all those timeless days that followed, everyone wondered at the great change in the Littlest Angel, for, among all the cherubs in God's Kingdom, he was the most happy. His conduct was above the slightest reproach. His appearance was all that the most fastidious could wish for. And on excursions to Elysian Fields, it could be said, and truly said, that he flew like an angel!

Then it came to pass that Jesus, the Son of God, was to be born of Mary, of Bethlehem, of Judea. And as the glorious tidings spread through Paradise, all the angels rejoiced and their voices were lifted to herald the Miracle of Miracles, the coming of the Christ Child.

The Angels and Archangels, the Seraphim and Cherubim, the Gate-Keeper, the Wingmaker, yes, and even the Halosmith put aside their usual tasks to prepare their gifts for the Blessed Infant. All but the Littlest Angel. He sat himself down on the topmost step of the Golden Stairs and anxiously waited for inspiration.

What could he give that would be most acceptable to the Son of God? At one time, he dreamed of composing a lyric hymn of adoration. But the Littlest Angel was woefully wanting in musical talent.

Then he grew tremendously excited over writing a prayer! A prayer that would live forever in the hearts of men, because it would be the first prayer ever to be heard by the Christ Child.

But the Littlest Angel was lamentably lacking in the literate skill. "What, oh what, could a small angel give that would please the Holy Infant?"

The time of the Miracle was very close at hand when the Littlest Angel at last decided on his gift. Then, on that Day of Days, he proudly brought it from its hiding place behind a cloud, and humbly, with downcast eyes, placed it before the Throne of God. It was only a small, rough, unsightly box, but inside were all those wonderful things that even a Child of God would treasure!

A small, rough, unsightly box, lying among all those other glorious gifts from all the angels of Paradise! Gifts of such rare and radiant splendor and breathless beauty that Heaven and all the Universe were lighted by the mere reflection of their glory!

And when the Littlest Angel saw this, he suddenly knew that his gift to God's Child was irreverent, and he devoutly wished he might reclaim his shabby gift. It was ugly. It was worthless. If only he could hide it away from the sight of God before it was even noticed!

But it was too late! The Hand of God moved slowly over all that bright array of shining gifts, then paused, then dropped, then came to rest on the lowly gift of the Littlest Angel!

The Littlest Angel trembled as the box was opened, and there, before the Eyes of God and all His Heavenly Host, was what he offered to the Christ Child.

And what was his gift to the Blessed Infant? Well, there was a butterfly with golden wings, captured one bright summer day on the high hills above Jerusalem, and a sky blue egg from a bird's nest in the olive tree that stood to shade his mother's kitchen door. yes, and two white stones, found on a muddy river bank, where he and his friends had played like small brown beavers, and, at the bottom of the box, a limp, tooth-marked leather strap, once worn as a collar by his mongrel dog, who had died as he had lived, in absolute love and infinite devotion.

The Littlest Angel wept hot, bitter tears, for now he knew that instead of honoring the Son of God, he had been most blasphemous.

Why had he ever thought the box was so wonderful?

Why had he dreamed that such utterly useless things would be loved by the Blessed Infant?

In frantic terror, he turned to run and hide from the Divine Wrath of the Heavenly Father, but he stumbled and fell, and with a horrified wail and clatter of halo, rolled into a ball of consummate misery to the very foot of the Heavenly Throne!

There was an ominous and dreadful silence in the Celestial City, a silence complete and undisturbed save for the heartbroken sobbing of the Littlest Angel.

Then suddenly, the Voice of God, like Divine Music, rose and swelled through Paradise!

And the Voice of God spoke, saying, "Of all the gifts of all the angels, I find that this small box pleases Me most. Its contents are of the Earth and of men, and My Son is born to be King of both. These are the things My Son, too, will know and love and cherish and then, regretfully, will leave behind Him when His task is done. I accept this gift in the Name of the Child, Jesus, born of Mary this night in Bethlehem."

There was a breathless pause, and then the rough, unsightly box of the Littlest Angel began to glow with a bright, unearthly light, then the light became a lustrous flame, and the flame became a radiant brilliance that blinded the eyes of all the angels!

