12 Days of Christmas

Story & Nativity

Find a simple nativity set and give the appropriate pieces and other items with story. The order can be
changed around to suit your liking. Feel free to make substitutions as desired.

Day Story Item

1 The Sixth Word (Teach the Children) Red 7-up

2 No Darkness at all Decorated Candle

3 Trouble at the Inn Stable

4 The ‘Little Ole” Donkey Animal

5 From Santa w/ Love Small stocking w/ candy & hershey Kisses

6 A Christmas Orange Oranges

7 The Faded Blue Blanket Shepherd

8 Little Jesus Baby Jesus

9 The other Wise Men Wisemen

10 A gift for her king Mary & Joseph

11 Little Lost Angel Angel

12 If you’re warm, you’re getting closer Sweet rolls

 The Sixth Word

Just a week before Christmas, I had a visitor. this is how it happened. I had just finished the
household chores and was preparing to go to bed, when I heard a noise in the front of the house. I
opened the door of the front room and to my surprise, Santa Claus himself stepped out from behind
the Christmas tree. He placed his fingers over his mouth so I would not cry out.

"What are you doing...?" I started to ask, but the words choked up in my throat as I saw he had tears
in his eyes. His usual jolly manner was gone - gone was the eager, boisterous soul we all know.

He then answered me with a simple statement of "Teach the Children". I was puzzled. What did he
mean? He anticipated my question and with one quick movement brought forth a miniature toy bag
from behind the tree. As I stood there bewildered, Santa said again, "Teach the children, teach them
the old meaning of Christmas- the meaning that Christmas nowadays has forgotten."

I stared to say, "How can I..." when Santa reached into the toy bag and pulled out a brilliant shiny star.

"Teach the children that the star was the heavenly sign of promise long ages ago. God promised a
savior for the world and the star was a sign of the fulfillment of that promise. The countless shining
stars at night- one for each man- now show the burning hope of all mankind." Santa gently laid the
star upon the fireplace mantle and drew forth from the gag a glittering red Christmas tree ornament.

"Teach the children red is the first color of Christmas. It was first used by the faithful people to remind
them of the blood which was shed for all the people by the Savior. Christ gave His life and shed His
blood that every man might have God's gift of Eternal Life. Red is deep, intense, vivid- it is the
greatest color of all. It is the symbol of the gift of God."

"Teach the children," he said as he dislodged a small Christmas tree from the depths of the toy bag.
He placed it before the mantle and gently hung the red ornament on it. The deep green of the fir tree
was a perfect background for the ornament. Here was the second color of Christmas.

"The pure green color of the stately fir tree remains green all year round." he said. "This depicts the
everlasting hope of mankind. Green is the youthful, hopeful, abundant color of nature. All the needles
point heavenward- symbols of Man's returning thoughts toward heaven. The great green tree has
been man's best friend. It has sheltered him, warmed him, made beauty for him." Suddenly, I heard a
soft tinkling sound.

"Teach the children that as the lost sheep are found by the sound of the bell, it should ring for man to
return to the fold- it means guidance and return. It further signifies that all are precious in the eyes of
the Lord. As the soft sound of the bell faded into the night, Santa drew forth a candle. He placed it on
the mantle and the soft glow from its tiny flame cast a glow about the darkened room. Odd shapes in
shadows slowly danced and weaved upon the walls.

"Teach the children," whispered Santa, "that the candle shows man's thanks for the star of long ago.
Its small light is the mirror of starlight. At first, candles were placed on the trees- they were like many
glowing stars shining against the dark green. The colored lights have now taken over in
remembrance."

Santa turned the small Christmas tree lights on and picked up a gift from under the tree. He pointed
to the large bow and said, "A bow is placed on a present to remind us of the spirit of the brotherhood
of man. We should remember that the bow is tied as men should be tied, all of us together, with the
bonds of good will toward each other. Good will forever is the message of the bow."

Santa slung his bag over his shoulder and began to reach for the candy cane placed high on the tree.
He unfastened it and reached out toward me with it.

"Teach the children that the candy cane represents the shepherd's crook. The crook on the staff helps
bring back the strayed sheep to the flock. The candy cane represents the helping hand we should
show at Christmas time. The candy cane is the symbol that we are our brothers' keepers."

As Santa looked about the room, a feeling of satisfaction shone in his face. He read wonderment in
my eyes, and I am sure he sensed admiration for this night.

He reached into his bag and brought forth a large holly wreath. He placed it on the door and said,
"Please teach the children that the wreath symbolizes the eternal nature love; it never ceases, stops
or ends. It is the one continuous round of affection. The wreath does double duty. It is made of many
things and in many colors. It should remind us of all the things of Christmas. Please teach the
children."

Especially for Mormons Vol. 2

 No Darkness at All
By LaFond P. Hall

(A fictional story based on events in Helaman and 3 Nephi)

On this night shall the sign be given, and on the morrow come I into the world (3 Ne. 1:13).

Limni struggled against the churning water, trying frantically to stay on top. He was a strong swimmer, but the
rapids were too swift for him to make much headway. He had fallen into the river while trying to spear a fish.
Now the current was carrying him swiftly downstream, and he was exhausted. His shoulder crashed into the
edge of a boulder, and he gasped in pain, swallowing more water. He was desperately afraid that he was
drowning. Heavenly Father, he cried in his mind, please help me.

As he surfaced once more, he heard a shout. Ahead of him, where the river made a wide turn, a boy was
holding a long branch from a dead tree out into the river. Limni stroked frantically toward the branch. Lunging,
he grasped the end of it and was pulled safely to the bank. It was the wrong bank, but he was alive and
grateful.

He was also a little frightened because his rescuer had the dark skin of a Lamanite. “Thank you, my brother,”
Limni said when he could talk.

“Why do you call me ‘brother,’ Nephite boy? I am not your brother. I am your enemy. Maybe I should not have
helped you.”

“Somehow,” Limni replied, breathing heavily as he lay resting on the grass, “I do not think that you are sorry
that you saved my life. My name is Limni, and I do not feel like your enemy.”

The Lamanite boy smiled. “That river was certainly your enemy,” he said. “Your shoulder is bleeding.” With
strong fingers he pulled aside Limni’s shirt to examine the wound. “It is only a bad scrape,” he announced. “It
will heal quickly.”

“More quickly, I think, than the bruise on your face.” Limni had noticed the ugly purple lump as the boy knelt
over him. “Did you also fall into the river?”

“I fell into disfavor with my uncle,” the young Lamanite answered. He turned to reveal deep welts on his back
but offered no further explanation.

