At the corner of the church was a tall gray tower, and at the top of the tower, so people said, was a chime of the most beautiful bells in the world. But the fact was that no one had heard the bells for many years. Not even on Christmas. For it was the custom on Christmas Eve for all the people to bring to the church their offerings to the Christ-child. And there had been a time when a very unusual offering laid on the alter brought glorious music from the chimes far up in the tower. Some said that the wind rang them, and others that the angels set them swinging. But lately no offering had been great enough to deserve the music of the chimes. Now a few miles from the city, in a small village, lived a boy named Pedro and his little brother. They knew very little about the Christmas chimes, but they had heard of the service in the church on Christmas Eve and they decided to go to see the beautiful celebration.

The day before Christmas was bitterly cold, with a hard white crust on the ground. Pedro and little brother started out early in the afternoon, and despite the cold they reached the edge of the city by nightfall. They were about to enter one of the great gates when Pedro saw something dark on the snow near their path.

It was a poor woman, who had fallen just outside the city, too sick and tired to get in where she might have found shelter. Pedro tried to rouse her, but she was barely conscious. "It's no use, little brother. You will have to go alone."

"Without you?" cried little brother. Pedro nodded slowly. "This woman will freeze to death if nobody cares for her. Everyone has probably gone to the church now, but when you come back be sure and bring someone to help her. I will stay here and try to keep her from freezing, and perhaps get her to eat the roll I have in my pocket."

"But I can't leave you!" cried little brother. "Both of us need not miss the service," said Pedro. "You must see and hear everything twice, once for you and once for me. I am sure the Christ-child knows how I would love to worship him. And if you get a chance, take this silver piece of mine and when no one is looking, lay it down for my offering."

In this way he hurried little brother off to the city, and winked hard to keep back the tears of disappointment.

The great church was a brilliant place that night; it had never looked so beautiful. When the organ played and the thousands of people sang, the walls shook with the sound.

At the close of the service came the procession with the offerings to be laid on the altar. Some brought jewels, some heavy baskets of gold. A famous writer laid down a book he had been writing for years. And last of all walked the King of the country, hoping with all the rest to win for himself the chime of the Christmas bells.

A great murmur went through the church as the King took from his head the royal crown, all set with precious stones, and laid it on the altar. "Surely," everyone said, "we will hear the bells now!" But the cold wind was all that was heard in the tower.

The procession was over, and the choir began the closing hymn. Suddenly the organist stopped playing. The singing ceased. Not a sound could be heard from anyone in the church. As all the people strained their ears to listen, there came—softly, but distinctly—the sound of the chimes in the tower. So far away and yet so clear, the music seemed so much sweeter than anything ever heard before.

Then they all stood up together and looked at the altar to see what great gift had awakened the long silent bells. But all they saw was the childish figure of little brother, who had crept softly down the aisle when no one was looking and had laid Pedro's little piece of silver on the altar.

Today's gift: Chocolate coins!



Day 2's Story:

A Trucker's Story
 try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring Stevie. His placement counselor assured me that he would be 
a good, reliable busboy. But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn't sure I wanted one. I wasn't sure how my Customers would react to Stevie. He was short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Down Syndrome. I wasn't worried about most of my trucker customers because truckers don't generally care who buses tables as long as the meatloaf platter is good and the pies are homemade. The four-wheeler drivers were the ones who concerned me; the mouthy college kids traveling to school; the yuppie snobs who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear of catching some dreaded "truck stop germ"; the pairs of white shirted business men on expense accounts who think every truck stop waitress wants to be flirted with. 

I knew those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so I closely watched him for the first few weeks. I shouldn't 
have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a month my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truckstop mascot. After that, I really didn't care what the rest of the customers thought of him. He was like a 21-year-old in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties. 

Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the table. Our only problem was persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus dishes and glasses onto cart and meticulously wipe the table up with a practiced flourish of his rag. If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met. 

Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the truck stop. Their Social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money was tight, and what I paid him was probably the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home. 

That's why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie missed work. He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His social worker said that people with Down syndrome often had heart problems at an early age so this wasn't unexpected, and there was a good chance he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months. 

A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery and doing fine. Frannie, the head waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she heard the good news. Belle Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the sight of the 50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy beside his table. Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Belle Ringer a withering look. He grinned. "OK, Frannie, what was that all about?" he asked. "We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay." "I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell him. What was the surgery about?" 

Frannie quickly told Belle Ringer and the other two drivers sitting at his booth about Stevie's surgery, then sighed. "Yeah, I'm glad he is going to be OK" she said. "But I don't know how he and his Mom are going to handle all the bills. From what I hear, they're barely getting by as it is." Belle Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to wait on the rest of her tables. Since I hadn't had time to round up a busboy to replace Stevie and really didn't want to replace him, the girls were busing their own tables that day until we decided what to do. After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand a funny look on her face." 

What's up?" I asked. "I didn't get that table where Belle Ringer and his friends were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pony Pete and Tony Tipper were sitting there when I got back to clean it off" she said. "This was folded and tucked under a coffee cup." She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, was printed "Something For Stevie." 

"Pony Pete asked me what that was all about," she said, "so I told about Stevie and his Mom and everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this." She handed me another paper napkin that had "Something For Stevie" scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked within its folds. Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head and said simply "truckers." 

That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is supposed to be back to work. His placement worker said he's been counting the days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn't matter at all that it was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past week, making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy. 