None but the Littlest Angel saw it rise from its place before the Throne of God. And he, and only he, watched it arch the firmament to stand and shed its clear, white, beckoning light over a Stable where a Child was Born. There it shone on that Night of Miracles, and its light was reflected down the centuries deep in the heart of all mankind. Yet, earthly eyes, blinded, too, by its splendor, could never know that the lowly gift of the Littlest Angel was what all men would call forever "The Shining Star of Bethlehem!"

Day 2 of 12

scripture: Mosiah 3:5, 8-10

The Travelers

Margery S. Stewart

It was a hot, dusty, turbulent day in Bethlehem. The narrow, dirty streets were crowded with camels and donkeys and tired travelers. The women found it hard to draw water from the wells because of the press of the crowd.

At the inn, it seemed more brawling, more noisy, more dusty than anywhere else. We were filled from courtyard to gate, sleeping spaces as valuable as camels. It was a grim, endless day for me, for I must superintend the maids and the stable boys, and strive to keep a semblance of order about the place. My husband, Jasper, strode back and forth, shouting at the servants, browbeating the more humble of the travelers and berating me for a thousand and on things that had gone amiss.

"Dorcas!" thundered my husband for the dozenth time in an hour. "More men come seeking shelter. Turn them away."
I went swiftly, the anger and impatience in his voice taking seed in my heart and spourting swiftly into its own dark violence. "There is no room," I shouted, without waiting for their request. "No room at all."

There were fice of them, five dusty, bearded men. Their leader bowed. "But we have sickness among us, surely that makes a difference." I looked to where they pointed and saw an old woman lying in the dust of the street on an improvised litter. She was like my mother, little and fragile, the wrinkles like a veil over her face. I went to Jasper.

"There is an old one," I pleaded, "a little old one and very sick. Let us make room for her."

Jasper turned on me in rage, clawing his black beard. "I told you to send them away. Sick! There be many sick among them. That is no concern of ours. Send them away and ask me no more for any." He glared at me, his eyes cold and menacing under the eave of his brows.

I backed away. "As you say, Jasper." I went back to the gate. "There is no room." I shouted. "No room at all. Begone all of you! All of you!"

My shouting voice seemed to take all my strength with it. I leaned against the gate, shaken and sick: I was aware of someone standing beside me. I looked up.

He was a tall man, with a long brown beard, well flecked with gray. his eyes were brown, too. He wore a rough robe and carried a staff. There was a compelling quietness about him for all his dusty clothes, and his knotted hands and the dust upon his feet. "I must have a room," he said.

He did not nod with his head, no indicate in any way, but I looked past him as though drawn by the force of his concern and saw her. My first thought was wonder, that his wife should be so young, her face tender as a maids, with the clear color in it. She was sitting on a small gray donkey; her blue robes trailed down her side. She was with child, and I started, wondering that anyone would travel in such condition, until I remembered that all the travelers were under a decree and came not of choice.

I wrung my hands. "There isn't room." I said. "All day we have had to turn men away. There is no corner left."
"I must have room," said the tall traveler. "You are a woman, there is compassion in you for a sister in need."

"There is no room," I repeated heavily. "If I should ask my husband, his anger would lash on me, and for no good reason, for one cannot make space where there is none."
He turned instantly to her. "Let us go to the well, Mary. There be many there, you shall have fresh water and I will meet with many people. Surely we will find a place for you."

He picked up the reins and the small gray beast lifted his head and plodded on.

I should have gone in - there were linens to be counted, water pitchers to be filled, straw to be strewn. Instead I leaned against the gate following the blue robed figure in the malestrom of the street.

"Why stand you thus, dreaming?: Jasper demanded behind me, his voice rsping. "There is much to be done. One of the maids is sick and there is none to take her place at the milking."

"I will help," I said, and fled from his presence which was like darkness after sunlight.
It was quiet and cool in the stable. It had been built out of a great cave in the hills behind the inn. Jasper was a careful man with all his goods, and the stable was not less clean then the inn. I caught my breath and stared about me. With the cattle in their stalls and the floor swept and scrubbed, it would be a place - oh, better than the roadside and other places more dreadful, where the man Joseph might be driven to take the little Mary.

