Christmas Stories

Taking a break from sharing the list of things I can do to promote a positive self-concept in children and myself. One of the things I am finding most amazing is how many things you can do to promote a positive self-concept. I also know how devastatingly easy it is to tear down a child.

I am sharing some of my favorite Christmas stories that I collected over time. I love the stories...some I am not sure how true they are...others the names may change but I lived in places that people would act just like in the story. Hugs to you all and I hope you are enjoying my sharing something I love, Christmas stories about love.

Christmas Love

The "W" in Christmas http://christ-was-love.blogspot.com/

Each December, I vowed to make Christmas a calm and peaceful experience.

I had cut back on nonessential obligations - extensive card writing, endless baking, decorating, and even overspending.

Yet still, I found myself exhausted, unable to appreciate the precious family moments, and of course, the true meaning of Christmas.

My son, Nicholas, was in kindergarten that year. It was an exciting season for a six year old.

For weeks, he'd been memorizing songs for his school's "Winter Pageant."

I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd be working the night of the production. Unwilling to miss his shining moment, I spoke with his teacher. She assured me there'd be a dress rehearsal the morning of the presentation.

All parents unable to attend that evening were welcome to come then.

Fortunately, Nicholas seemed happy with the compromise.

So, the morning of the dress rehearsal, I filed in ten minutes early, found a spot on the cafeteria floor and sat down. Around the room, I saw several other parents quietly scampering to their seats. As I waited, the students were led into the room. Each class, accompanied by their teacher, sat cross-legged on the floor. Then, each group, one by one, rose to perform their song.

Because the public school system had long stopped referring to the holiday as "Christmas," I didn't expect anything other than fun, commercial entertainment songs of reindeer, Santa Claus, snowflakes and good cheer.

So, when my son's class rose to sing, "Christmas Love," I was slightly taken aback by its bold title.

Nicholas was aglow, as were all of his classmates, adorned in fuzzy mittens, red sweaters, and bright snowcaps upon their heads.

Those in the front row- center stage - held up large letters, one by one, to spell out the title of the song.

As the class would sing "C is for Christmas," a child would hold up the letter C. Then, "H is for Happy," and on and on, until each child holding up his portion had presented the complete message, "Christmas Love."

The performance was going smoothly, until suddenly, we noticed her; a small, quiet, girl in the front row holding the letter "M" upside down - totally unaware her letter "M" appeared as a "W".

The audience of 1st through 6th graders snickered at this little one's mistake. But she had no idea they were laughing at her, so she stood tall, proudly holding her "W".

Although many teachers tried to shush the children, the laughter continued until the last letter was raised, and we all saw it together.

A hush came over the audience and eyes began to widen.

In that instant, we understood the reason we were there, why we celebrated the holiday in the first place, why even in the chaos, there was a purpose for our festivities.

For when the last letter was held high, the message read loud and clear:

"C H R I S T W A S L O V E"

And He still is.
Amazed in His presence... .humbled by His love.

Again, HAVE A BLESSED MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

Check out this video based on this story.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I-E6a5OR3xE

WHO IS SANTA CLAUS?

I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"

My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true. Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything.

She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?" she snorted . . . "Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let's go."

"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun. "Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through it's doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.

I was only nine years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church.

I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-4 class. Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he had no good coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat! I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.

"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. "Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby." The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it. Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa's helpers.

Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going." I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his doorbell and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma.

Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby. Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.

I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95.


Author unknown to me.  

Big Wheel truck stop

Snopes says this can't be verified but that is OK, I lived in a small town that this could have happened.  I love the story so I am just sharing one of my favorites.

In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and just 75 cents in my pocket.

Their father was gone..

The boys ranged from three months to seven years ; their sister was two.

Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared.

Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds.

He did manage to leave $15 a week to buy groceries.

Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but no food either.

If there was a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it.

I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my best homemade dress, loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job..

The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town.

No luck.

The kids stayed crammed into the car and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince who ever would listen that I was willing to learn or do anything. I had to have a job.

Still no luck. The last place we went to, just a few miles out of town, was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted to a truck stop.

It was called the Big Wheel.

An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the window from time to time at all those kids.

She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in the morning.

She paid 65 cents an hour, and I could start that night.

I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people.

I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night.

She could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep

This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal.

That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers, we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job.. And so I started at the Big Wheel..

When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with one dollar of my tip money-- fully half of what I averaged every night.

As the weeks went by, heating bills added a strain to my meager wage.

The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and began to leak. I had to fill them with air on the way to work and again every morning before I could go home..

One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and found four tires in the back seat. New tires!

There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tires.

Had angels taken up residence in Indiana ? I wondered.

I made a deal with the local service station.

In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office.

I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for him to do the tires.

I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough.

Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids .

I found a can of red paint and started repairing and painting some old toys. Then I hid them in the basement so there would be something for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning.

Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on the boys pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.

On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big Wheel. There were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, and a state trooper named Joe.

A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were dropping nickels in the pinball machine.

The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up.

When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas morning, to my amazement, my old battered Chevy was filled full to the top with boxes of all shapes and sizes.

I quickly opened the driver's side door, crawled inside and kneeled in the front facing the back seat..

Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box.

Inside was a whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10!

I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the jeans.

Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes. There was candy and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries. There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes.

There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There was whole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items.

And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll.

As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude.

And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning.

Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop.

Respect

The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life.
Richard Bach

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/respect.html#z5pYBvkz2S5GTPDF.99

I am working my way through a list of Things I can do to promote positive self-concept in a child written by Miss C. I then take the quote and rewrite to a way I can nurture myself and improve my self-concept.

9. Showing a basic feeling of worth and dignity towards children. A visitor in the home would never be told, "Look what a mess you have made. Don't you know how to clean up after yourself?" Children also need respect. 

I was often frustrated with myself with how I spoke to my children. Being sick and tired only worsened my behavior.  One of the things I hear consistently from ACoNs is the complaint that not only they were not treated with respect as children, they are now not treated with respect as adults.  Many a blog stated, "I don't want their love just some respect."  Going no contact often has roots in lack of respect.  I am doing much better with my grandchildren showing them respect.  It is also easier since they go home.  I get a break and am excited to see my kids and their families.  I think I learned a great deal about the importance of respect from upsi and mulderfan.  Over at jonsi's blog she posts then analyzes comments, tweets and emails showing how their words show lack of respect.  Both my counselors spent many sessions teaching me what respect is and how to show respect to others.  Respect has a lot to do with boundaries.  Respect also has an element of feeling.  I need to feel like I am respected.

Turning this around how do I need to change my behavior so that I show respect to myself.  How is my self talk?  Do I call myself stupid when I forget and appointment or miss a deadline?  Do I berate myself for not meeting impossible high standards?  Do I respect my need for space and time to transition?  If I don't show respect for myself, how can I expect anyone else to treat me with respect?  These are some of the toughest changes I am making in my life.  Too often, I revert to the old ugly script from my childhood.  I need to let the ugly script go and rewrite a kinder more respectful self dialogue that encourages me in the same way I try to encourage our grand children.  I believe self-respect is one of the key components to self-confidence.  I am a work in progress and I won't get it all right tomorrow but this one deserves my attention every day since I have 100% control over what I say to myself. 

How is my behavior through the eyes of a child?

Santa Claus

http://www.41051.com/xmaslyrics/santatown.html


You better watch out
You better not cry
You better not pout
I'm telling you why
Santa Claus is coming to town

He's making a list,
And checking it twice
He's gonna find out who's naughty or nice,
Santa Claus is coming, to town

Santa Claus is coming to town
Santa Claus is coming to town


Some Christians lament that Santa Claus is usurping Christ in Christmas.  My relationship with Santa has been long and bumpy.  As a child, Santa Claus was demystified before I was born.  My brother had a melt down when my other brother was crying, brother 1 feared that Santa would not give brother 2 any presents.  Santa Claus was unmasked to reassure both of them that presents still were in the plans.  Santa gifts always appeared under the tree but I knew full well where they came from.  No mystery, no threats, no fun.  I decided that Santa was fun and I fully intended to have Santa with our kids.  First born son, Christmas at one-year-old, I had no idea he could throw such a fit.  He saw Santa across the room and threw himself on the ground screaming and kicking his feet...very obvious that Santa was not fun.  Gathered up our sobbing child and exited and never mentioned the red, jolly fellow again.  I discovered that you can have a tree and all the presents and never mention Santa Claus.  When number one son was about 4 years old I was driving him and his two sisters into town.  (We lived out in the country by this time.)  I listened to him explain to his younger sisters about Mr. Christmas and how he showed up at Christmas time then disappeared for the rest of the year.  What to do, what to do?  We also had our own Santa experience getting home late one Christmas eve we found a bag of food and a beautifully wrapped present in our car port.  The tag clearly stated that it was from Santa.  I cried.  It was the year that we paid a buck for a Christmas tree on a Christmas tree lot.  DH cut off bottom branches and drilled holes to put the branches in the gaping holes.  Amazing little tree when he was done.  The main present we had for the kids that year was the present from Santa, a Little People's Tree house.  A toy they played with for years.  We finally decided that Santa's role at our house was he made it possible to give gifts where normally no gift giving would be accepted.  People would let you give a gift in the name of Santa when they would normally refuse since you didn't know them or pride got in the way.  Santa allowed anonymous gift giving.   My respect and love for Santa Claus has grown over the years.  Now, I see him in a new role that I didn't expect.  Christ and all other ideas religious and moral are being tossed out of school across this nation.  Tragedies are happening.  I help at a high school with a day care where I help out sometimes.  I walk in the room and what do I hear, "He's gonna find out who's naughty or nice..."  Yep, Santa Claus is reminding them that it matters if you are naughty or nice.  How you behave makes a difference.  Santa Claus, I decided, can slip into school disguised as a red, jolly fellow and teach that being nice is important.  My favorite statue in my cupboard of angels and fairies is Santa Claus kneeling at Christ manger.  I am still looking for the poem I saw years ago that tells how Santa Claus volunteered to help us remember Christmas when Christ was not allowed.  It is true now.  Santa Claus reminded the little preschoolers that being nice and kind to each other is important and Christ is not allowed.  I learned like so many things in life, Santa Claus is what you make him.  To me, he is a red, jolly fellow that can spread good cheer in places that nobody else can go.  May you find merriness in your Christmas time.