Emmi's Closet

Merry December 18th

2018-12-18T06:24:00.000-08:00

3 Nephi 1:13 Lift up your head and be of good cheer; for behold, the time is at hand, and on this night shall the sign be given, and on the morrow come I into the world, to show unto the world that I will fulfil all that which I have caused to be spoken by the mouth of my holy prophets.

Carol: Winter Wonderland

Keeping Baby Warm

by Lynda H. Laughlin

It was an inexpensive dime-store Nativity set,

and he was only three years old. His back was

toward me, but I could see that his chubby little

hands were busily working on something at the

old table.

"What are you doing?" I asked him impatiently,

annoyed at him for touching the decorations after

he had been told not to.

As I started toward the scene of his latest

mischief, he turned toward me with wide blue

eyes filling and a single tear starting down his

cherubic cheek. Then I saw it. A carefully folded

tissue had been tenderly placed over the small

ceramic infant.

"Baby Jesus was cold, Mommy," he whispered.

Ten years have passed, and the tiny Nativity has

been replaced by a much larger one. But this

year, as every year, I found a carefully folded

tissue covering the baby Jesus. I think I know

who did it, and I hope he never stops.

Merry December 17th

2018-12-18T06:23:00.003-08:00

Luke 1:30-31And the angel said unto her; Fer not Mary; for thou hast found favour with God. And behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name Jesus.

Carol: Deck The Halls

THE GIFT OF THE MAGI

by O. Henry

One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.

In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."

The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."

"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.

"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."

Down rippled the brown cascade.

"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.

"Give it to me quick," said Della.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.

She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.

Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.

"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?"

At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.

Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."

The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.

Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

Della wriggled off the table and went for him.

"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."

"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.

"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"

Jim looked about the room curiously.

"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.

"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"

Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.

Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.

"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.

For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.

But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"

And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."

Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.

"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."

The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest.

They are the magi.

Merry December 16th

2018-12-18T06:23:00.002-08:00

Helaman 14:5-6 And behold, there shall a new star arise, such an one as ye never have beheld; and this also shall be a sign unto you. And behold this is not all, there shall be many signs and wonders in heaven.

Carol:Rudolph, The Red Nosed Reindeer

Special Delivery

By Mrs. Charles Stephan

Delivery boys come in all shapes and sizes — and in a variety of speeds and attitudes, too. Some come to the door like beleaguered deliverers of doom while others come on the bound, as though there were more rewards to work than the pay.

David Ward, of Memphis, Tennessee, is the latter kind. Weekdays after school and Saturdays, David pedals his bike for the Speedway Drug Store. And David’s a good sort for the job. When he delivers a prescription and says, “I hope you’re feeling better,” in that polite, concerned way of his, somehow you do feel better.

Last year on a Saturday night before Christmas, David, who was thirteen then, received his weekly salary as usual. But he didn’t go home. He had a special delivery of his own to make.

First he went down to the lot where the Christmas trees were being sold. When he’d given a number of the trees his careful inspection, he bought one and loaded it on his bicycle. Then he wheeled it over to 605 Life-Street, the home of a steady customer, Mrs. Brady Neals. She was seventy-one. And she had been blind for thirty-seven years.

“It’s me, Mrs. Neals, David from Speedway,” he said when she came to the door. And then David walked in and set up the tree and talked cheerily as he trimmed it with the lights and decorations he had brought along.

Mrs. Neals could hardly speak. Even as David was leaving she could only mumble her thanks. But the old lady was thrilled, she kept reaching out to touch the tree’s branches and to breathe its forest-fresh fragrance.

“I’m seventy-one years old,” she kept saying over and over, “I’m seventy-one years old and I’ve never had a tree.”

Delivery boys come in all shapes and sizes and some of them bring more to their jobs than work.

Merry December 15th

2018-12-18T06:23:00.001-08:00

Helaman 14:3 And behold, this will I give unto you for a sign at the time of his coming; for behold, there shall be great lights in heaven, insomuch that in the night before he cometh there shall be no darkness, insomuch that it shall appear unto man as if it was day.

Carol: Silver Bells

A Christmas Prayer

by Robert Louis Stevenson

Loving Father,
Help us remember the birth of Jesus,
that we may share in the song of the angels,
the gladness of the shepherds,
and worship of the wise men.

Close the door of hate
and open the door of love all over the world.
Let kindness come with every gift
and good desires with every greeting.
Deliver us from evil by the blessing
which Christ brings,
and teach us to be merry with clear hearts.

May the Christmas morning
make us happy to be thy children,
and Christmas evening bring us to our beds
with grateful thoughts,
forgiving and forgiven,
for Jesus' sake.

Amen.