I caught up the bucket of milk and carried it to the kitchen. I said to Miriam, the cook, "I will go for the water this evening."

She nodded her covered head. "Aye", and I caught up the pitcher, put it on my shoulder and hurried out of the inn, into the whirling current of the street. The crowd around the well was deeper than it had been at noonday. The faces here were troubled and very tired. The man, Joseph was talking to Marya, the widow. She had a large house.
But she shook her head abruptly and turned away from him.

So they still had no place at all. I stepped forward. "Sir," I said, "I have a room."
Even in his great anxiety, his turning was quiet.

"It is a very poor place, in the stable, but I will scrub it myself, and sweep and prepare a place for you."

Joseph touched my shoulder, "You are kind," he said, "But a stable...for Mary? I will look further..."

Mary leaned down from the donkey. "There is no time, Joseph, we must take it and be grateful for it."

I said, "I will run ahead and prepare a bed for you."

I forced my way through the crowd about the well, let down my pitcher, drew of the cold delicious water and hurried through the crowds back to the inn. I should have asked Jasper first. What if he turned on me and ordered me to send them away again?

"Jasper," I said, giving the pitcher to Miriam, "There is a favor I would ask of you."

He threw down his napkin. "Always you come whining for favors when my mind is reeling with all the things my guests have asked me to do. Well, what is it?"

"The stable," I said, "Is a clean, quiet place. I thought I might give it to pilgrims for the night. At least they would have shelter."

"No!" shouted Jasper, and then his face grew still and speculative. "They would have to pay for it, the same as any room."

"They would pay, Jasper. I would see to that."

He rose and wiped his mouth. "Then fill the stable if you like. I care not."

All the weariness the day had fastened upon me vanished like an oxen yoke lifted by the master. I seized brooms and brushes and wooden buckets.

The floor was still damp when Mary and Joseph bent their heads to enter the low door, but the place had the clean smell of a fresh scrubbing. I was making a bed of straw.

"Miriam," I said, "run swiftly to the house and get me linens and a coverlet." I gave her the key. "But this key is to your good linens," She said.

"You have the key," I said coldly, and went forward to receive the guests. Mary looked all about. "How quiet it is," she said, "and cool.

Joseph looked troubled. "But a stable." He protested, "Mary, Mary, this is no place for thee."

"Peace Joseph, it shall be well with me."

I said, "I...found a little manger you might use. I filled it with straw."
Mary looked to where I pointed. She smiled and went slowly and heavily to the rough, makeshift crib and touched it. Her fingers pressed down the straw. "I will put my robe under him, folded several times. It will make a good bed."

She straightened and was still. Her eyes closed and the whiteness ran into her lips. I took her arm. "Come, sit here on this stool until I make your bed."
She straightened and was still. Her eyes closed and the whiteness ran into her lips. I took her arm. "Come, sit here on this stool until I make your bed."
Miriam came bustling in, her arms filled with linens. Together we made the bed and stretched Mary upon it and covered her over with the coverlet, one never used before, one I had woven the previous winter.

Miriam looked down on Mary. "Poor, poor child. What a pity she couldn't have had her baby at home, in her own home, under her own roof, with her people near."
"The weariness of the journey makes a double portion," I said. "Do go swiftly and bring her a cup of your good soup, and some of the bread you baked this afternoon."
I said to Joseph, "Build a fire outside the stable and put water on to boil. This night will be a busy one for us all."

And so it was, the hours grinding away, and no noise at all in the stable except the blowing of the cattle and the stamping of their feet and the unheard sound of pain that women know. I knew. I had borne two and lost them both...I knew well the wracking of the flesh when they came and the tearing of the soul when they were taken away. But this I had not known before, that such a hush should come, that the stillness would grow and deepen until we talked seldom, and then only in whispers. The great hush that was in us all and in the humble room deepened and deepened and grew in intensity, until Miriam and I could only speak with our eyes as we bent above Mary.

