Christmas Stories

Christmas stories can evoke such an emotional response. As they express the meaning and the gift of Jesus, they can touch all our senses. The sights, smells, textures, tastes, and sounds of Christmas can be expressed so well with words, given from the pen of gifted writers and those who express from their hearts. My personal library contains volumes of books dedicated to just Christmas stories. Notebooks of Christmas stories collected over the years and stacks of children's Christmas books grace the shelves. But of all the stories, my favorite is the one I have posted below. I first read it as a teen-ager who's task it was to read and analyze it for a literature class. It's meaning touched my heart. It became my favorite and continues to be so to this day. I hope you enjoy it and are blessed by it as I was.

The Gift of the Magi

One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas. There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad. In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young." The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good. Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag.

She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art. Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length. Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet. On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie." "Will you buy my hair?" asked Della. "I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it. "Down rippled the brown cascade. "Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand. "Give it to me quick," said Della.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present. She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically. "If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?" At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops. Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty.

"The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves. Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face. Della wriggled off the table and went for him. "Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you.""You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor. "Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?" Jim looked about the room curiously. "You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy. "You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"

Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table. "Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat. For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!" And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!" Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit. "Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it." Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled. "Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on.

"The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

by O. Henry

Little Red Shoes

 

Yesterday I received a letter from my favorite cousin's daughter, a lovely woman who was once the two-year-old flower girl in our wedding. She was announcing the birth of her baby daughter, Samantha Paige. What a cutie! The little one looks just like her mommy did when she was a baby! How exciting to have a new little girl in the family. Of course my mind set to work, thinking about an appropriate and special baby gift. Something handmade by me was the first criteria --- and for that I'm sending something embroidered in an appropriate theme for a new baby girl. Something girly to wear seemed in order as well, so I searched for just the right little outfit --- a sweet little green dress dotted with red roses, covered buttons, and tiny fabric ruffles. A hat to match and cute little bloomers came with the dress. The outfit was completed by the cutest pair of vintage red shoes that I found at my favorite shop on Elm Street. I was delighted to have an opportunity to buy them! I've been admiring them for awhile.

This got me thinking about red shoes. I love red shoes! I think every woman should have at least one pair! There is something beautiful and appealing about red shoes; shoes that make you feel beautiful and accessorized to perfection. Although I don't wear my red shoes often, I always make sure I have at least one pair in my closet. They seem to perk up an outfit that might be just a little too conservative otherwise. They go well with black or navy, and look great with both a suit and dress or jeans and jacket. I seem to have more than my 'one' necessary pair right now. Such fun!

I thought it would be interesting to do a little research about 'red shoes'. What is their meaning? What to they exemplify? Generally we think if Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz when we think of red shoes. Her shoes represented magical powers and the value of there being 'no place like home'. But 'red shoes' can also represent dancing and a little girl named Karen in the tale by Hans Christian Anderson (1845). A wickedly scary fairytale, the happy ending is supposed to justify the middle horrors of the tale. Other fairy tales also incorporate 'red shoes' into their tales and you can read about them here. In the process of my research I came across a beautiful blog named Red Shoes. It's interesting --- showing the work of an artist who crafts such quirky things. If you look at her blog, be sure to note the children's flashcards used as wall art in the master bedroom. Hers is Q for queen and his an F for father. So creative! Lastly, we must not forget the most fashionable of the candidates running for the vice-presidential office this year. No matter what your political persuasion, you can't deny that Sarah Palin's shoes are a statement, to be sure. I understand that they are her signature --- red shoes!

Do you have a pair of red shoes? Do you wear them often? What do you wear them with? Why do you like them? Do you have any interesting experiences to share about your red shoes? I'd love to hear about them! Comments welcome!

[I am really enjoying the comments to this post. Thank you for your fun reactions and stories! I'm wearing a pair of red shoes today. What about you?]