“Well, bruised or not, I am glad that you had enough strength to rescue me. Thank you. How old are you,
courageous one?”

“I have seen twelve summers, and you can call me Sam.”

“I, too, am just past twelve—too young to protect you from your uncle but old enough to pray that God will
soften his heart—or his hand!”.

“Then it is just as my uncle has told me. You Nephites believe in this strange being who you think hears your
prayers. You are deceived, and you have deceived most of my people as well. But not my village. There is no
God, and you are foolish to believe such traditions. Uncle says that even many of your people no longer
believe in this God you speak of.”

Limni looked at the ground. “What you said last is true,” he answered sadly. “Many of our people have become
wicked and deny that there is a God. They do not heed the voice of Nephi, our great prophet. But”—he looked
directly into Sam’s eyes—“I know that there is a God, and I know that I am His child and that He loves me. You
are also His child, Sam, and He loves you too.”

“It is strange that you speak to me in these words. I have in my heart a great secret, Limni, a secret that I
would not dare to tell my uncle. Long ago my mother told me, ‘Remember, Sam, there is a God in the heavens.
He is your Father, and He loves you.”

The young Nephite was surprised. “I thought you said that no one in your village believed.”

“A man named Samuel came preaching to us, and my mother believed. I think that my father may have
believed, too, but he was killed when I was very young. Soon afterward my mother died of a terrible sickness,
and I have lived these many years with my uncle. He does not believe that there is a God, and he forbids me to
speak of such things.”

“What happened to Samuel?”

“I do not know. He was driven out of our village because of his strange beliefs,” Sam replied.

“I wonder if that could have been the same Samuel who stood on the city wall and preached to my people a
few years ago. My father says that he was a prophet but that most of the Nephites wouldn’t listen to him. In
fact, they tried to kill him. Poor Samuel. He must have been very discouraged.”

“I, too, am discouraged, Limni. I do not know what to believe. I do know that if my uncle finds out that I have
saved the life of a Nephite, he will beat me severely again. He might even kill us both. But I do not believe that
I did wrong. I am not sorry that you are alive. I will show you where you can safely cross the river. Come
quickly. It is some distance.”

Limni hesitated. “If you get home late, your uncle may beat you, anyway. Could you not just tell me the way?”

Sam looked away and shook his head. “It is too dangerous. And I no longer have a home to return to, anyway.
My uncle told me never to come back, because I cannot do enough work to earn my keep.”

Limni put his hands on the Lamanite youth’s shoulders. “Come with me, Sam. I know that my father and
mother will welcome you in our home. They will not beat you. Come home with me.”

Limni paused as if reconsidering. “There is one pretty big problem,” he said. “This Samuel—we call him
Samuel the Lamanite—promised that Jesus Christ, our Savior, would be born in the land of Jerusalem about
five years from the time he spoke. He said that there will be a whole night without any darkness so that we,
too, can know of that holy birth. It has been five years now, and our enemies scoff. They have set a date.
Unless the sign occurs before then, they will kill all of us who believe.”

Sam thought for a moment. “No darkness at all? Limni, do you believe that such a sign will come?”
“Oh, yes. I know that it will come. I just don’t know whether it will come soon enough. I would not want you to
become part of our family and then be killed because of it.”

Sam felt shivery inside—shivery and excited and warm. “My new friend,” he said, “I believe that my mother
would want me to go with you. Come now. We must get to the crossing before dark.”

The two boys hurried upriver as quickly as they could, but the undergrowth was so tangled that they
progressed slowly. Twice they ducked into the dense foliage and waited breathlessly while small bands of
Lamanites passed by.

The sun had sunk behind the trees before the boys arrived at the spot where a huge old tree had fallen into the
river. “We can cross most of the way on that trunk,” Sam assured Limni. “And then there are some big rocks in
the water. We can easily jump from one to another. I’ll go first and show you.” He paused. “Are you sure that I
will be welcome? Perhaps your friends will want to kill me.”

“Sam, my people do not have hatred in their hearts. They will love you if you seek truth and peace.”

“Love? Peace?” Sam smiled and gingerly touched his bruised cheek.

The two youths crossed the river carefully, first walking on the big tree truck, then jumping from rock to rock.
They waded the last few yards. Climbing out on the far side, they paused to catch their breath. “We were
lucky,” Sam said. “The light lasted until we got across.”

“It’s still lasting!” marveled Limni. “Look around you, Sam. There is no sun or moon. Where is the light coming
from?”

The two gazed in astonishment. The world was filled with a curious brightness. It was not the rosy light of
sunset that they had been expecting. It was indescribably soft, yet strangely intense—a light such as they had
never seen before. After a moment Sam whispered, “It is the sign.”

Limni’s head was bowed in prayer. Quietly into his mind came words that he had often heard his father speak,
and he repeated them aloud as he walked side by side with Sam toward home: “‘For unto us a child is born,
unto us a son is given.’* Yes, Sam, it is the sign. Tomorrow the Prince of Peace will be born.”
 Trouble At the Inn

For years now, whenever Christmas pageants are talked about in a certain little
town in the Midwest, someone is sure to mention the name of Wallace Purling.

Wally's performance in one annual production of the Nativity play has slipped
into the realm of legend. But the old-timers who were in the audience that night
never tire of recalling exactly what happened.
Wally was nine that year and in the second grade, though he should have been in
the fourth. Most people in town knew that he had difficulty keeping up. He was
big and awkward, slow in movement and mind.
Still, Wally was well liked by the other children in his class, all of whom were
smaller than he, though the boys had trouble hiding their irritation when Wally
would ask to play ball with them or any game, for that matter, in which winning
was important.
They'd find a way to keep him out, but Wally would hang around anyway—not
sulking, just hoping. He was a helpful boy, always willing and smiling, and the
protector, paradoxically, of the underdog. If the older boys chased the younger
ones away, it would be Wally who'd say, "Can't they stay? They're no bother."
Wally fancied the idea of being a shepherd in the Christmas pageant, but the
play's director, Miss Lumbard, assigned him a more important role. After all, she
reasoned, the innkeeper did not have too many lines, and Wally's size would
make his refusal of lodging to Joseph more forceful.
And so it happened that the usual large, partisan audience gathered for the
town's yearly extravaganza of crooks and creches, of beards, crowns, halos and a
whole stageful of squeaky voices.

