Quote from Forum Archives on December 18, 2003, 10:18 am

Posted by: bigguyhereagain <bigguyhereagain@...>

 

*** Dear Mom *** 
 
  We're still in Bethlehem -- Mary and I and little Jesus.
 
  There were lots of things I couldn't talk to you about last summer.
  You wouldn't have believed me then, but maybe I can tell you now. I
  hope you can understand.
 
  You know, Mom, I've always loved Mary. You and dad used to tease me
  about her when she was still a girl. She and her brothers used to
  play on our street. Our families got together for supper. But the
  hardest day of my life came scarcely a year ago when I was twenty
  and she only fifteen. You remember that day, don't you?
 
  The trouble started after we were betrothed and signed the marriage
  agreement at our engagement. That same spring Mary had left abruptly
  to visit her old cousin Elizabeth in Judea. She was gone three whole
  months. After she got back, people started wondering out loud if she
  were pregnant.
 
  It was cloudy the day when I finally confronted her with the gossip.
  "Mary," I asked at last, "are you going to have a baby?"
 
  Her clear brown eyes met mine. She nodded.
 
  I didn't know what to say. "Who?" I finally stammered.
 
  Mom, Mary and I had never acted improperly--even after we were
  betrothed.
 
  Mary looked down. "Joseph," she said. "There's no way I can explain.
  You couldn't understand. But I want you to know I've never cared for
  anyone but you." She got up, gently took my hands in hers, kissed
  each of them as if it were the last time she would ever do that again,
  and then turned towards home. She must have been dying inside. I know
  I was.
 
  The rest of the day I stumbled through my chores. It's a wonder I
  didn't hurt myself in the woodshop. At first I was angry and pounded
  out my frustrations on the doorframe I was making. My thoughts
  whirled so fast I could hardly keep my mind on my work. At last I
  decided just to end the marriage contract with a quiet divorce. I
  loved her too much to make a public scene.
 
  I couldn't talk to you. Or anyone, for that matter. I went to bed
  early and tried to sleep. Her words came to me over and over. "I've
  never cared for anyone but you.... I've never cared for anyone but
  you...." How I wished I could believe her!
 
  I don't know when I finally fell asleep. Mom, I had a dream from God.
  An angel of the Lord came to me. His words pulsated through my mind
  so intensely I can remember them as if it were yesterday.
 
  "Joseph, son of David," he thundered, "do not fear to take Mary home
  as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit."
 
  I couldn't believe my ears, Mom. This was the answer! The angel
  continued, "She will give birth to a son, and you are to give Him
  the name Jesus, because He will save His people from their sins."
 
  The angel gripped my shoulders with his huge hands. For a long moment
  his gaze pierced deep within me. Just as he turned to go, I think
  I saw a smile on his shining face.
 
  I sat bolt upright in bed. No sleep after that! I tossed about for a
  while, going over the words in my mind. Then I got up and dressed
  quietly so I wouldn't wake you.
 
  I must have walked for miles beneath the moonless sky. Stars pricked
  the blackness like a thousand tiny pinpoints. A warm breeze blew on
  my face.
 
  I sang to the Lord, Mom. Yes, me, singing, if you can imagine that.
  I couldn't contain my joy. I told Him that I would take Mary and
  care for her. I told Him I would watch over her--and the child--no
  matter what anyone said.
 
  I got back just as the sun kissed the hilltops. I don't know if you
  still recall that morning, Mom. I can see it in my mind's eye as if
  it were yesterday. You were feeding the chickens, surprised to see
  me out. Remember?
 
  "Sit down," I said to you. "I've got to tell you something." I took
  your arm and helped you find a seat on the big rock out back. "Mom,"
  I said, "I'm going to bring Mary home as my wife. Can you help make
  a place for her things?"
 
  You were silent a long time. "You do know what they're saying, don't
  you, son?" you said at last, your eyes glistening.
 
  "Yes, Mom, I know."
 
  Your voice started to rise. "If your father were still alive, he'd
  have some words, I'll tell you. Going about like that before you
  are married. Disgracing the family and all. You... you and Mary
  ought to be ashamed of yourselves!"
 
  You'd never have believed me if I'd tried to explain, so I didn't.
  Unless the angel had spoken to you, you'd have laughed me to scorn.
 
  "Mom, this is the right thing to do," I said.
 
  And then I started talking to you as if I were the head of the house.
  "When she comes I don't want one word to her about it," I sputtered.
  "She's your daughter-in-law, you'll respect her. She'll need your
  help if she's to bear the neighbors' wagging tongues!"
 
  I'm sorry, Mom. You didn't deserve that. You started to get up in a huff.
 
  "Mom," I murmured, "I need you." You took my hand and got to your feet,
  but the fire was gone from your eyes.
 
  "You can count on me, Joseph," you told me with a long hug. And you
  meant it. I never heard another word. No bride could hope for a better
  mother-in-law than you those next few months.
 
  Mom, after I left you I went up the road to Mary's house and knocked.
  Her mother glared at me as she opened the door. Loudly, harshly she
  called into the house, "It's Joseph!" almost spitting out my name as
  she said it.
 
  My little Mary came out cringing, as if she expected me give her the
  back of my hand, I suppose. Her eyes were red and puffy. I can just
  imagine what her parents had said.
 