I arranged to have his mother bring him to work, met them in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day back. Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn't stop grinning as he pushed through the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing cart were waiting. "Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast," I said. I took him and his mother by their arms. "Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate you coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me." I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room. I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we marched through the dining room. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and join the procession. 

We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface was covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting slightly crooked on dozens of folded paper napkins. "First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess," I said. I tried to sound stern. Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had "Something for Stevie" printed on the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table. Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it. I turned to his mother. "There's more than $10,000 in cash and checks on that table, all from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems. Happy Thanksgiving." 

Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and shouting, and there were a few tears, as well. But you know what's funny? While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big, big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table. Best worker I ever hired.

Today's Gift:



Finally we have day 1's Story:

The Christmas Story:

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the fields. Keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo the angel of the lord came upon them: and the glory of the lord shone round them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which shall be unto all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David, a savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.
-Luke 2:8-12 

... There came wisemen from the east to Jerusalem. And lo the star, which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was. When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy.
-Matthew 2:1,9&10

Today's most special gift is:



I still don't have a clue as to who my benefactor is but I am now resolved to pay this debt of gratitude forward next Christmas. No one at church is talking as yet but if I do find out I will give the a very big hug and probably become a puddle of tears.

They made my first Christmas without my husband so much more bearable. I cried so much less that I think I would have. I was also able to maintain our tradition of watching "A Christmas Story" and "Christmas Vacation" albeit with other family members. Everyone is healthy (relatively in Mom's case), We all managed to be or at least appear happy.All of the kids were spoiled rotten. I should have bought stock in wrapping paper there was so much of it flying around. Even the sugar cookies that cindy burned tasted good. We even had a white Christmas! I could have done with a key west stye one though. Nevertheless it was very pretty to look at.
 
Finally as if that wasn't enough; Today at church the service closed with my favorite Christmas song of all time. "It Came Upon A Midnight Clear". It was the perfect way to close out the season.

 

Day 6:

A Brother Like That

Paul got a new car from his brother as a sort of Pre-Christmas gift. On Christmas eve Paul came out of his office. A street urchin was walking around the car admiring it. "Is this you car Mister?" Paul nodded. "My brother gave it to me." The boy was shocked. "Gosh I wish"... Paul knew the urchin would wish he had a brother like that. But what the lad said shocked paul. The boy wished that he could be a brother who gives a car away.  Paul suddenly asked the boy if he would like a ride. The boy said yes of course but wanted Paul to take to his home. Once they got there. "Would you wait here for a few minutes?" He then ran into the house and after a while returned carrying his polio-crippled brother in his arms. The boy set his brother down on the front steps and said pointing to the car; "His brother gave it to him and it didn't cost him anything! Some day I'm going to give you one just like it. Then you can see for yourself all the pretty Christmas windows I have been trying to tell you about."  That Christmas eve Paul learned what Jesus meant when He said "It is more blessed to give".

Today's gift:



Day 5:

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 wet his lip as he talked. The brothers weakly protested at first, 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 gold ring.
"Here--take my blanket to him," said Ladius. It was badly worn, a faded blue 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 nearby 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 may 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's hand: "Your gift was 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," replied Samuel, "but first tell me why you were sleeping without your blanket."
Ladius looked about with wonder. The faded blue blanket was nowhere to be found--then, or thereafter.

Today's Gift:



Day 4:

Norman D. Anderson, “Twenty Dollars for a Paper Doll,” Ensign, Dec. 1987, 44

One Christmas, I was serving as a bishop in a Provo, Utah, ward. Because I had never had much success in selecting and buying clothes for my wife, I had, for the past several years, cut out a paper doll, wrapped a twenty-dollar bill around it like a dress, and hung it on the tree as a special gift for her. In those days, twenty dollars would buy a pretty nice dress.
But because of a tight budget this particular year, I had struggled for weeks to save the twenty dollars to hang on the tree.
The day before Christmas, my plans changed suddenly when a man needing help came by my office. I could not reach my financial clerk to obtain fast offering funds, so I gave the man five of my twenty dollars so he could go home for Christmas. I tucked the remaining fifteen dollars away in my wallet, hoping it would do for a dress.
A few minutes later, a man from my ward came into my office. He said, “Bishop, one of my home teaching families won’t have much for Christmas this year without help. I have fifteen dollars. If I could get a little more from somewhere, I could get a few things for them.”
I knew he needed his money as much as I needed mine, so I handed him my fifteen dollars and said a sad farewell to my wife’s Christmas dress.
My disappointment over the dress lightened when the children finally settled down on Christmas Eve and we had set out their gifts for them. But when my wife went to get ready for bed at midnight, I sat moping in a chair for a few minutes because my traditional gift hadn’t worked out.
Suddenly the thought came to me that I should look in my wallet again. There, where I had taken out the money to give to the home teacher, was fifteen dollars. I looked in another compartment and found another fifteen dollars. In the final compartment there was a twenty-dollar bill—making a total of fifty dollars that had not been there earlier!
I wept in gratitude as I cut out a paper doll and hung it on the tree.

Today's Gift: OMG!



$20!!!!!!!! I have more gas money!!!!



 

9/27/09

Dinner was lovely. Dad surprised me with a tray of his famous enchiladas! He only makes once every couple of years and no amount of cajoling or begging moves him any other time. Needless to say I felt special!

Quite possibly the best birthday ever!

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