No one on stage or off was more caught up in the magic of the night than Wallace
Purling. They said later that he stood in the wings and watched the performance
with such fascination that Miss Lumbard had to make sure he didn't wander
onstage before his cue.
Then the time came when Joseph appeared, slowly, tenderly guiding Mary to the
door of the inn. Joseph knocked hard on the wooden door set into the painted
backdrop. Wally the innkeeper was there, waiting.
"What do you want?" Wally said, swinging the door open with a brusque gesture.
"We seek lodging."
"Seek it elsewhere." Wally spoke vigorously. "The inn is filled."
"Sir, we have asked everywhere in vain. We have traveled far and are very weary."
"There is no room in this inn for you." Wally looked properly stern.
"Please, good innkeeper, this is my wife, Mary. She is heavy with child and needs
a place to rest. Surely you must have some small corner for her. She is so tired."
Now, for the first time, the innkeeper relaxed his stiff stance and looked down at
Mary. With that, there was a long pause, long enough to make the audience a bit
tense with embarrassment.
"No! Begone!" the prompter whispered.
"No!" Wally repeated automatically. "Begone!"
Joseph sadly placed his arm around Mary and Mary laid her head upon her
husband's shoulder and the two of them started to move away. The innkeeper did
not return inside his inn, however. Wally stood there in the doorway, watching
the forlorn couple. His mouth was open, his brow creased with concern, his eyes
filling unmistakably with tears.
And suddenly this Christmas pageant became different from all others.
"Don't go, Joseph," Wally called out. "Bring Mary back." And Wallace Purling's
face grew into a bright smile. "You can have my room."
Some people in town thought that the pageant had been ruined. Yet there were
others—many, many others—who considered it the most Christmas of all
Christmas pageants they had ever seen.
 Little Old Donkey that had Little to Say
By C. Ralph Bennett

It was the night before Christmas when all the beasts came together from the farthest
places of the earth to talk. The first voice to be heard was the deep, rich bass of the lion.
“I speak,” he said, “as the king of beasts.” And truly he looked a king with his beautiful
thick mane and his tawny rippling muscles. “I won’t repeat my good deeds. I shall not
again tonight repeat the shining stories of the days when the Romans loved me. I shall
not recall the story of the one man, Daniel, who defied me in my own den — a story
humbling to me — which I have often told you to prove I am not proud. I shall say
nothing of my stealthy fury that makes the whole continent tremble at the very sound
of my name…”

“Then I shall speak,” — and by the trumpet sound, the beasts knew the elephant spoke.
“I am the biggest beast on earth. My size and my strength awe nations. Yet I can walk
so softly and lightly that no ear can hear my coming. Isn’t that something to be proud
of? And I don’t believe any of you can flip a tremendous teak log over your shoulder as
handily as I can. That takes power. Yes, and who else here has been a beast of war?
Who else has crossed the Alps? You know how very high the Alps are! I and my strong
brothers helped the famous General Hannibal and his soldiers over them in one of his
great campaigns. And Hannibal’s in history books all over the world.”

A strange, whispering voice broke in: “You know me, the giraffe. Usually I stay silent,
but I hope you’ll remember I’m the tallest and can look down on you. But please don’t
think I am bragging because I’m up here above you. I eat from the tops of trees.
Nobody else here can do that. Besides, being the tallest, I can run faster than most…”

“Let me interrupt.” It was the leopard’s voice. “You’d have to move pretty fast to outrun
certain striped and spotted cousins of mine who hold most of the speed records. Right,
cousins?” The tiger nodded his head and the cheetah, fastest of all, smiled.

The camel, till now, had been chewing his cud and watching with sad eyes. He cleared
his throat and his voice rasped out: “I am neither handsome nor fleet. I have some
trouble keeping clean. But I have the right to feel as proud as anyone here. I helped
build the pyramids of Egypt! Have any of you ever tackled a job that big? I am also the
only animal in the world that can have two humps on his back. I am used to going
many days without water, across scorching sands that would burn the feet off most of
you within hours. My friends, the camel counts, and I have a right to feel happy. ”

For a long while after the camel’s speech, there was silence. Then the llama coughed
and said: “I am by nature modest. One thing, however — I, have had much experience
crossing mountains. You have heard of the Andes, my home, and the war work I’ve
done.”

Others spoke too. The goose honked, “I laid a golden egg once. Who else has done
that?” The turtle said, “I’m the slowest. It’s better. When you 90 fast, you go round in
circles.” The fox said: “I am the slyest, the trickiest, and probably the brainiest of you
all. ” The zebra said: “For confusion, I’m best. Am I black with white stripes or white
with black ” The grizzly bear said: “Who that is as heavy as I can climb a tree as well? ”
And the polar bear said: “Can anybody but me swim with icebergs or catch fish with a
paw? ”

All this time a little grey beast stood listening. Finally, the other animals looked his
way. There wasn’t much he could do but speak. “I am a donkey,” he began, in a voice so
hoarse and low that the beasts leaned forward to hear. “I can’t run fast or go days
without water. I couldn’t swim a stroke among icebergs. I’ve never climbed a tree.
Nobody is afraid of me. ”

Lower and lower sank the little donkey’s voice. His ears drooped, and his head was
bowed. The other beasts could hardly hear him. Suddenly he raised his head. His eyes
looked far away in time and space and there was a strange glow around him. “Only one
thing I have ever done has stuck in my mind. It happened a long, long time ago…on the
way to Egypt in the dark of night. I carried a mother who carried a King.”
 From Santa With Love 
 
A Long time ago in a land far away 
A child was born on a cold winter’s day 
 
He wasn’t the baby you’re thinking about 
But another small lad, he stood short and stout 
 
He grew up to be quite a caring old man 
He loved little children, every one in the land 
 
He found the “Good Book” and studied its pages 
It was the story of Jesus passed down through the ages 
 
His heart overflowed as he read, could it be? 
A love so divine that he died just for me? 
 
A twinkle appeared in his eye on that day 
He found a road straight to Heaven and Christ was the way 
 
As Christmas came closer, his heart filled with joy 
He’d show God’s people he loved them - every girl, every boy 
 
He made lots of goodies and stocked up his shelves 
Yes, Santa was busy and so were his elves 
 
He was filled with such love, that he wanted to share 
So he handed out gifts to kids everywhere 
 
Prise to be God, let the Angels sing 
For this jolly old man spreads love for the King 
 
As he steps into the chimney, he looks high above 
And whispers, “Happy Birthday dear Jesus, from Santa with love.” 
 
By Michelle Davis   
 THE CHRISTMAS ORANGE 

  Jake was a resident of an orphan’s home, one of ten children supported by what 
contributions the home could secure on a continuous struggle. There was very little to eat, 
but at Christmas there always seemed to be a little more than usual to eat, and the home 
seemed a little warmer. It was a time for more than usual enjoyment, but more than this, 
there was the orange. At Christmas time, each child received an orange; the only time of 
year that such a rare item was provided… and it was coveted by each child like no other 
thing they ever possessed. They would save it for several days, admiring it, feeling it, 
loving it, and contemplating the moment when they would eat it. Truly, it was a “piece de 
resistance” to the Christmas tide, and the year, for many would wait until New Year’s Day 
or later to eat it. 

