介绍： Merry Christmas!
And see you next semester~

Part2 Stories about Christmas
Story 1

christmas is for love. it is for joy, for giving and sharing, for laughter, for reuniting with family and friends, for tinsel and brightly covered packages. but, mostly christmas is for love. i had not believed this until a sm...

介绍： Merry Christmas!
And see you next semester~

Part2 Stories about Christmas
Story 1

christmas is for love. it is for joy, for giving and sharing, for laughter, for reuniting with family and friends, for tinsel and brightly covered packages. but, mostly christmas is for love. i had not believed this until a small elfin like pupil with wide innocent eyes and soft rosy cheeks gave me a wondrous gift one christmas.

matthew was a 10 year old orphan who lived with his aunt, a bitter, middle aged woman greatly annoyed with the burden of caring for her dead sister’s son. she never failed to remind young matthew, if it hadn’t been for her generosity, he would be a vagrant, homeless waif. still, with all the scolding and chilliness at home, he was a sweet and gentle child.

i had not noticed matthew particularly until he began staying after class each day [at the risk of arousing his aunt's anger so i learned later] to help me straighten up the room. we did this quietly and comfortably, not speaking much, but enjoying the solitude of that hour of the day. when we did talk, matthew spoke mostly of his mother. though he was quite young when she died, he remembered a kind, gentle, loving woman who always spent time with him.

as christmas drew near however, matthew failed to stay after school each day. i looked forward to his coming, and when the days passed and he continued to scamper hurriedly from the room after class, i stopped him one afternoon and asked him why he no longer helped me in the room. i told him how i had missed him, and his large brown eyes lit up eagerly as he replied, ‘did you really miss me?’

i explained how he had been my best helper, ‘i was making you a surprise,’ he whispered confidentially. ‘it’s for christmas.’ with that, he became embarrassed and dashed from the room. he didn’t stay after school any more after that.

finally came the last school day before christmas. matthew crept slowly into the room late that afternoon with his hands concealing something behind his back. ‘i have your present,’ he said timidly when i looked up. ‘i hope you like it.’ he held out his hands, and there lying in his small palms was a tiny wooden box.

‘it’s beautiful, matthew. is there something in it?’ i asked opening the top to look inside. ‘oh you can’t see what’s in it,’ he replied, ‘and you can’t touch it, or taste it or feel it, but mother always said it makes you feel good all the time, warm on cold nights and safe when you’re all alone.’

i gazed into the empty box. ‘what is it, matthew’ i asked gently, ‘that will make me feel so good?’

‘it’s love,’ he whispered softly, ‘and mother always said it’s best when you give it away.’ he turned and quietly left the room.

so now i keep a small box crudely made of scraps of wood on the piano in my living room and only smile when inquiring friends raise quizzical eyebrows when i explain to them there is love in it.

yes, christmas is for gaiety, mirth, song, and for good and wondrous gifts. but mostly, christmas is for love.

Story 2

at christmastime, men and women everywhere gather in their churches to wonder anew at the greatest miracle the world has ever known. but the story i like best to recall was not a miracle—not exactly.

it happened to a pastor who was very young. his church was very old. once, long ago, it had flourished. famous men had preached from its pulpit, prayed before its altar. rich and poor alike had worshiped there and built it beautifully. now the good days had passed from the section of town where it stood. but the pastor and his young wife believed in their run-down church. they felt that with paint, hammer, and faith, they could get it in shape. together they went to work.

but late in december, a severe storm whipped through the river valley, and the worst blow fell on the little church—a huge chunk of rain-soaked plaster fell out of the inside wall just behind the altar. sorrowfully the pastor and his wife swept away the mess, but they couldn’t hide the ragged hole. the pastor looked at it and had to remind himself quickly, “thy will be done!”

the joyful purpose of the storm that had knocked a hole in the wall of the church was now quite clear.

but his wife wept, “christmas is only two days away!”

that afternoon the dispirited couple attended an auction held for the benefit of a youth group. the auctioneer opened a box and shook out of its folds a handsome gold-and-ivory lace tablecloth. it was a magnificent item, nearly 15 feet long. but it, too, dated from a long-vanished era. who, today, had any use for such a thing? there were a few halfhearted bids. then the pastor was seized with what he thought was a great idea. he bid it in for six dollars and fifty cents.

he carried the cloth back to the church and tacked it up on the wall behind the altar. it completely hid the hole! and the extraordinary beauty of its shimmering handwork cast a fine, holiday glow over the chancel. it was a great triumph. happily he went back to preparing his christmas sermon.

just before noon on the day of christmas eve, as the pastor was opening the church, he noticed a woman standing in the cold at the bus stop.

