In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it. He came unto his own, and his own received him not...He came to what which was his own, but his own did not receive him. Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God - children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband's will, but born of God. The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.
(John 1:1-5, 11-14 (NIV))
The Gift I Gave Away
I was hurrying home from church on Christmas Eve when I heard the singing. Ethereal and uncanny, it stopped me still in the snow - for the singing was coming from the porch of Gussie's ramshackle house.
The snow softened the harshness of the "brick bottom" area in Boston where I lived. Here you had to be brick hard to exist. And that usually meant fighting Gussie, my enemy.
My stomach would tighten every time I'd approach his house. Usually he'd come at me, fists ready.
But that night Gussie was standing out there by himself singing Christmas carols. The house was dark. His mother had long since headed for the Charlestown saloons.
His thin voice sounded so pitiful. I found myself drawn to him.
"Whadyawant?" he demanded.
"How...how about coming home with me?"
"Naah. 'Drather stay here."
"What's the matter - you afraid?"
"Who says I'm afraid!" Soon we were throwing snowballs at each other as we made our way home. Mother welcomed us.
Our house was warm with laughter and pungent smells. After dinner it was time for an exchange of gifts. Gussie hung in the background.
Then a voice boomed, "Well, here's my little matey!" I looked up to see my Uncle John, a deck officer on one of the Boston ships. "Look what I brought you." he roared, holding out a real seaman's pea jacket.
My heart leaped. Seafaring men were heroes to Boston boys.
I put it on; then saw Gussie watching. Written on his face was hunger for all the things he could never attain, a home where laughter flowed, a father. He didn't even have an uncle.
I turned to my uncle. "Uh, it's great, Uncle John. But it's a little big." I hunched my shoulders and my hands disappeared.
He laughed. "Maybe your dad can wear it."
"Well," I ventured, "how about my friend Gussie here?"
Uncle John was perceptive. "Say, mate," he called, "are you man enough to wear this pea jacket?"
Gussie about leaped across the room. As he put it on, I could see him literally growing into it.
Later, when mom was snuffing out the tree candles, I said goodbye to Gussie and watched him walk out into the snow. Soon after, he and his mother moved away.
Years passed. In 1942, a week before Christmas, I was hurrying down 42nd Street in New York City one night. Suddenly a tall uniformed figure walking ahead of me caught my eye. It was Gussie, wearing the gold braid of a merchant marine senior officer. I hailed him.
He had only an hour before his ship sailed so we ducked into a restaurant for a cup of coffee. I learned that his mother had died after they moved. "But," he said quietly, "by then I knew what I wanted to do with my life."
Our time went by too quickly. As we put on our coats I said, "You look great in that uniform, Gussie."
"Well," he said, smiling, a far-away look in his eyes, "it's okay for dress. But when I'm up on the bridge and feel cold and alone, I put on a very old pea jacket someone gave me a long time ago."
We shook hands and he quickly turned his head - and stepped out into the snow.
By Henry Chequer, Jr.
Not Among Strangers
When I awoke in the army hospital, it all seemed like a bad dream. The explosion as our jeep passed over the mine, drifting in and out of consciousness as i was rushed to the hospital, the vague awareness that I had broken bones and a concussion.
But I was going to be all right. Thank You, God, thank You! Then I began to wonder what day it was. Our unit had started out December 23rd. That was 48 hours ago. Then today was December 25th. Christmas!
I thought of my wife who was expecting our first child. Was there any news?
A ward boy whistled nearby while he handed out mail. He stopped at my bedside. "Do you think you can stand some mail from home?"
I grabbed the packet. The letters from my sisters and friends I put aside for later. Of the half-dozen from my wife, I chose the one with the latest date, November 30th, and tore it open.
"Dearest love,
Please be careful now because there is a little girl who wants to see you very much. She weighs six pounds, eight ounces..."
I was a father!
Through the blur of tears I saw a face hovering over mine. "What's wrong?" the nurse asked apprehensively. Too choked up to speak, I handed her my letter. She read it, patted my shoulder and left.
The longing for home was stronger than ever now. I should be with my wife and my daughter on Christmas Day! I should be with those whom I love and who love me, not among strangers who do not care, I thought.
I lay back staring at the ceiling, engulfed by loneliness.
Hours later, an irritating squeak broke through my lonely reverie. The wand boy was back, this time pushing a cart. There were two nurses with him and a doctor and another ward boy.
What was wrong? Then, on the cart, I saw it, the most beautiful cake in the world. The words on it read, "Congratulations, Daddy!"
Someone had cared enough to salvage a sad Christmas for one lonely soldier. In spite of the war and hatred in our world, gentleness and concern can still prevail.
By Mario Picarelli
May the season's blessings,
Drift like Christmas snow,
Against your threshold and your sills;
And seal the yuletide glow
Within your household and your hearts,
Shut out each doubt and fear;
And linger to sustain you
Throughout the coming year.
By Kay L. Halliwill
