OCR Text |
Show And (he angels said unto them Fear not: for, behold, I bring sou gmid tidings of great This sear the tree at the Earl Larsen house is decorated with the faces of eight children gone. I will not celebrate Christmas this year, I said. Too many faces gone - too too many many memories dreams that can never be fulfilled. For Christmas is a season of the heart, and my heart is barren, cold and dark. . THE MERRY chimes peal out; no answer echoes from my hollow heart. The heavenly stars, the lighted candles glow - their rays do not the darkness pene t shall le to all people. the best decorated tree in the county. trate. The cheery fire on the hearth, no warmth creates within my breast. I walk the streets; there is no joy. The smiling faces, the cheerful cries, Peace on Earth, Merry Christmas, reverberate mockingly. I turn my head away. What do you know of life or pain? I cry within myself. Christmas will ner be merry again, for those who who gave meaning to the merry all are And there were in a far country. . jo, which THE SEASON wears on. Each day brings a deeper thrust of grief. No wares tempt me. The seasons sweets are ashlike to my taste. No holly wreath shall grace my door, I vow. No yule log bum upon the hearth. No tree, no tinsel, no garlands gay, no colored bulbs shall light my way. No greeting cards, nor gifts Ill send. I have nothing left to give. Nothing. PEACE ON Earth: the unceasing carols pierce anew each time I hear. The dews of Ilevn, no peace distill upon my soul. I close my ears; I will not hear. I am blind, and deaf to Christmas sounds and sights alike. And then, a sudden blinding light that cannot be ignored. A light reflected in the face of a child. His eyes shine in awe of the splendor of Christmas. My bah Scrooge-lik- e humbug melts away. My heart thaws to the revelation (or is it remembrance). Christmas stands for the Christ child. AND ALTHOUGH Christ is no longer a child - (He was born, grew to manhood, suffered and then perished on the cross), the child is still the symbol of Christmas. We are all bom, live out our lives and die when it comes our turn, but the spirit of Christmas and the spirit of hope lives on -- renewed at the birth of each child. Suddenly there is room in the inn of my heart. I am a child myself again. The secret of Christmas lies in child-lik- e trust. Wordsworth was right: The child is father of the man. The scriptures speak the truth: A little child shall lead them, and Except ye become as a little child. . There is joy in the world; there is peace on earth; there is good will toward men. . . In the heart of a child. ( |