“the bus won’t be here for 40 minutes!” he called, and he invited her into the church to get warm.

she told him that she had come from the city that morning to be interviewed for a job as governess to the children of one of the wealthy families in town but she had been turned down. a war refugee, she had imperfect english.

the woman sat down in a pew and chafed her hands and rested. after a while, she dropped her head and prayed. she looked up as the pastor began to adjust the great gold-and-ivory lace cloth across the hole. she rose suddenly and walked up the steps of the chancel. she looked at the tablecloth. the pastor smiled and started to tell her about the storm damage, but she didn’t seem to listen. she took up a fold of the cloth and rubbed it between her fingers.

“it is mine!” she said. “it is my banquet cloth!” she lifted up a corner and showed the surprised pastor that there were initials monogrammed on it. “my husband had the cloth made especially for me in brussels! there could not be another like it!”

for the next few minutes, the woman and the pastor talked excitedly together. she explained that she was viennese, that she and her husband had opposed the nazis and decided to leave the country. they were advised to go separately. her husband put her on a train for switzerland. they planned that he would join her as soon as he could arrange to ship their household goods across the border.
she never saw him again. later she heard that he had died in a concentration camp.

“i have always felt that it was my fault—to leave without him,” she said. “perhaps these years of wandering have been my punishment!”

the pastor tried to comfort her, urged her to take the cloth with her. she refused. then she went away.

as the church began to fill on christmas eve, it was clear that the cloth was going to be a great success. it had been skillfully designed to look its best by candlelight.

after the service, the pastor stood at the doorway; many people told him that the church looked beautiful. one gentle-faced, middle-aged man—he was the local clock-and-watch repairman—looked rather puzzled.

“it is strange,” he said in his soft accent. “many years ago, my wife—god rest her—and i owned such a cloth. in our home in vienna, my wife put it on the table”—and here he smiled—“only when the bishop came to dinner!”

the pastor suddenly became very excited. he told the jeweler about the woman who had been in church earlier in the day.

the startled jeweler clutched the pastor’s arm. “can it be? does she live?”

together the two got in touch with the family who had interviewed her. then, in the pastor’s car, they started for the city. and as christmas day was born, this man and his wife—who had been separated through so many saddened yuletides—were reunited.

to all who heard this story, the joyful purpose of the storm that had knocked a hole in the wall of the church was now quite clear. of course, people said it was a miracle, but i think you will agree it was the season for it!

Story 3

It was unusually quiet in the emergency room on December 25.

I was triage nurse that day. I didn't think there would be any patients, sighing about having to work on Christmas. Just then five bodies showed up at my desk, a pale woman and four small children.

“Are you all sick?” I asked suspiciously.

“Yes,” she said weakly and lowered her head.

But when it came to descriptions of their presenting problems, things got a little vague. Two of the children had headaches, but the headaches weren't accompanied by the normal body language of holding the head or trying to keep it still. Two children had earaches, but only one could tell me which ear was affected. The mother complained of a cough but seemed to work to produce it.

Something was wrong, but I didn't say anything but explained that it might be a little while before a doctor saw her. She responded, “Take your time; it's warm in here.”

On a hunch, I checked the chart after the admitting clerk had finished registering the family. No address—they were homeless. The waiting room was warm.

I looked out at the family huddled by the Christmas tree. The littlest one was pointing at the television and exclaiming something to her mother. The oldest one was looking at an ornament on the Christmas tree.

I went back to the nurses' station and mentioned we had a homeless family in the waiting room. The nurses, grumbling about working Christmas, turned to compassion for a family just trying to get warm on Christmas. The team went into action, much as we do when there's a medical emergency. But this one was a Christmas emergency.

We were all offered a free meal in the hospital cafeteria on Christmas Day, so we claimed that meal and prepared a banquet for our Christmas guests. We needed presents. We put together oranges and apples in a basket. We collected from different departments candies, crayons and other things available that could be presents. As seriously as we met the physical needs of the patients that came to us that day, our team worked to meet the needs, and exceed the expectations, of a family who just wanted to be warm on Christmas Day.

Later, as the family walked to the door to leave, the fouryearold came running back, gave me a hug and whispered, “Thanks for being our angels today.”