  This Christmas day, Jake had o ended the rules of authority at the home in some 
manner and his punishment was loss of the orange privilege. After a year of waiting for 
this rare occasion, and this most desired of all rewards, it was to be denied. The plainti ’s 
pleading was to no avail. Although the o ense was rather minor, still it was an infraction 
of such rules that must govern in regulated society. Jake spent Christmas day empty and 
alone… it even seemed the other children didn’t want to associate with a person who didn’t 
have an orange. 

  Night time arrived and this was the worst time of all for Jake; he could not sleep. 
There could be no God that would permit a contrite little soul to su er so much by himself. 
Silently, he sobbed for the future of mankind, and perhaps the world, but mostly because 
he didn’t have an orange like the other kids had. 

  A soft hand placed on Jake’s shoulder startled him momentarily and an object was 
quickly shoved into his hands. The donor disappeared into the dark of the room, leaving 
Jake with what he did not immediately identify as an orange. Not a regular 
run-of-the-orange, but one fabricated from segments of nine other oranges. Nine other 
highly prized oranges that would, of necessity, be eaten this day instead of several days 
hence. 

  May we all share a part of ourselves this Christmas season.   

The Faded, Blue Blanket 

by Fred Bauer 

The most frightened shepherd that night was little Ladius, just ten. He cowered behind his 
three older brothers when the blinding star lit the hillside. When the angel appeared, he 
hid behind a huge rock. 

Yet after Ladius heard the glad news, fear left him, and he limped back to his brothers who 
were planning to set out for Bethlehem. 

“Who will tend the sheep?” asked Samuel, the oldest at sixteen. Ladius, leaning against his 
shepherd’s crook to support a crippled foot, volunteered: 

“I’d only slow you down. Let me stay with the sheep.” He bit his lower lip as he talked. 
The brothers weakly protested, then made plans to go. 

“We must each take a gift,” said Samuel. One brother chose his flint to start a fire for the 
Christ Child. Another picked meadow lilies to make a garland for the King. Samuel decided 
on his most precious possession, his golden ring. 

“Here, take my blanket to Him,” said Ladius. It was badly worn—faded with patches. 

“No, Ladius,” said Samuel tenderly. “The blanket is too tattered to give even a beggar—let 
alone a King. Besides, you will need it tonight.” 

The brothers departed, leaving Ladius alone by the fire. He laid his head upon the blanket 
and buried his face in his hands. Tears forced their way between his fingers, but soon the 
hush of night soothed the boy’s heartbreak. The world in silent stillness lay….. 

“Are you coming Ladius?” called a voice. Standing nearly was the same angel who had 
brought the news. “You wanted to see the Child, didn’t you?” 

“Yes,” nodded Ladius, “but I must stay here.” 

“My name is Gabriel,” said the angel. “Your sheep will be watched. Take my hand—and 
bring your blanket. The Child will need it.” 
Suddenly, Ladius was outside a stable. Kneeling by a manger were his brothers. Ladius 
started to call out, but the angel lifted a finger to his lips. 

“Give me the blanket,” Gabriel whispered. The angel took it and quietly covered the Baby. 
But the blanket was no longer faded. Now it glistened like dew in the brilliance of a new 
day. 

Returning, Gabriel squeezed Ladius’ hand. “Your gift was the best because you gave all 
that you had…” 

“Wake up, Ladius, wake up.” The boy rubbed his eyes and tried to shield them from the 
glaring sun. Hovering over him was Samuel. 

“Did you find Him?” asked Ladius. 

“Yes,” smiled Samuel, “but first tell me why you were sleeping without your blanket.” 

Ladius looked about wonderingly. The faded, blue blanket was nowhere to be found—then 
or thereafter. 

   
 LITTLE JESUS 
by Francis Thompson (1859 - 1907) 
  
Little Jesus, wast Thou shy 
Once, and just so small as I? 
And what did it feel like to be 
Out of Heaven, and just like me? 
Didst Thou sometimes think of there, 
And ask where all the angels were? 
I should think that I would cry 
For my house all made of sky; 
I would look about the air, 
And wonder where my angels were; 
And at waking ’twould distress me– 
Not an angel there to dress me! 
Hadst thou ever any toys, 
Like us little girls and boys? 
And dist Thou play in Heaven with all 
The angels that were not too tall, 
With stars for marbles? Did the things 
Play Can you see me? through their wings? 
And did Thy Mother let Thee spoil 
Thy robes, with playing on our soil? 
How nice to have them always new 
In Heaven, because ‘twas quite clean blue! 
Thou canst not have forgotten all 
That it feels like to be small: 
And Thou know’st I cannot pray 
To Thee in my father’s way– 
When Thou was so little, say, 
Couldst Thou talk Thy Father’s way?– 
So, as a little child, come down 
And hear a child’s tongue like Thy own; 
Take me by the hand and walk, 
And listen to my baby-talk. 
To Thy Father show my prayer 
(He will look, Thou art so fair), 
And say: "O Father, I Thy Son, 
Bring the prayer of a little one." 
And He will smile, that childrens’ tongue 
Hast not changed since Thou was young! 
   
 The Other Wise Man

“The Other Wise Man” by Henry van Dyke is a powerful story for the Epiphany. It was first published
in 1895. Today I present an abridged version.

In the days when Augustus Caesar was master of many kings and Herod reigned in Jerusalem, there
lived among the mountains of Persia a certain man named Artaban, one of the Magi. Artaban, like his
friends Caspar, Melchoir, and Balthasar, had observed the star and consulted the ancient prophecies
regarding the coming child king. He sold all his belongings to purchase gifts for the child-King; a
sapphire, a ruby, and a pearl. Then he set out on a ten-day journey, to meet his friends, so together
they might search for the King.

Time was short. If Artaban arrived too late, his friends would leave without him. Yet, he made good
time and on the tenth day his goal was within his grasp. Only three more hours of hard riding and he
would make his rendezvous with his friends. But suddenly, he saw something before him and he
reined his horse to a stop. Artaban dismounted. The dim starlight revealed the form of a man lying
across the road. His humble dress and the outline of his haggard face showed that he was probably a
Hebrew. The chill of death was in his lean hand. Artaban turned away with a thought of pity. But as
he turned, a long, faint, ghostly sigh came from the man’s lips. The bony fingers gripped the hem of
the Magian’s robe and held him fast.