We smoothed her forehead in silence and we held her hands. Then suddenly in the night, in the hush and the quietness, the child was born.

I held him and he cried, the new child cry, that is like no other in all the world. My arms circled him about, hungrily, loving his smallness and perfectness. My eyes marveled over him, seeing in him the seed from which the tree of the man grow. Seeing in him the buds of his hearing and sight that would open and unfurl and see and har, knowing that in him beat the perfect and untouched heart that would grow and know suffering and happiness and grief and be scarred with many scars before it should be still.

"This is not a usual child," I said to Miriam, as I bathed him.

"They say that always," said Miriam soberly, "and yet I say with you, this is not a usual child."

One of the maids came running with the summons from Jasper that he wanted me at once.

I rose and brought the child to Mary. She opened her eyes when she felt me standing beside her and smiled and held out her hands for the baby.

"It is a son," I said.
"I know."

Running along the pathway to the inn, I marveled that she had said that. How could she have known.

When I returned from the inn, two hours later, in the stable, all was still. Joseph sat beside Mary's bed, not speaking; the baby slept in the manger. I tiptoed over to look at him. he slept sweetly, small, mysteriously as all babies are mysterious, beautiful as new babies are, with their small curled fists and closed eyes and tender skin.

Suddenly there was a commotion at the door. Joseph rose up instantly and I went behind him. We peered out in the darkness and saw the torches coming along the path from the Inn. Joseph stepped out. the men surged forward. "Whom do you seek?" Joseph asked quietly.

The leader stepped forward, a great, rugged man. "We seek a child, born this night in Bethlehem."

Joseph said, after a moment, "There is here a child born this night."

The four men behind the leader fell back. They murmured one to another and tears gleamed on their harsh bearded cheeks.

The leader spoke gruffly, tears thickening his voice. "This night we wer ewatching our sheep on the hills east of Bethlehem...suddenly...suddenly an angel of the Lord appeared unto us."

"We were sore afraid," murmured the shepherds, crowding behind him, "sore afraid."
The leader nodded. "It is like a sword in the bosom to behold an angel of God. But he said unto us, to fear not, but to be of great joy, for unto us is born, this night, in the city of David, a Saviour, who is...Christ...the Lord."

"Oh, no!" I fell back from his word. I looked from the ragged man in the darkness to the baby in the manger, his small face lighted by the candle burning beside him.

"But the Great One cometh in clouds of glory, in a golden chariot." I whispered.

The grizzled leader nodded. "So thought we all, until this night. Christ...the Lord, in a manger. But there was not only this angel, but the skies were filled with a multitude..." his voice deepened with wonder and tears crowded him, "a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and singing, "Peace on earth, good will toward men."

"Peace on earth." I whispered. I trembled there in the cave.
Joseph stepped aside. "The child lieth in the manger."

One of the men pushed forward. "That spoke the angel also, 'and this shall be a sign unto you, that you will find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.'"

They came forward hesitantly their faces shining, tears wet on their cheeks. They knelt beside the manger and prayed and worshipped the baby. I wept, too, standing back in the shadows. There was a glory in the night that filled my heart and overflowed through all my being.

Jasper woke when I crept into the room. "Where have you been, Dorcas?"
"In the stable with a young mother who had her first child," I told him, "A beautiful boy!"
Jasper grunted. "Ther is strange tales that go about the streets. They say shepherds came down from the hills seeking a first born son, saying he was the Savior...Christ the Lord."

I caught my breath. "The came to the stable." I whispered. "They worshipped the child."
Jasper sat up. "Preposterous!" he exploded. "Blasphemy. Have no more to do with them. Do you hear!"

"But Japser, I was there. There was a glory. I felt it. Why should it be so strange? Moses was fished from the river...Samuel, the prophet, was a little lad when he heard the voice of God...humble ones."

Jasper pounded his fist in his palm. "But I know, Dorcas. I know. Emmanuel shall not come in humble fashion, but in a chariot of gold. He shall ride out of the skies and deliver us from our enemies."

"Yes, Jasper...but this..."
"You doubt me, we woman, small woman! You doubt me?!"