Merry December 14th

2018-12-18T06:23:00.000-08:00

1 Nephi 11:27And I looked and beheld the Redeemer of the world, of whom my father had spoken; and I also beheld the prophet who should prepare the way before him. And the Lamb of God went forth and was baptized of him; and after he was baptized, I beheld the heavens open, and the Holy Ghost come down out of heaven and abide upon him in the form of a dove.

Carol: O Holy Night

The Pattern of Love

Jack Smith

“Every year at Christmastime, our Service Club takes the children from poor families in our town on a personally conducted shopping tour. I was assigned Timmy and Billy, whose father was out of work. After giving them the allotted $4.00 each, we began our trip. At different stores I made suggestions, but always their answer was a solemn shake of the head, no. Finally, I asked, ‘Where would you suggest we look?’

“‘Could we go to a shoe store, Sir?’ answered Timmy. ‘We’d like a pair of shoes for our Daddy so he can go to work.’

“In the shoe store the clerk asked what the boys wanted. Out came the brown paper. ‘We want a pair of work shoes to fit this foot,’ they said. Billy explained that it was a pattern of their Daddy’s foot. They had drawn it while he was asleep in a chair.

“The clerk held the paper against a measuring stick, then walked away. Soon, he came with an open box. ‘Will these do?’ he asked. Timmy and Billy handled the shoes with great eagerness. ‘How much do they cost?’ asked Billy. Then Timmy saw the price on the box. ‘They’re $16.95,’ he said in dismay. ‘We only have $8.00.’

“I looked at the clerk and he cleared his throat. ‘That’s the regular price,’ he said, ‘but they’re on sale; $3.98, today only.’ Then, with shoes happily in hand the boys bought gifts for their mother and two little sisters. Not once did they think of themselves.

“The day after Christmas the boys’ father stopped me on the street. The new shoes were on his feet, gratitude was in his eyes. ‘I just thank Jesus for people who care,’ he said. ‘And I thank Jesus for your two sons,’ I replied. ‘They really taught me more about Christmas in one evening than I had learned in a lifetime.’”

Merry December 13th

2018-12-13T18:22:00.000-08:00

1 Nephi 11:20-24 And I looked and beheld the virgin again, bearing a child in her arms. And the angel said unto me: Behold the Lamb of God, yea, even the Son of the Eternal Father! And I looked, and I beheld the Son of God going forth among the children of men; and I saw many fall down at his feet and worship him.

Carol: What Child Is this?

Unexpected Christmas

Marguerite Nixon

We were well over half way tour farm in East Texas when the storm broke. Lightning flashed, thunder crashed and a tree fell with a great ripping noise. When the rain poured in such a flood that we could not see the road, my husband drove off on to what seemed to be a bit of clearing deep in the piney woods.

As we waited I sensed we would not get to the farm that night to celebrate Christmas Eve with our family. We were sitting there, miserable and dejected, when I heard a knocking on my window. A man with a lantern stood there beckoning us to follow him. My husband and I splashed after him up the path to his house.

A woman with a lamp in her hand stood in the doorway of an old house; a boy of twelve and a little girl stood beside her. We went in soaked and dripping, and the family moved aside in order that we might have the warmth of the fire. With the volubility of city people, my husband and I began to talk, explaining our plans. And with the quietness of people who live in the silence of the woods, they listened.

“The bridge on Caney Creek is out. You are welcome to spend the night with us,” the man said. And, though we told them we thought it was an imposition, especially on Christmas Eve, they insisted. After we had visited a while longer, the man got up and took the Bible from his mantle. “It’s our custom to read the story from St. Luke on Christmas Eve, “he said, and without another wood began:

“And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid Him in a manger…”

The children sat up eagerly, their eyes bright in anticipation, while their father read on: “and there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night.” I looked at his strong face. He could have been one of those shepherds.

When he finished reading and closed the Bible, the little children knelt by their chairs. The mother and father were kneeling, and without any conscious will of my own I found myself joining them. Then I saw my husband, without any embarrassment at all, kneel also.

When we arose after the prayer, I looked around the room. There were no brightly wrapped packages or cards, only a small, unadorned holly tree on the mantle. Yet the Spirit of Christmas was never more real to me.

The little boy broke the silence. “we always feed the cattle at 12 o’clock on Christmas Eve. Come with us.”

When we returned to the house there was an air of festivity and the servings of juice and fruitcake. Later, we bedded down on a mattress made of corn shucks. As I turned into a comfortable position, they rustled under me and sent up a faint fragrance exactly like that in the barn. My heart said, “You are sleeping in the stable like the Christ child did.”

As I drifted into a profound sleep, I knew that the light coming through the old pine shutters was the Star shining on the quiet house.

The family all walked down the path to the car with us the next morning. I was so filled with the Spirit of Christmas they had given me that I could find no words. Suddenly I thought of the gifts I had in the back seat of our car for our family.