Artaban’s heart leapt to his throat, not with fear, but with a speechless resentment at the importunity
of this blind delay. If he lingered but for an hour his companions would think he had given up the
journey. But if he went on now, the man would surely die…

Artaban turned back to the sick man. He stayed there and ministered to the man, for Magians are
physician as well.

At last the man’s strength returned; he sat up and looked about him. “Who art thou?” he said, “and
why hast thou sought me here to bring back my life?”

“I am Artaban the Magian, and I am going to Jerusalem in search of one who is to be born king of the
Jews.”

The Jew raised his trembling hand solemnly to heaven. “I have nothing to give thee in return – only
this: that I can tell thee where the Messiah must be sought. For our prophets said that he should be
born not in Jerusalem, but in Bethlehem of Judah. May the Lord bring thee in safety to that place,
because thou hast had pity upon the sick.”

Artaban pushed on, but alas, he arrived too late. His friends had left without him, leaving him only a
note beneath a brick, saying he should purchase provisions and follow them across the desert. And
so he did. He sold his sapphire to purchase the caravan of camels to carry him across the sea of
sand that lay before him. After many days, he arrived in the little village of Bethlehem.
The streets of the village seemed to be deserted. From the open door of a cottage he heard the
sound of a woman’s voice singing softly. He entered and found a young mother hushing her baby to
rest. She told him of the strangers from the Far East who had appeared in the village three days ago,
and how they said that a star had guided them to the place where Joseph of Nazareth was lodging
with his wife and her newborn child. “But the travelers disappeared again,” she continued, “as
suddenly as they had come. The man of Nazareth took the child and his mother, and fled away that
same night secretly to Egypt.”

The young mother laid the baby in its cradle, and rose to minister to the wants of the strange guest
that fate had brought into her house. But suddenly there came a noise of a wild confusion in the
streets of the village and a desperate cry: “The soldiers! The soldiers of Herod! They are killing our
children!” The young mother’s face grew white with terror. She clasped her child to her bosom.
Artaban went quickly and stood in the doorway of the house. The soldiers came hurrying down the
street with bloody hands and dripping swords. At the sight of the stranger in his imposing dress they
hesitated with surprise. The captain of the band approached the threshold to thrust him aside. But
Artaban did not stir. He said in a low voice, “I am all alone in this place, and I am waiting to give this
jewel to the prudent captain who will leave me in peace.”

He showed the ruby, glistening in the hollow of his hand like a drop of blood. The captain was
amazed at the splendor of the gem. The pupils of his eyes expanded with desire. He stretched out his
hand and took the ruby. “March on!” he cried to his men.

Artaban reentered the cottage. He turned his face to the east and prayed, “God of truth, forgive my
sin! I have said the thing that is not, to save the life of a child. And two of my gifts are gone.”

But the voice of the woman, weeping for joy in the shadow behind him, said very gently, “Because
thou hast saved the life of my little one, may the Lord always bless thee.”

And so Artaban pushed on. Down into Egypt he traveled in search of the King. Still his search was to
no avail as the King was nowhere to be found. While in Egypt he took counsel with a Hebrew rabbi.
The venerable man read aloud from the sacred scrolls the pathetic words which foretold the
sufferings of the promised Messiah. “And remember, my son,” he said, “the King who thou seekest is
not to be found among the rich and powerful. Those who seek him will do well to look among the poor
and the lowly, the sorrowful and the oppressed.”

Three and thirty years Artaban searched for the King. Worn and weary and ready to die he had come
for the last time to Jerusalem. It was the season of the Passover and the city was thronged with
strangers. There had been a confusion of tongues in the narrow streets for many days. But on this
day a singular agitation was visible in the multitude. The clatter of sandals flowed unceasingly along
the street that led to the Damascus gate.

Artaban inquired of a group of people nearby the cause of the tumult. “We are going,” they answered,
“to the place called Golgotha, outside the city walls, where there is to be an execution. Two famous
robbers are to be crucified, and with them another, called Jesus of Nazareth, who has done many
wonderful works among the people, so that they love him greatly.”
Artaban’s heart beat unsteadily with the excitement of old age. He said to himself, “It may be that I
shall at last find the King, and in the hands of his enemies no less, and shall come in time to offer my
pearl for his ransom before he dies.” So the old man followed the multitude toward the Damascus
gate of the city.

Just then, a troop of soldiers came down the street, dragging a young girl. Suddenly she broke from
the hands of her tormentors, and threw herself at Artaban’s feet. “Have pity on me,” she cried, “and
save me. My father is dead, and I am seized for his debts to be sold as a slave.”

Artaban trembled. It was the old conflict in his soul, which had come to him in the palm-grove of
Persia and in the cottage at Bethlehem. Twice the gift which he had consecrated to the worship of
God had been drawn to the service of humanity. He took the pearl from his bosom and laid it in the
hand of the slave-girl. “This is thy ransom, daughter! It is the last of my treasures which I kept for the
King.”

While he spoke, the darkness of the sky deepened, and tremors ran through the earth. The walls of
the houses rocked to and fro. Stones were loose and crashed into the street. The soldiers fled in
terror, but Artaban and the girl whom he had ransomed crouched helpless beneath the wall of the
Praetorium. A heavy tile, shaken from the roof, fell and struck the old man on the temple. He lay
breathless and pale, with his gray head resting on the girl’s shoulder, and blood trickling from the
wound.

Then the old man’s lips began to move and the girl heard him say, “Not so, my Lord! For when saw I
thee hungry and fed thee? Or thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw thee a stranger, and took thee
in? Or naked and clothed thee? Three and thirty years have I looked for thee, but I have never seen
thy face, nor ministered to thee, my King.”

He ceased and there came a sound akin to a sweet voice. The maid heard it, very faint and far away.
And it seemed as though she understood the words, “Verily I say unto thee, inasmuch as thou has
done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, thou hast done it unto me.”

A calm radiance of wonder and joy lighted the pale face of Artaban. A long breath of relief exhaled
gently from his lips. His journey was ended. His treasures were accepted. The Other Wise Man had
found the King.
 A Gift for her King

By Martin C. Nalder

And it came to pass that...there was one Samuel, a Lamanite, came into
the land of Zarahemla, and began to preach unto the people. And it came to
pass that he did preach, many days, repentance unto the people, and they did
cast him out, and he was about to return to his own land. (Helaman 13:2)

Although it had been a brief meeting, Miriam never forgot Samuel or the words he spoke to her that
evening on the hill overlooking Zarahemla. The day had been far too lovely for any thirteen year old girl to stay
inside, so she had spent all the afternoon playing in the forest and on the hills near the city, and about dusk
she began hurrying home. She had just run all the way up a hill and was standing on the top looking across
the valley at Zarahemla, situated on a hill opposite her and painted gold by the evening sun, when she heard a
sob--a great gasping cry--and then silence.