"No Jasper...only...only." I lay on my pallet. The night swept back and forth in my mind, all the small details. The shepherds' rough robes, and the broken sandal on the leader's foot. mary's face, pale with pain in the candlelight. The hush before the birth. The angel's song. "Peace on earth...god will toward men..." I turned on my pillow and prayed, but I was only a woman, childless and lonely, not greatly loved by my husband.

Sleep would not come. I rose at last and put on my robes and went softly out into the dawning. The world was very still. In the courtyard the shepherds knelt in prayer, before they hastened back to the hills.

I went along the path to the stables. Inside all was dark. Joseph slept on a pallet by the door. Mary slept in the bed we had made for her, one arm thrown across her face. The baby slept, too, the light, lovely sleep of new, little ones.

I looked at him for a long time, and then, I too, dropped to my knees, for within me, not from without, came the singing knowledge, the beauty and the promise.

I touched the forehead, small and fair beneath my work-coursened finger. "Sleep well, little one...sleep well...Long lieth the road before Thee."

Day 1 of 12

scripture: Matthew 18:20

Truce in the Forest

Fritz Vincken

It was Christmas Eve,
and the last, desperate German offensive of
World War II raged around our tiny cabin.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door...

When we heard the knock on our door that Christmas Eve in 1944, neither Mother nor I had the slightest inkling of the quiet miracle that lay in store for us.

I was 12 then, and we were living in a small cottage in the Hürtgen Forest, near the German-Belgian border. Father had stayed at the cottage on hunting weekends before the war; when Allied bombers partly destroyed our hometown of Aachen, he sent us to live there. He had been ordered into the civil-defense fire guard in the border town of Monschau, four miles away.

"You'll be safe in the woods," he had told me. "Take care of Mother. Now you're the man of the family."

But, nine days before Christmas, Field Marshal von Rundstedt had launched the last, desperate German offensive of the war, and now, as I went to the door, the Battle of the Bulge was raging all around us. We heard the incessant booming of field guns; planes soared continuously overhead; at night, searchlights stabbed through the darkness. Thousands of Allied and German soldiers were fighting and dying nearby.

When that first knock came, Mother quickly blew out the candles; then, as I went to answer it, she stepped ahead of me and pushed open the door. Outside, like phantoms against the snowclad trees, stood two steel-helmeted men. One of them spoke to Mother in a language we did not understand, pointing to a third man lying in the snow. She realized before I did that these were American soldiers. Enemies!

Mother stood silent, motionless, her hand on my shoulder. They were armed and could have forced their entrance, yet they stood there and asked with their eyes. And the wounded man seemed more dead than alive. "Kommt rein," Mother said finally. "Come in." The soldiers carried their comrade inside and stretched him out on my bed.

None of them understood German. Mother tried French, and one of the soldiers could converse in that language. As Mother went to look after the wounded man, she said to me, "The fingers of those two are numb. Take off their jackets and boots, and bring in a bucket of snow." Soon I was rubbing their blue feet with snow.

We learned that the stocky, dark- haired fellow was Jim; his friend, tall and slender, was Robin. Harry, the wounded one, was now sleeping on my bed, his face as white as the snow outside. They'd lost their battalion and had wandered in the forest for three days, looking for the Americans, hiding from the Germans. They hadn't shaved, but still, without their heavy coats, they looked merely like big boys. And that was the way Mother began to treat them.

Now Mother said to me, "Go get Hermann. And bring six potatoes."
This was a serious departure from our pre-Christmas plans. Hermann was the plump rooster(named after portly Hermann G ring, Hitler's No. 2, for whom Mother had little affection) that we had been fattening for weeks in the hope that Father would be home for Christmas. But, some hours before, when it was obvious that Father would not make it, Mother had decided that Hermann should live a few more days, in case Father could get home for New Year's. Now she had changed her mind again: Hermann would serve an immediate, pressing purpose.

While Jim and I helped with the cooking, Robin took care of Harry. He had a bullet through his upper leg, and had almost bled to death. Mother tore a bedsheet into long strips for bandages.