  We walked a few steps from the house. She looked so young and afraid.
  "Pack your things, Mary," I told her gently. "I'm taking you home to
  be my wife."
 
  "Joseph!" She hugged me as tight as she could. Mom, I didn't realize
  she was so strong.
 
  I told her what I'd been planning. "We'll go to Rabbi Ben- Ezer's house
  this week and have him perform the ceremony."
 
  I know it was awfully sudden, Mom, but I figured the sooner we got
  married the better it would be for her, and me, and the baby.
 
  "Mary, even if our friends don't come, at least you and I can pledge
  our love before God." I paused. "I think my Mom will be there. And
  maybe your friend Rebecca would come if her dad will let her. How
  about your parents?"
 
  I could feel Mary's tiny frame shuddering as she sobbed quietly.
 
  "Mary," I said. I could feel myself speaking more boldly. "No matter
  what anyone says about you, I'm proud you're going to be my wife.
  I'm going to take good care of you. I've promised God that."
 
  She looked up.
 
  I lowered my voice. "I had a dream last night, Mary. I saw an angel.
  I know."
 
  The anguish which had gripped her face vanished. She was radiant as
  we turned away from the house and began to walk up the hill together.
 
  Just then her mother ran out into the yard. "Wait," she called. She
  must have been listening from behind the door. Tears were streaming
  down her cheeks.
 
  "I'll get your father," she called, almost giddy with emotion. "We,"
  she cried as she gathered up her skirts. "We," she shouted as she
  began to run to find her husband. "We ... are going to have a wedding!"
 
  That's how it was, Mom. Thanks for being there for us. I'll write again soon.
 
  Love, Joseph

 

*** A Christmas Story ***

Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their
means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who
were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him
that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving.
 
It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the
world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to
buy me the rifle that I'd wanted so bad that year for Christmas.
 
We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa
wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible. So after supper
was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace
and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still feeling sorry
for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read Scriptures.
But Pa didn't get the Bible; instead he bundled up and went outside. I
couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I
didn't worry about it long though; I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.
 
Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in
his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out
tonight."
 
I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas,
now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I
could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of
anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this. But
I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd told
them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap,
coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave
the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what.
 
Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the
work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going
to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never
hitched up the big sled unless we were going to haul a big load. Pa was
already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside
him.
 
The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy.
 
When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front
of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high
sideboards," he said. "Here, help me."
 
The high sideboards! It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with
just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a
lot bigger with the high sideboards on.
 
When we had exchanged the sideboards Pa went into the woodshed and came
out with an armload of wood---the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from
the mountain, and then all fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was
he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?"
 
"You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked.
 
The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had
died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being
eight. Sure, I'd been by, but so what? "Yeah," I said, "why?"
 
"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in
the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt." That
was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for
another armload of wood. I followed him.
 
We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be
able to pull it. Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the
smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed
them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait. When he returned
he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller
sack of something in his left hand. "What's in the little sack?" I asked.
 
"Shoes. They're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped
around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the
children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a
little candy."
 
We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried
to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly
standards.
 
Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now
was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split
before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare
that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes
and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer
neighbors than us. It shouldn't have been our concern.
 
We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood
as quietly as possible, and then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the
door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is
it?"
 
"Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?"
 
Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped
around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were
sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any
heat at all. Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.
 
"We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of
flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had
the shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair
at a time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the children---sturdy
shoes, the best, shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her
lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started
running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say
something, but it wouldn't come out.
 
"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said, then he turned to me and
said, "Matt, go bring enough in to last for awhile. Let's get that fire
up to size and heat this place up."
 
I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had
a big lump in my throat and, much as I hate to admit it, there were tears
in my eyes too. In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the
fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her
cheeks and so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak. My
heart swelled within me and a joy filled my soul that I'd never known before. I
had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so
much difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of these
people.
 
I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids
started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen
looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time.
She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord himself
has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one
of his angels to spare us."
 
In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled
up in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before,
but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I
was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started
remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and
many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.
 
Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed
when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. Then
I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would make
sure he got the right sizes.
 
Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to
leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They
clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could see that they missed their
pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.
 
At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to
invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The
turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous
if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about
eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here,
hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two older
brothers and two older sisters were all married and had moved away.
 
Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles. I don't have to
say, "'May the Lord bless you,' I know for certain that He will."
 
Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't
even notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said,
"Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a
little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for
you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a
little money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and
me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I
started into town this morning to do just that. But on the way I saw
little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny
sacks and I knew what I had to do. So, Son, I spent the money for shoes
and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand."
 
I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very
well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Just then the rifle seemed very
low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the
look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children.
For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a
block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I
felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a
rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.

Rian B. Anderson

 

Dave and Barbara

 

 

 

Necessary Legal Information

I do not mail idea-central  unsolicited. If you are receiving this newsletter from me it's because you have subscribed to this mailing list. If you receive this newsletter and are not a subscriber then someone, other than me, has forwarded it to you.

 

Normal Subscribe:	idea-central-subscribe@welovegod.org
Normal Unsubscribe:	idea-central-unsubscribe@welovegod.org
Web Subscribe:	idea-central-allow-subscribe@welovegod.org
Web Unsubscribe:	idea-central-allow-unsubscribe@welovegod.org
Email Group Owner:	idea-central-owner@associate.com