He was standing under a tree just a few feet from her, his broad shoulders slumped forward, and his
face in his hands, evidently crying. At first Miriam’s reaction was to hurry on because it was getting late, but as
she started off again she remembered something she’d seen that morning as she left the city. A man, dressed
as this one and obviously a Lamanite, had been standing on the city wall near the main gate, preaching to the
people something about a Savior or a Christ--she really hadn’t paid much attention. She did notice, however,
that some of the men began to throw stones at him, and she thought she heard someone mention arrows. She
hadn’t waited, the countryside was too inviting, but perhaps they’d hurt the man. Maybe he needed help.

She walked back to him, but he didn’t seem aware that anyone was around so she said, “Is there
anything I can do?” There were big tears coursing down his dark cheeks. “Are you hurt badly?”

He wiped his face with the back of his hands, then looked at Miriam for the first time. “No Child, No.”

“There’s a stream nearby. I’ll get you some water...if you need it.”

He turned back toward the city, and resting his hand lightly on her shoulder, he asked, “Miriam, do you
believe in Christ, the Son of God?”

His words startled her. How did he know her name? She was positive she hadn’t told him.

“Believe in Him, child, and the Lord will bless you. Believe, for He comes soon into the world.” It was
almost a plea, yet in his warm, deep voice there was also the tone of a command.

“Who is this Christ?” Miriam asked. “I don’t remember hearing of Him before, and who are you, and…”
She had meant to ask him how he knew her name, but he began to speak before she could.

“My name is samuel. I’m a servant of the Lord. I’ve been sent to warn the people of His coming.”

“When?”

“In five years. You’ll know of his birth because the night before He comes into the world will be no
darkness. The sun shall go down, but it will remain as if it were day, and there shall be two days and a night,
but the night will not be darkened. And there shall be a new star in the heavens such as you’ve never seen
before.”

Miriam was silent for a moment. She was trying desperately to understand.
 “Will He be a king, Samuel?”

Samuel smiled at the little girl standing by his side, looking into his face. He could see that she was a
little confused. He tenderly cupped her face in his big hands.

“Yes, child, He will be a king, and rule in the hearts of men. He will give to all who believe in him the
greatest gift in the world--eternal life. Remember that, Miriam, and believe.”

Samuel turned away and began to walk down the hill into the forest, Miriam stood for a minute thinking,
then she called, “Samuel.”

He stopped and waited until she reached him.

“If He’s going to give me such a great gift, shouldn’t I give Him one, too?” she asked.

“Yes, child, you should.”

“But what?”

“You’ll know when the time is right. It’s a gift you must work for and prepare from this time until He
comes. It’s the most precious of gifts in the world--to Him.”

He smiled and patted her shoulder. “You’ve cheered me up, Miriam. Don’t be unhappy yourself. The
Lord will bless you, child, beyond your greatest dream. He’ll be with you always. You have nothing to worry
about or fear.”

Samuel’s words pleased Miriam, and she asked, “Do you really feel better?”

“Yes, Miriam,” Samuel replied. “The Lord has blessed me this day. He has shown me my work hasn’t all
been in vain.”

Miriam watched him as he disappeared into the darkness of the forest. She never saw him again.

It wasn’t until she was almost home that she realized she never did find out how he knew her name!

Now it came to pass that there was a day set apart by the unbelievers,
that all those who believed in those traditions should be put to death except the
sign should come to pass, which had been given by Samuel the prophet. (3
Nephi 1:9)

Miriam turned wearily and looked at Zarahemla. It looked much the same as it had five years ago when
on the very spot where she now stook she had first met Samuel, but then she had no way of knowing that one
day she would be running away from it in order to save her life--in order that her baby could be born in peace
and safety.

One of the older women with her touched her arm, and silently Miriam turned and followed her down
the path which led into the forest. She hoped they would not have to go far. She did not believe she could. Her
child would be born soon. If only the sign had been given. Maybe she had misunderstood Samuel, but she was
positive he had said, “Behold, five more years, and the Savior shall come….” Five years. But the five years
were nearly over….
 Miriam stopped suddenly, and looked around her. Through the trees she could see an old shack on the
hillside nearby. She turned to the woman by her side and pointed to it. She felt tired, afraid, and weary from
their long walk, but she whispered merely, “My time has come.”

And it came to pass that there was no darkness in all that night, but it was
as light as though it was midday. And it came to pass that the sun did not rise in
the morning again, according to its proper order; that the Lord should be born,
because of the sign which had been given. (3 Nephi 1:19)

Miriam’s son was born the next morning.

When she awoke from her exhaustive sleep, the first person she saw was Nephi. He smiled his warm,
tender smile and took her hand. “Miriam,” he said, “the sign has been given. Your son was born the same day
as the Son of God.”

Then she became aware of the little body cradled in her arms.

She slept most of the day, dreaming of the five years since she had met Samuel. She dreamed of
Nephi, the older, who had taught her the things of God from the old records he had; of Nephi, the son of Nephi,
who now was their leader; of the young husband and the brief time they had been together before his death; of
Samuel and the gifts and blessings he had promised her, and had told her to prepare.

When she awoke, it was evening. The old shack in which she lay had only part of the roof remaining,
and through one large gap she saw a star--brighter and more glorious than any she had ever seen before.

“I wonder who else is looking into the heavens and seeing that star?” she asked Nephi who sat by her
bedside. Then she looked at her son. “I wonder if His mother could be happier than I?”

No one replied, but the old midwife shook her head sadly. The child would not cry. No matter what she
did the child remained silent--she was afraid he would always be silent.

“I’ve come to take you back to Zarahemla as soon as you can travel,” Nephi said, but Miriam didn’t hear
him. She was looking at her son--a present from the Lord.

And the people began to be distinguished by ranks, according to their

riches and their chances for learning;... Some were lifted up in pride, and others
were exceedingly humble; some did return railing for railing, while others would
receive railings and persecutions and all manner of afflictions, and would not turn
and revile again, but were penitent before God. (3 Nephi 6:12-13)

Miriam called her son Abinadi after a great prophet she had read of in the records Nephi had. He grew
strong as the yours passed, but he was always the object of scorn. People enjoyed teasing him, laughing at
him, and jeering at his attempts to reply to their remarks.