Soon, the tempting smell of roast chicken permeated our room. I was setting the table when once again there came a knock at the door.

Expecting to find more lost Americans, I opened the door without hesitation. There stood four soldiers, wearing uniforms quite familiar to me after five years of war. They were Wehrmacht¡ªGermans!

I was paralyzed with fear. Although still a child, I knew the harsh law: sheltering enemy soldiers constituted high treason. We could all be shot! Mother was frightened, too. Her face was white, but she stepped outside and said, quietly, "Fröhliche Weihnachten." The soldiers wished her a Merry Christmas, too.

"We have lost our regiment and would like to wait for daylight," explained the corporal. "Can we rest here?"
"Of course," Mother replied, with a calmness born of panic. "You can also have a fine, warm meal and eat till the pot is empty."

The Germans smiled as they sniffed the aroma through the half-open door. "But," Mother added firmly, "we have three other guests, whom you may not consider friends." Now her voice was suddenly sterner than I'd ever heard it before. "This is Christmas Eve, and there will be no shooting here."

"Who's inside?" the corporal demanded. "Amerikaner?"

Mother looked at each frost-chilled face. "Listen," she said slowly. "You could be my sons, and so could those in there. A boy with a gunshot wound, fighting for his life. His two friends¡ªlost like you and just as hungry and exhausted as you are. This one night," she turned to the corporal and raised her voice a little, "this Christmas night, let us forget about killing."

The corporal stared at her. There were two or three endless seconds of silence. Then Mother put an end to indecision. "Enough talking!" she ordered and clapped her hands sharply. "Please put your weapons here on the woodpile¡ªand hurry up before the others eat the dinner!"

Dazedly, the four soldiers placed their arms on the pile of firewood just inside the door: three carbines, a light machine gun and two bazookas. Meanwhile, Mother was speaking French rapidly to Jim. He said something in English, and to my amazement I saw the American boys, too, turn their weapons over to Mother.

Now, as Germans and Americans tensely rubbed elbows in the small room, Mother was really on her mettle. Never losing her smile, she tried to find a seat for everyone. We had only three chairs, but Mother's bed was big, and on it she placed two of the newcomers side by side with Jim and Robin.
Despite the strained atmosphere, Mother went right on preparing dinner. But Hermann wasn't going to grow any bigger, and now there were four more mouths to feed. "Quick," she whispered to me, "get more potatoes and some oats. These boys are hungry, and a starving man is an angry one."

While foraging in the storage room, I heard Harry moan. When I returned, one of the Germans had put on his glasses to inspect the American's wound. "Do you belong to the medical corps?" Mother asked him. "No," he answered. "But I studied medicine at Heidelberg until a few months ago." Thanks to the cold, he told the Americans in what sounded like fairly good English, Harry's wound hadn't become infected. "He is suffering from a severe loss of blood," he explained to Mother. "What he needs is rest and nourishment."

Relaxation was now beginning to replace suspicion. Even to me, all the soldiers looked very young as we sat there together. Heinz and Willi, both from Cologne, were 16. The German corporal, at 23, was the oldest of them all. From his food bag he drew out a bottle of red wine, and Heinz managed to find a loaf of rye bread. Mother cut that in small pieces to be served with the dinner; half the wine, however, she put away¡ª"for the wounded boy."

Then Mother said grace. I noticed that there were tears in her eyes as she said the old, familiar words, "Komm, Herr Jesus. Be our guest." And as I looked around the table, I saw tears, too, in the eyes of the battle-weary soldiers, boys again, some from America, some from Germany, all far from home.

Just before midnight, Mother went to the doorstep and asked us to join her to look up at the Star of Bethlehem. We all stood beside her except Harry, who was sleeping. For all of us during that moment of silence, looking at the brightest star in the heavens, the war was a distant, almost-forgotten thing.

Our private armistice continued next morning. Harry woke in the early hours, and swallowed some broth that Mother fed him. With the dawn, it was apparent that he was becoming stronger. Mother now made him an invigorating drink from our one egg, the rest of the corporal's wine and some sugar. Everyone else had oatmeal. Afterward, two poles and Mother's best tablecloth were fashioned into a stretcher for Harry.
The corporal then advised the Americans how to find their way back to their lines.