I began to hand them out. My husband’s gray woolen socks went to the man. The red sweater I had brought for my sister went to the mother. I gave away two boxes of candy, the white mittens and the leather gloves while my husband nodded approval.

And when I was breathless from reaching in and out of the car and the family stood there loaded with the gaiety of Christmas packages, the mother spoke for all of them, “We thank you,” she said simply. And then she said, “Wait.”

She hurried up the path to the house and came back with a quilt folded across her arms. It was beautifully handmade; the pattern was the Star of Bethlehem. I looked up at the tall beautiful pines because my throat hurt, my eyes were filling with tears, and I could not speak. It was indeed Christmas.

Every Christmas Eve since then, I sleep under the quilt, the Star of Bethlehem, and in memory I visit the stable and smell again the corn shucks, and the meaning of Christmas abides with me once more.

Merry December 12th

2018-12-12T09:37:00.000-08:00

1 Nephi 11:13,18 And I beheld the city of Nazareth; and in the city of Nazareth I beheld a virgin, and she was exceedingly fair and white. And he said unto me: Behold, the virgin whom thou seest is the mother of the Son of God, after the manner of the flesh.

Carol:God Rest Ye Merry Gentlelmen

Trouble at the Inn

by Dina Donahue

For many years now, whenever Christmas pageants are talked about in a certain little town in the Mid-west, 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 in keeping up. He was big and clumsy, 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.

Most often they’d find a way to keep him out but Wally would hang around anyway—-not sulking, just hoping. He was always a helpful boy, a willing and smiling one, and the natural protector of the underdog. Sometimes if the older boys chased the younger ones away, it would always be Wally who’d say, “Can’t they stay? They’re no bother.”

Wally fancied the idea of being a shepherd with a flute in the Christmas pageant that year, but the play’s director, Miss Lambard, assigned him to 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 from time to time Miss Lambard had to make sure he did not 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 looked straight ahead but 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 from the wings.

“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 the 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.

Merry December 11th

2018-12-11T11:33:00.000-08:00

1 Nephi 10:4 Yea, even six hundred years from the time that my father left Jerusalem, a prophet would the Lord God raise up among the Jews—even a Messiah, or, in other words, a Savior of the world.

Carol: Christmas Song

I Knew You Would Come

By: Elizabeth King English

Herman and I locked our general store and dragged ourselves home. It was 11:00 p.m., Christmas Eve of 1949. We were dog tired. We had sold almost all of our toys; and all of the layaways, except one package, had been picked up.

Usually we kept the store open until everything had been claimed. We wouldn't have waken up happy on Christmas knowing that some child's gift was still on the layaway shelf. But the person who had put a dollar down on that package never returned.

Early Christmas morning we and our twelve-year-old son, Tom, opened gifts. But I'll tell you, there was something humdrum about this Christmas. Tom was growing up; I missed his childish exuberance of past years.

As soon as breakfast was over Tom left to visit his friend next door. Herman mumbled, "I'm going back to sleep. There's nothing left to stay up for." So there I was alone, feeling let down.

And then it began. A strange, persistent urge. It seemed to be telling me to go to the store. I looked at the sleet and icy sidewalk outside. That's crazy, I said to myself. I tried dismissing the urge, but it wouldn't leave me alone. In fact, it was getting stronger. Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer, and I got dressed.

Outside, the wind cut right through me and the sleet stung my cheeks. I groped my way to the store, slipping and sliding. In front stood two boys, one about nine, and the other six. What in the world?

"See, I told you she would come!" the older boy said jubilantly. The younger one's face was wet with tears, but when he saw me, his sobbing stopped.

"What are you two doing out here?" I scolded, hurrying them into the store. "You should be at home on a day like this!" They were poorly dressed. They had no hats or gloves, and their shoes barely held together. I rubbed their icy hands, and got them up close to the heater.

"We've been waiting for you," replied the older boy. "My little brother Jimmy didn't get any Christmas." He touched Jimmy's shoulder. "We want to buy some skates. That's what he wants. We have these three dollars," he said, pulling the bills from his pocket.

I looked at the money. I looked at their expectant faces. And then I looked around the store. "I'm sorry," I said, "but we have no-" then my eye caught sight of the layaway shelf with its lone package. "Wait a minute," I told the boys. I walked over, picked up the package, unwrapped it and, miracle of miracles, there was a pair of skates!

Jimmy reached for them. Lord, let them be his size. And miracle added upon miracle, they were his size.

The older boy presented the dollars to me. "No," I told him, "I want you to have these skates, and I want you to use your money to get some gloves." The boys just blinked at first. Then their eyes became like saucers, and their grins stretched wide when they understood I was giving them the skates. What I saw in Jimmy's eyes was a blessing. It was pure joy, and it was beautiful. My spirits rose.