“You’re one of the most blessed young men in the world, my son,” Miriam told him one evening after he
ran in from the street, trying desperately not to let his mockers know how much they hurt him. “The Lord has
given you His Gospel. Those that laugh at you have so little; you have so much.”

And when she saw his confusion and could read in his eyes the questions, “Why am I not able to
speak? Why am I different?” she’d say,”We don’t understand the ways of God.”

Miriam sometimes wondered if she had failed God--if she was being punished through Abinadi for not
doing as she should in preparing a gift for Him. But she had nothing to prepare. She possessed no silks, no
gold, no priceless jewels. She and her son lived on the outskirts of the city in an old hut. What had she to give
a king?

But whatever the reason was, Abinadi never spoke.

During the years which followed, two things remained uppermost in the minds of Miriam and Abinadi:
the eventual appearance of the Savior to the righteous Nephites, and the gift they were to present to Him. They
studied the Gospel every evening together, they listened to Nephi as he taught them, and they remembered
the signs that Samuel had promised: no light upon the face of the land for three days, thunderings, lightnings,
earthquakes, tempests, destruction of great cities, and mountains laid low--valleys exalted. They looked
forward to and believed in their fulfillment.

The necessity of presenting Christ with a present, Miriam also always remembered. HShe spoke of it
constantly, and so deeply was it a part of her that it became a part of Abinadi also.

“Perhaps He’ll forgive us,” Miriam said one night, “if we do all we can to live the plan of life He has
given us. Perhaps gifts won’t be too necessary then.”

And they did. For humbleness, devoutness or faithfulness, none could surpass them.

And it came to pass...there arose a great storm, such an one as never

had been known in all the land. (3 Nephi 8:5)

When Abinadi was 33 years old, towards evening, as he returned home from his day’s work, he noticed
great black clouds gathering in the west toward the sea. Then the wind began to blow with such terrific force
that it seemed as if the trees would be forced to bend right to the earth. Their branches, silhouetted against the
sky, waved frantically like the arms of a person in distress. Just as he reached their hut, it began to thunder.
The sky became alive with knives of lightning cutting across the blackness. And the wind continued to grow in
intensity. Then a reddish glow appeared over the city. Women began running through the streets, holding their
crying children close to them.

Zarahemla was on fire!

During the hours that followed, cities were burned, buried by landslides, or drowned in the sea,
highways and smooth places were broken up, people were killed, and the earth groaned and twisted as if
pleading for deliverance. Just as it seemed everything would be completely destroyed, the storm quieted and
disappeared.

And there was darkness upon the face of the land. And now it came to
pass that there were a great multitude gathered together, of the people of Nephi,
round about the temple which was in the land Bountiful; and they were marvelling
and wondering one to another, and were showing one to another the great and
marvellous change which had taken place. (3 Nephi 11:1)

Miriam and Abinadi stood on the outskirts of the crown. Miriam saw Nephi in the distance talking to a
group of people explaining to them, she imagined, the meaning of the events that had happened. Finally, they
too would know the joy of having the truths she’d had since she met Samuel.

Then she heard a strange sound. It was a voice which seemed to come from heaven, not loud or harsh,
but nevertheless it seemed to penetrate her to her very soul. But she didn’t understand it.

And the third time they understood it, and it said, “Behold, my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased,
in whom I have glorified my name--hear ye him.”
 Miriam looked towards heaven from twitch the voice had come, and saw a man descending, clothed in
a white robe, whose glory was beyond description, and when He stood in their midst, He said, “Behold, I am
Jesus Christ whom the prophets testified should come into the world.”

The day was drawing to a close before Christ prepared to leave. He had taught them for hours, yet the
people weren’t tired. They wanted to hear more of the truths that so few of them had heard before.

Then it happened.

Christ looked at Miriam and Abinadi, and in a voice which seemed to thunder in their ears said,
“Abinadi, come hither.”

Miriam felt his arm go from around her shoulders, and watched him as he walked through the crowd to
where Jesus stood.

Christ put His hands on Abinadi’s shoulders, looked at him, and said simply, “Feed my sheep.”

It seemed to Miriam as if the whole world was suddenly as silent as Abinadi had always been. She
watched him as he turned around and faced the people who gathered around him. Miriam could see the fear in
his eyes as he saw other groups, gathered around Nephi and the twelve Christ had previously chosen--each
being taught the Gospel by those who knew it. He was expected to teach this one.

Miriam smiled at him, and he opened his mouth and began to speak to the crowd, slowly and hesitantly
at first, but gradually all the words that had been pent up in him for so long began to flow forth, beautifully
explaining and teaching the people the things he had known all his life but couldn’t share until now.

Miriam looked at the son of God. It seemed to her He smiled and from somewhere within herself she
knew the only gift her King wanted was a humble and contrite heart--a worthy servant through which he could
accomplish His work.

She let her tears fall unchecked down her cheeks as she listened to her son’s voice proclaim the work
of the Lord.
 Little Lost Angel

Long ago, on that first Christmas Eve, when the angels came out from Heaven to bring their tidings of great
joy, there was a very little angel who slipped out with them. She was so little she did not sing very well, and, to
tell the truth, she didn’t quite understand what the angels were singing.

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.” -- Yes, she knew about that, but what
was it the beautiful big angel alone was singing?

“For unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Savior...Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling
clothes, lying in a manger.”

The little angel didn’t know what swaddling clothes were. And what--oh, what--was a manger?

Wondering, she floated down to the grassy field below her to wait until the angels finished singing and could
take her back to heaven, and in the field, huddled close together, she found the sheep that the shepherds had
forgotten. They were so soft, so warm, so quiet that the little angel lay down among them and fell asleep.

When she woke up, it was very still. The big angels had gone back into heaven, and the shepherds were
hurrying to find the new baby about whom the angels had sung.

“I’m glad the big star is there,” said the little angel. “But I wish the big angels had waited for me. I had better try
and find them. I’m sure I can find my way back to Heaven without them.”

She straightened the crown upon her golden head and picked up her little harp which had fallen to one side.
Then, gently spreading her wings, she went out onto the roadside.

“Why, there is one of the angels now,” She cried and hurried to him.

But it wasn’t an angel she found--only a man, a man walking by himself, his head hung down so that he didn’t
see even the great star.

The little angel looked at him. “Why don’t you sing?” she asked.

“Sing! Why should I sing? What is there to sing about?” growled the man.

It makes you happy to sing,” laughed the little angel. She ran her fingers across the harp she was carrying and
sang softly a little song. “There, isn’t that pretty?”

“Very, Very pretty,” said the man, looking at her at last.

“Here, you take it--then you can sing,” said the little one, putting the harp into his hands. “And, Please, will you
tell me if the angels went this way?”