A Churn Ride

Do you remember stories like these? I used to love them as a child! This one came from a children's magazine that was given out at church each week and is from when my mother was a little girl. I remember sitting on my daddy's lap while he read the words and I read the pictures. I felt so grown up; I could actually read! Of course I was much to young, but felt so grown up. This story, although not at all politically correct in these modern times, teaches a character lesson mixed in with the adventures of Sally and Billy. Enjoy!

The Picnic

Did you have a favorite story as a child? I'd like to share one of mine with you. It's quite old-fashioned and so very quaint. Stories have always been common for teaching children values and character development. My parents were no exception when it came to instructing my sister and me in the way we should grow. One of the books my mother had as a child was an first edition copy of a book called Bedtime Stories by Arthur Maxwell. He was an English writer, so his stories not only taught character development but reflected British culture and family life. I suspect that my parents thought they were teaching me how to get along with my sister when they read this story to me, but an incidental affect was the love it created in me for picnics and tea parties! I think you'll see what I mean when you read this story. Note the words 'kettle' and and 'picnic' inserted into the text to create a word picture for the reader. Unfortunately the very first page of the story has been torn out of the book. . .but I remember how it went. Doris and Kathleen were dear friends who got into a dispute and were not speaking to one another. They made-up and decided they wanted to go on a picnic. The story picks up from there. . .

"They're both too busy washing," said Doris. "We shall get punished if we do."

"But let's try," urged Kathleen.

To the little girls' surprise both mammas were quite agreeable to their going for a picnic together, provided, of course, that they did not go too far and that they got everything ready themselves. Strict instructions were given as to the place they were to go, where they could easily be found if necessary.

Now all was happiness. Kathleen's mamma said she wouldn't mind if they prepared the food in her house; so in they both went. Kathleen cut the sandwiches, and Doris wrapped them in waxed paper and put them in the picnic basket, which was the prettiest little basket you could wish to see.

They then found the little tent that Kathleen's daddy had bought for them to use in the garden, and rolled up an old piece of blanket so that they would not have to sit on the damp ground. Of course they decided to take a kettle with them, because this was going to be a really-truly picnic.

They they started off. The two mammas found time to come away from their washing to wave good-bye to the two little girls from the front gate. They were glad to have the children happy.

The girls had not gone far, however, before they made the discovery that while they had brought the tent, the blanket, and the kettle, they had left the lunch behind! In the excitement of saying good-by they had actually forgotten all about the most important thing. So back they had to go to get it.

Now they were off again, and very happy little girls they were. They did not go very far away, but to them it seemed miles and miles. They made up all sorts of stories as they went along, and imagined they were really grown-up big people going to a real picnic.

Presently they came to the quiet little place on the beach to which they both always loved to come. They had been here many times with their mammas, but this time it was all quite different. They both felt so important.

Somehow they managed to get their tent put up. It was quite a big job for such little people, but they felt they must do it all properly.

The tent fixed, they both thought it must be time to have something to eat. So they opened the all-important lunch basket and began to take out all the little packages they had put in it so carefully just an hour or so before.

How good everything tasted! so much better than a dinner at home! Really they had never had such a lovely meal before. If their mothers could have seen them eating the plain bread and butter as if it were sugar cookies, they would have been quite surprised. Perhaps they would have decided to have that for dinner every day!

How quickly the lunch basket was emptied! There didn't seem to be half enough in it. Doris and Kathleen were so hungry that they ate up everything they had brought; there wasn't even a crumb left.

Then they played games and told stories to each other. Soon the afternoon passed and the time came to pack up. Down came the tent, the blanket was folded up, and the empty lunch basket slung over Doris' shoulder. Then they started for home.

"Haven't we had a lovely time?" said Kathleen.

"Haven't we!" said Doris. "And only yesterday we said we wouldn't speak to each other any more."

"I'm so glad we made up," said Kathleen.

"So am I," said Doris.

Just then they turned the corner of the road, and there, right in front of them, were two mammas standing at the gate of Kathleen's house.

"We're so glad you've come back safely," they said. "We were just coming to look for you.


Then there were hugs and kisses, a welcome supper, a bedtime story, and a trip upstairs to dreamland.