We walked out together, and as I locked the door, I turned to the older brother and said, "How did you know I would come?" I wasn't prepared for his reply. His gaze was steady, and he answered me softly. "I asked Jesus to send you."

The tingles in my spine weren't from the cold. God had planned this. As we waved good-bye, I turned home to a brighter Christmas.

Merry December 10th

2018-12-10T13:50:00.000-08:00

Jacob 7:11-12Behold, I say unto you that none of the prophets have written, nor prophesied, save they have spoken concerning this Christ. And this is not all—it has been made manifest unto me, for I have heard and seen; and it also has been made manifest unto me by the power of the Holy Ghost; wherefore, I know if there should be no atonement made all mankind must be lost.

Carol: Jingle Bells

The Three Kings

BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

Three Kings came riding from far away,

Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar;

Three Wise Men out of the East were they,

And they travelled by night and they slept by day,

For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star.

The star was so beautiful, large and clear,

That all the other stars of the sky

Became a white mist in the atmosphere,

And by this they knew that the coming was near

Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy.

Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,

Three caskets of gold with golden keys;

Their robes were of crimson silk with rows

Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows,

Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.

And so the Three Kings rode into the West,

Through the dusk of the night, over hill and dell,

And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast,

And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,

With the people they met at some wayside well.

“Of the child that is born,” said Baltasar,

“Good people, I pray you, tell us the news;

For we in the East have seen his star,

And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,

To find and worship the King of the Jews.”

And the people answered, “You ask in vain;

We know of no King but Herod the Great!”

They thought the Wise Men were men insane,

As they spurred their horses across the plain,

Like riders in haste, who cannot wait.

And when they came to Jerusalem,

Herod the Great, who had heard this thing,

Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them;

And said, “Go down unto Bethlehem,

And bring me tidings of this new king.”

So they rode away; and the star stood still,

The only one in the grey of morn;

Yes, it stopped—it stood still of its own free will,

Right over Bethlehem on the hill,

The city of David, where Christ was born.

And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard,

Through the silent street, till their horses turned

And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard;

But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred,

And only a light in the stable burned.

And cradled there in the scented hay,

In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,

The little child in the manger lay,

The child, that would be king one day

Of a kingdom not human, but divine.

His mother Mary of Nazareth

Sat watching beside his place of rest,

Watching the even flow of his breath,

For the joy of life and the terror of death

Were mingled together in her breast.

They laid their offerings at his feet:

The gold was their tribute to a King,

The frankincense, with its odor sweet,

Was for the Priest, the Paraclete,

The myrrh for the body’s burying.

And the mother wondered and bowed her head,

And sat as still as a statue of stone,

Her heart was troubled yet comforted,

Remembering what the Angel had said

Of an endless reign and of David’s throne.

Then the Kings rode out of the city gate,

With a clatter of hoofs in proud array;

But they went not back to Herod the Great,

For they knew his malice and feared his hate,

And returned to their homes by another way.

Merry December 9th

2018-12-09T10:06:00.000-08:00

Jeremiah 23: 6In his days Judah shall be saved, and Israel shall dwell safely: and this is his name whereby he shall be called, THE LORD OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS.

Carol: Hark! The Herald Angels Sing

Symbols of Christmas

by Sherry Dillehay

Just a week before Christmas, I had a visitor. This is how it happened. I had just finished the household chores for the night 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 Clause himself stepped out from behind the Christmas tree. He placed his fingers over my mouth so I would not cry out.

"What are you doing......" I started to ask but the words choked 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 boy 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 now has forgotten.

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

"Teach the children the star was the heavenly sign of promise long ages ago. God promised a Savior for the world and the start 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 bag a glittering red Christmas tree ornament.

"Teach the children red is the first color o 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 thought 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 on the small Christmas tree lights 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 on his face. He read wonderment in my eyes, and I am sure he sensed my 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 the wreath symbolizes the eternal nature of love; it never ceases, stops or ends. It is 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."

I pondered and wondered and thrilled at all those symbols. To give, to help, to love, and to serve...and Santa, he's the sign of giving...that jolly old elf...and yes, I shall teach the children.

Merry December 8th

2018-12-08T14:12:00.000-08:00

Psalms 24:9-10 Lift up your heads, O ye gates; even lift them up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in. Who is this King of glory? The Lord of hosts, he is the King of glory. Selah.

Carol: It Came upon A Midnight Clear

A Brother Like That

Paul received an automobile from his brother as a Christmas present. On Christmas Eve when Paul came out of his office, a street urchin was walking around a shiny new car, admiring it.

“Is this your car, Mister?” he asked.