Looking over Jim's map, the corporal pointed out a stream. "Continue along this creek," he said, "and you will find the 1st Army rebuilding its forces on its upper course." The medical student relayed the information in English.

"Why don't we head for Monschau?" Jim had the student ask. "Nein!" the corporal exclaimed. "We've retaken Monschau."
Now Mother gave them all back their weapons. "Be careful, boys," she said. "I want you to get home someday where you belong. God bless you all!" The German and American soldiers shook hands, and we watched them disappear in opposite directions.

When I returned inside, Mother had brought out the old family Bible. I glanced over her shoulder. The book was open to the Christmas story, the Birth in the Manger and how the Wise Men came from afar bearing their gifts. Her finger was tracing the last line from Matthew 2:12: "...they departed into their own country another way."

Heat Up Your Ovens, Ladies!

Its finally here... the moment you've all been waiting for!  Our Relief Society cookbook is complete and ready for your viewing!
Due to budget and for your convenience, we have decided to do a digital cookbook.  The link is here:

COOKBOOK

The virtual copy includes inner-links, so if you go to the table of contents and click on the section you're looking for it will take you right to that page.You've also received a copy in your email.  Feel free to print or download and use how you would like. 

Thanks so much to everyone who contributed to this project, for the recipes, for collecting them, for typing them up... especially Nova Keller and Amanda Burton... and whomever else has put their efforts into helping us all along our cooking paths.  I know my "barbie oven" is preheating as I type! :)

:laurab.

Sept 4th Announcements

If there are any announcements missing, please contact Lucetta

10th, this Saturday is the Stake Day of Service.  The day will start with a light breakfast at 8:30 at the church, please feel free to bring neighbors and friends to come and help and enjoy the activity.
The primary kids will be working on their own project, while the adults will be working on other service.  The stake primary is still looking for volunteers to help the primary children put school kits together.  Please contact Lucetta if you can help.  The activity has been announced to be from 10-12 but because it will start right after the breakfast, they think it will be from 9:30-11:30.
Please come and enjoy the light-hearted feeling that comes with serving others.

The 'Parade of Homes' activity is scheduled for the morning of Saturday the 17th. (probably around 10-10:30, more details Sunday)  Please come and enjoy seeing other decorating or furniture arranging ideas.

There is a Priesthood leadership training the morning of the 17th, before the Parade of Homes.  

August 7th Announcements

Welcome to the new sisters, please help them feel welcome!

August 28th the Stake primary is going to need 7 volunteers from the stake to teach primary to the Thai ward.  There will be a sign up sheet  in the binder soon, please keep an eye out. 

September 10th Primary Service Activity (in coordination with the stake day or service).  The kids will be putting together school kits.  They are needing donations:

*Unsharpened Pencils

*Rubber pencil Erasers (aprox 1x2 in)

*Straight edge rulers (12 in., with Metric)

*colored pencil sets (at least 12 per set, approx 7 in.)

*pencil sharpeners

*blunt nosed scissors with metal blades

*glued or spiral bound notebooks with lined sheets, 8 x 10.5 or 8.5 x 11

If you have kids in primary, you may send any items with them.  Otherwise there will be a drop box in the primary room where you can drop off your donations.

Also the stake will need 25 volunteers to help the kids build the school kits.

Thank you for your help!

If you have questions about this activity please contact Jana Scott (if you didn't get a flier, contact Lucetta and she will give you Jana's contact information)

August 11th, THIS THURSDAY! Canning, Freezer jam and spices activity...  starts at 6:30 at the church, please come and enjoy some samples...

August 21st there will be a Pot luck dessert linger longer in the 1200 court at 1:pm.  Bring a dessert to share if you can, if you can't please come and enjoy desserts and company of others.

Choir today at 3pm in the apartment 1503.

File Folder Games: Lucetta has several file folder games, both educational and spiritual.  If you are interested, there are sign up sheets in the binders, or contact Lucetta.