“Angels? Angels?”

“Didn’t you see them?” asked the little one. “Oh, See! Isn’t that one of them just beyond us?”

She flew on to look, but alas, again it was a stranger to whom she came--a woman this time. Her clothes were
rich and gay but her face was hard and sullen, and she spoke roughly to the little angel.
“Go away! Go away! I’m no fit person for a child to be seen with.”

“Is it because you’ve lost your crown?” asked the angel anxiously. “Because if you have, you may have mine.
And, please, could you tell me which way the angels went?”

Angels?” said the woman in a startled voice.

She held the crown in her hands, and as she looked at it, long-lost tears ran down her face.

“What is this that is happening to me?” she whispered.

But the little angel had gone--more quickly now that she had no harp to carry, no crown upon her head. So fast
did she go that she almost fell upon a little boy sitting by the roadside and crying as though his heart would
break.

“What is that strange sound you are making, little one?” asked the angel.

I’m crying,” the little boy told her. “I wanted to see the King--the new King who is to be in Bethlehem tonight.
But they have all gone away and left me. I’m lame, ou see, so I can’t walk fast, and by the time I get there, the
King will be gone.”

“A King!” said the angel. “I thought it was a baby.”

“They said he was a King,” said the little boy and he began to cry again.

“Take my wings,” said the angel. “You can’t walk very well so it is you who should have them.”

She fastened her wings carefully to his shoulders. They were soft, fluttery things that caught the low night
breezes and bore the boy forward in a gentle, rapturous motion.

“Thank you, oh, thank you,” he called back, but the little angel scarcely heard him. She was trying to walk
without her wings. She had not known it would be so difficult. She kept falling to the ground, and her tender
feet were cut and bruised by the stones on the roadway.

“But the big star is there,”she thought, as she went slowly along. “And see, a light! Is it heaven at least?”

But it was not a light from Heaven she saw--only candles from a home nearby.

The angel knocked timidly and stook waiting--a little thing with pleading eyes and tangled golden hair.

A woman opened the door, then stood staring at the little angel, unable to believe what she saw.

“Peter,” she whispered back into the room. “Peter, come! Do you see what I see? Oh, it is a miracle because
we have prayed so long? Is this a child sent to us at last?”

She put out her hands and drew the lost angel to her. She bathed the soiled and bleeding feet and combed the
tangled hair. Then she held her close and sang a low song of great joy, and the little angel closed her eyes and
dreamed that she was in Heaven.

When she awoke it was morning. She had found not heaven, but a new home and a mother and father.
They so loved her that she almost forgot she had been a little angel. She ran about the fields while the man
Peter tended his sheep, and she helped the woman Dorcas make the bread and sweep the floor. She played in
the meadows and vineyards with the other children, and they loved her because she was so gentle and sweet.

Many years passed and Peter and Dorcas at last grew old and passed away. But the lost angel stayed in her
home alone. Now it was she who tended the sheep and gathered the grapes and made the bread. She was
friendly to all who came to her door. Many travelers knocked there and always found a welcome, food, and
rest. They told her about the lands through which they had come and of the people they had met or of whom
they had heard.

Many of their stories were of the great ones in the world. They told her of a poet who sang his way straight into
the hearts of men. They told of a great-hearted woman who spent her life helping the poor and sinful. They told
her of a leader of the people--lame, it is true, but inspired and beloved.

And the angel heard them with a smile. She knew that the poet was the man to whom she had given her harp,
that the great-hearted woman was the one who wore her crown, and the leader of the people was the boy who
had taken her wings.
If You’re Warm, You’re Getting Closer

By Julie Taggart Rabe

Charity is the pure love of Christ (Moro. 7:47).

“What are we going to do now?” asked Danny as Mom put a batch of cinnamon rolls into the oven.

Before Mom could answer, Elizabeth asked, “Mom, when will Christmas be here? I want to open my presents.”

Mom sighed as she shut the oven door and set the timer. “There’s a lot we can do, Danny, and, Elizabeth,
there’s much, much more to Christmas than opening presents.” She sat down. “Let’s see—how about a
game?”

The children nodded enthusiastically.

“Elizabeth, I want you to get Baby Jesus from the nativity set in the family room.”

Elizabeth ran into the family room. She quickly came back with Baby Jesus.

“Now, Danny, close your eyes while Elizabeth hides the Baby Jesus. She’ll tell you when you can open them.
Then you look for Him. If you’re far away, she’ll say you’re cold or colder. But if you’re getting closer to the
hiding place, she’ll say you’re warm or warmer. Do you understand?” When Danny nodded, Mom said, “All
right, close your eyes, Danny.”

Danny put his hands over his eyes. Elizabeth quickly put the Baby Jesus on the music stand of the piano. She
looked at Mom and silently mouthed, “Is that OK?”

Mom smiled and nodded.

Elizabeth moved back next to Mom. “You can open your eyes now, Danny.”

Danny uncovered his eyes and took several steps toward the couch.

“You’re cold,” said Elizabeth.

“Colder,” Danny heard as he looked under the end table. “Colder. Oh, Danny, you’re as cold as you can get
over there by the fireplace!” declared Elizabeth.

Danny slumped his shoulders in frustration and said, “I don’t like this game.”

“Don’t give up,” urged Mom. “Now that you know where the Baby Jesus isn’t, you should have a better idea
about where He is.”

Danny thought a minute, then did an about-face.

Elizabeth cheered, “Hooray! You’re getting warmer.”

Then, instead of looking down, Danny looked up at the piano. He smiled and stood tall as he walked toward
the piano.
“Warm, warmer, warmest!” declared Elizabeth as he reached out his hand and picked up Baby Jesus.

“Danny wins the game!” announced Mom.

Danny had a great big grin on his face, and Elizabeth had one too. Mom gathered them both in her arms and
explained. “You see, the real purpose of Christmas is like our little game. It’s to try to get closer to Jesus. When
we do, we feel warm. If you get that good, warm feeling, the Spirit is telling you that you’re doing the kinds of
things that Jesus would like.”

Bzzzz!

“The cinnamon rolls are done,” shouted Elizabeth and Danny.

“Why don’t you two put on your coats while I frost the rolls? Then you can deliver some to Mrs. Simms while
they’re still hot.”

Elizabeth and Danny rushed into the house after delivering the rolls. “Mom! Mom! Mrs. Simms was so happy to
get the rolls that she had tears in her eyes!” reported Danny.

“I think Jesus liked us giving her the rolls, because I feel warm inside,” said Elizabeth. “And if you’re warm,
you’re getting closer.”