Paul nodded. “My brother gave it to me for Christmas.” The boy was astounded. “You mean your brother gave it to you and it didn’t cost you nothing? Boy, I wish…” He hesitated. Of course Paul knew what he was going to wish for. He was going to wish he had a brother like that. But what the lad said jarred Paul all the way down to his heels.

“I wish,” the boy went on, “that I could be a brother like that.”

Paul looked at the boy in astonishment, then impulsively he added, “Would you like to take a ride in my automobile?”

“Oh yes, I’d love that.”

After a short ride, the boy turned and with his eyes aglow, said, “Mister, would you mind driving in front of my house?” Paul smiled a little. He thought he knew what the lad wanted. He wanted to show his neighbors that he could ride home in a big automobile. But Paul was wrong again.

“Will you stop where those two steps are?” the boy asked. He ran up the steps. Then in a little while Paul heard him coming back, but he was not coming fast. He was carrying his little crippled brother. He sat him down on the bottom step, then sort of squeezed up against him and pointed to the car. “There she is, didn’t cost him a cent. And some day I’m gonna give you one just like it… then you can see for yourself all the pretty things in the Christmas windows that I’ve been trying to tell you about.”

Paul got out and lifted the lad to the front seat of his car. The shining-eyed older brother climbed in beside him and the three of them began a memorable holiday ride.

That Christmas Eve Paul learned what Jesus meant when he said: “It is more blessed to give…”

Merry December 7th

2018-12-07T10:26:00.000-08:00

Isaiah 40:11 He shall feed his flock like a shepherd: he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and shall gently lead those that are with young.

Carol: The First Noel

Mr. Jinks Hands Out The Holly
David had just finished making a snowman. He was very large and round with the jolliest face ever. He wore a high hat and a red plaid muffler, although, why any snowman should want a muffler, David didn’t quite know. He only knew that it seemed to suit Mr. Jinks.
Of course his name was Mr. Jinks because that was what David named every snowman he had ever made. He had made several—three this very winter, but not one of them had seemed as handsome and jolly looking as the present Mr. Jinks.
“I’m glad that you’re close to the sidewalk,” David told him, “because you look as if you were wishing everyone a Merry Christmas.”
He had just added another coal button when the parcel-post truck drove up and the driver carried a huge box into the house. “I’ll bet that’s the holly Grandpa sent from Oregon, “ David called, following the man into the house.
“Yes, I’m sure it is,” replied his mother. When they had opened the box she said, “there’s an extra lot this year. We can make wreaths for every one of the front windows.”
David helped, and when all the wreaths had been made, there was a large basket of small pieces left over.
“I wonder what we can do with these,” David’s mother asked? “They are much too pretty to be thrown away.”
“I know!” cried David. “I’ll let Mr. Jinks give them away. He can help make a merry Christmas for everyone who passes.”
“I think that’s a lovely idea,” Mother agreed. “And I’m sure that Mr. Jinks will think so too.”
First, David made a sign which read “Merry Christmas. Help yourself.” Then he took the basket of holly out and propped it up in front of the snowman. After that he stood in one of the front windows to watch the people pass.
Mr. Bromley, the banker, was the first one to come by. He was walking very fast and looking straight ahead. David was very much afraid that Mr. Bromley was going to pass right by without so much as a glance.
But no, he saw the sign and stopped long enough to put a sprig of holly in his button hole. David could see a smile on the banker’s face and he couldn’t remember ever having seen him smile before. David quickly reminded himself that he didn’t see Mr. Bromley very often and that maybe it worried him to have so much money in the bank that belonged to other people.
Next came Mrs. Ross, who worked in the bakery. She was walking slowly, as if she was very tired. “I guess that she has been making hundreds of fruit cakes, “ said David to himself. When she noticed Mr. Jinks’ smiling face, she smiled back and took a sprig of holly. Then she walked along as if she weren’t nearly so tired.
Some boys with ice skates came next. They each took some holly and called to the snowman, “Thanks, old fellow. A Merry Christmas to you, too”
David watched people go by until it grew too dark for him to see any longer. “Mr. Jinks sure made a merry Christmas for a lot of people,” he said to his mother.
“So he did,” she smiled. “With the help of you and Grandpa”

Merry December 6th

2018-12-06T16:37:00.000-08:00

Jeremiah 33:14-15 Behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that I will perform that good thing which I have promised unto the house of Israel and to the house of Judah. In those days, and at that time, will I cause the Branch of righteousness to grow up unto David; and he shall execute judgment and righteousness in the land.

Carol: Joy To The World

The Gift of Love

by Thomas S. Monson

When I was a very young bishop, in 1950, there was a tap at my door and a good German brother from Ogden, Utah, announced himself as Karl Guertler.

He said, “Are you Bishop Monson?”

I answered in the affirmative.

He said, “My brother and his wife and their family are coming from Germany. They are going to live in your ward. Will you come with me to see the apartment we have rented for them?” On the way to that apartment, he told me he had not seen his brother for something like 30 years. Yet all through the holocaust of World War II, his brother, Hans Guertler, had been faithful to the Church—an officer in the Hamburg branch.

I looked at the apartment. It was cold; it was dreary; the paint was peeling from the walls; the cupboards were bare. What an uninviting home for the Christmas season of the year! I worried about it and I prayed about it, and then in our ward welfare committee meeting, we did something about it.

The group leader of the high priests said, “I am an electrician. Let’s put good appliances in that apartment.”

The group leader of the seventies said, “I am in the floor covering business. Let’s install new floor coverings.”

The elders quorum president said, “I am a painter. Let’s paint that apartment.”

The Relief Society representative spoke up, “Did you say those cupboards were bare?” (They were not bare very long, with the Relief Society in action.)

Then the young people, represented through the Aaronic Priesthood general secretary said, “Let’s put a Christmas tree in the home and let’s go among our young people and gather gifts to place under the tree.”

You should have seen that Christmas scene, when the Guertler family arrived from Germany in clothing which was tattered and with faces which were drawn by the rigors of war and deprivation! As they went into their apartment they saw what had been in actual fact a transformation—a beautiful home. We spontaneously began singing, “Silent night! Holy night! All is calm; all is bright.” We sang in English; they sang in German. At the conclusion of that hymn, Hans Guertler threw his arms around my neck, buried his face in my shoulder, and repeated over and over again those words which I shall never forget: “Mein brudder, mein brudder, mein brudder.”

As we walked down the stairs that night, all of us who had participated in making Christmas come alive in the lives of this German family, we reflected upon the words of the Master:

“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” (Matthew 25:40)

Merry December 5th

2018-12-05T12:01:00.000-08:00

Isaiah 40:1-4 Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God. Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, and cry unto her, that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is pardoned: for she hath received of the Lord’s hand double for all her sins. The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low: and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places plain:

Carol: O Come, All Ye Faithful

Surprise Ending

by Irene B. Harrell

I turned up the fur collar of my coat against a near-freezing wind as I stepped from our warm station wagon into the bare dirt of a front yard on the outskirts o town. Our adult Sunday school class had chosen the address from a Salvation Army list in the evening paper and my husband and I had driven out to meet the family. The idea was to find out their immediate needs so that we could provide a Merry Christmas for them, and then, more important, to work with them throughout the year to try to make a real difference, a Christian difference, in their lives.

We ha asked God to guide us to the right family, but now it looked as though the house we had chosen was going to be empty. No smoke came from the chimney and in the front door there was ony a hole where a knob and a lock might have been, once. But when we knocked, the rag of curtain at the window moved and a small face peered out. A minute passed and then the door was opened by a boy about eight years old.

"Hello, " I said. "Is your mother home?"

"Mama's not home," he announced gravely. "She's Workin."

"Well, uh--is any grownup here with you?" He shook his head.

"Let's step in for a minute," my husband suggested. "The house will get cold with the door standing open." The boy moved shyly back and we entered the tiny room.

I'll never forget what we saw. There was a bed, sagging to the floor, the mattress was oozing stuffing. No sheets, no blankets. A Bible lay beside a small chest of drawers in the corner. The stove used for heat was icy cold.

The boy who had let us in now stood protectively between two smaller children, a boy and a girl. Her oversized slacks were held together by a safety pin. All three youngsters were barefoot.

And there was a baby. He was lying on what had once been an upholstered chair. He was wearing a remnant of an undershirt and a diaper that hadn't been changed for a long time. I thought of my own warmly dressed children and my baby in her lovely birch crib with its clean whit sheets and I started to cry. I'd never really seen poverty before.

That afternoon we went back with blanets, shoes, diapers, food and clothes. Again the mother was not there.

The next day we finally found the mother at home. Her name was Virginia and the children, in order of age, were Arthur Lee, Violet, Danny, and the baby, David Ray. Virginia was a tiny woman. She answered our questions quietly and was not offended that we had come to help.

What did she need most? A refrigerator so the baby's milk wouldn't sour.

The class found a refridgerator, a bed, a crib, several chairs, sheets, more blankets. On Christmas, there were toys for the children and clothes and food for everyone. The wood stove was replaced by an oil heater that would not go out while the mother was away. The class pledged the money to pay the oil bills for the coming year. The family's immediate physical needs had been relatively easy to satisfy. But what about the Christian difference.

Every week or two my husband and I would go see Virginia and her family. Sometimes we'd carry hand-me-downs, or groceries, or books, sometimes we'd go empty handed, just to visit. But she always gave us the same warm greeting. I remember the pride with which she invited me to sit down. She hadn't been able to exercise that kind of curtesy before--when she had no chairs.

Frequently, our four older children went along with us on these visits, and occasionally we took the baby. I had to explain to Virginia about our baby. German measles during my pregnancy had left little Marguerite deaf . When I told Virginia that the doctors said nothing could be done about it, I could see that she was deeply affected.

On our next visit she greeted us with shining eyes. "Oh Mrs. Harrell, " she said, " I believe God is going to make your baby hear! Don't you feel it too? Can't she already hear a lot better than she could? I've been praying so hard ever since you told me. I know she's going to hear!"

I just smiled at Virginia. She didn't know as much about science as I did. I couldn't expect her to understand that nerve deafness was not curable. Of course I had prayed for my child; but my prayers had been ones of thankfulness for her, not prayers for healing. I took the doctor's words as final.

Marguerite was almost a year old when we first noticed the change in her. For a while we couldn't believe it ourselves, but at last we became convinced that she really was hearing certain loud sounds. When we took her back to the hearing clinic for testing, there was no doubt about it. Our daughter, whose nerve deafness had been pronounced complete and incurable, had begun to hear! In four short months her diagnosis hd changed from "profoundly deaf" to "moderately to severely hard of hearing".

The doctors were amazed, but Virginia wasn't even surprised. "God did it, Mrs. Harrell. Didn't I ask him for an icebox and a good stove, and didn't he give them to me? There's nothing He can't do, if we just ask him."

I stared at her, trying to understand faith like this.

"Mrs. Harrell, " she said, "I'm going to keep on praying for the baby."

"Yes!" I whispered, "Please keep praying. Don't ever stop."

It worked, you see, our Christmas project. It even accomplished the "Christian difference." Of course, the difference was in our lives, not Virginia's. But then we'd asked God to guide us to the poor, and he generally knows where they are.

Merry December 4th

2018-12-04T14:05:00.001-08:00

Jeremiah 23:5 Behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that I will raise unto David a righteous Branch, and a King shall reign and prosper, and shall execute judgment and justice in the earth.

Carol: O Little town of Bethlehem

One Solitary Christmas

By George Clark Peck

How do you explain the greatness of the man whose birthday we celebrate on Christmas?

He was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant woman. He grew up in another village. He worked in a carpenter shop until He was 30, and then for three years was an itinerant preacher. He never wrote a book. He never held office. He never owned a home. He never traveled 200 miles from the place where He was born. He never did one of the things that usually accompany greatness. He had no credentials but himself.

Although He walked the land over, curing the sick, giving sight to the blind, healing the lame, and raising people from the dead, the top established religious leaders turned against him. His friends ran away. He was turned over to enemies. He went through the mockery of a trial. He was spat upon, flogged and ridiculed. He was nailed to a cross between two theives. While He was dying, the executioners gambled for the only piece of property He had on earth, and that was his robe. When He was dead, He was laid in the borrowed grave of a friend.

Nineteen wide centuries have come and gone, and today He is the central figure of the human race and the Leader of the column of progress.

All the armies that ever marched, and all the navies that were ever built, and all the parliments that ever sat, and all the kings that ever reigned, put together, have not affected the life of man upon this earth as has that One Solitary Life.

Merry December 3rd

2018-12-03T09:01:00.000-08:00

Hello! Welcome to Day 3 of amazing Christmas Spirit!

Micah 5:2 But thou, Beth-lehem Ephratah, though thou be little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall he come forth unto me that is to be ruler in Israel; whose goings forth have been from of old, from everlasting.

Carol: Away In A Manger

Christmas is for Sharing

Richard Warner

I knew that Homer had wanted canyon boots for as long as I could remember. He was eleven and I ten, and we had spent many nights under the blue quilts at the cabin talking about how great it would be to have some real boots – boots that would climb through thorny bushes, that would ward off rattlesnakes, that would nudge the ribs of the pony; we had planned the kind of leather they should be and what kind of decoration they should be and what kind of decoration they should have. But we both knew it was just talk. The Depression had been hard on Father’s business, and even shoes for school were usually half-soled hand-me-downs.

Christmas that year had promised as always to be exciting, though mainly because of the handmade things we’d worked on in school for our parents. We never had money to spend on each other, but we had caught early in our lives a sort of contagion from our mother. She loved to give, and her anticipation of the joy that a just right gift would bring to someone, infected our whole household. We were swept up in breathless waiting to see how others would like what we had to give. Secrecy ruled – open exaggerated secrecy, as we made and hid our gifts. The only one whose hiding place we never discovered was my Grandmother’s. Her gifts seemed to materialize by magic on Christmas morning and were always more expensive than they should have been.

That Christmas I was glowing because Mother had been so happy with the parchment lampshade I’d made in the fourth grade, and Father had raved over the clay jewelry case I had molded and baked for him. Gill and Emma Lou had been pleased with the figures I’d whittled out of clothespins, and Homer had liked the Scout pin I’d bargained for with my flint. Then Grandma started to pass out her presents.

Mine was heavy and square. I’d been in the hospital that year and then on crutches, and I’d wondered how it would be to have an erector set to build with. Grandma had a knack at reading boy’s minds, and I was sure that’s what it was. But it wasn’t. It was a pair of boots, brown tangy-smelling leather boots.

I looked quickly to Homer’s package. His was a sweater. He’d needed one all fall. I wanted to cover my box before he saw what it was. I didn’t want the boots; they should have been his. He came toward me, asking to see, and I started to say, “I’m sorry, bruv.” But he was grinning, and he shouted, “Hey everybody – look what Richard’s got.” He swooped the boots out of the box, fondled them like treasure, and then sat on the floor at my feet to take off my half-soled shoes and put on the brand new boots.

I don’t remember how the boots felt, nor even how they looked. But Christmas rang in my soul because my brother was glad for me.

Merry December 2nd

2018-12-02T09:24:00.000-08:00

Happy December 2nd!

What did you think about yesterday's story? Ready for day 2? Here we go!

Isaiah 9:6 For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.

Carol: Angels We Have Heard On High

Bethann’s Christmas Prayer

By Marilyn Morgan Helleberg

“Put that doll down!” growled Mrs. Skorp, owner of Willow Creek’s only store. “You’ll break her!”

“Oh no,” said Bethann. “I wouldn’t hurt her. I love her!”

“Love her, do you?” Well, you’d better get over that in a hurry.” Mrs. Skorp whisked the doll out of Bethann’s arms. “That’s the most expensive doll in the store, and with your dad laid off.”

“It’s o.k.,” said Bethann, her wistful brown eyes scanning the drawn face of the middle-aged shopkeeper. “I won’t touch her again until she’s mine. She’s my Christmas prayer!”

“Oh? I suppose you’ve been talking to Jesus again?”

“Why, yes! I have!” Bethann’s pale, plain looking face took on a sudden glow. “Last night, I talked to Him a long time – and when I went to sleep an ange1 with golden wings floated down on a cloud and told me I could have one Christmas prayer answered this year. I could have anything I asked for – but only one thing. I’ve asked for Betsy.”

“Betsy!”

“Yes, that’s what I’ve named her.”

Mrs. Skorp tossed her hands over her head and walked away. “Angels now!” she muttered.

By the time she got home, Bethann was near to tears. “I can’t stand her, Mommie! Mrs. Skorp is the meanest lady in the whole world!”

“Don’t be too hard on her, dear,” said her mother. “Mrs. Skorp used to be a very nice lady before the accident.”

“The accident?”

“Yes. It was before you were born. The Skorps were driving home from Kansas City, after spending Christmas with relatives, when they hit a patch of ice and went off the road. Mr. Skorp was killed instantly, and their baby daughter died a couple of days later. Mrs. Skorp wasn’t even hurt – at least, her body wasn’t.”

“I didn’t even know she had a baby,” said Bethann, fingering the hem of her skirt.

“After that, Mrs. Skorp just kind of dried up. She stopped going anywhere, closed herself off from everybody, even quit going to church. Some say she’s been mad at God ever since.”

“I’ve never heard of anyone being mad at God,” said Bethann.

At bedtime, she knelt down and started talking with her Friend. “Lord, You know Mrs. Skorp, – the one with the pinched up face and the screechy voice? You probably haven’t heard from her lately because, well, I guess she’s been mad at You for a long time. Anyway, Jesus, I’ve been thinking, and I’ve figured out a way to get her over being mad at You. So if You don’t mind, I’d like to take back that Christmas prayer for my Betsy doll. Instead, Lord, would You please send Mrs. Skorp a new baby girl? Then maybe she won’t be mad at You anymore. Thank You, Jesus.”

After school the next day, Bethann stopped at the store again, only this time, she was very careful to not even look at Betsy.

“Mrs. Skorp, I talked to Jesus again last night. . .” The tall, gaunt lady grunted and turned away, but Bethann continued. “I asked Him to give you a new baby girl.”

“You WHAT?!” said Mrs. Skorp, wheeling around. “You really have lost your senses! Besides, if there is a God, He sure doesn’t answer prayers. Now you get home!”

On the day before Christmas, Bethann made a paper card for Mrs. Skorp. The shopkeeper was alone in the store when Bethann tiptoed in. The woman was staring at a framed picture, clutching it so tightly Bethann saw that her knuckles were white.

“I brought you a Christmas card, Mrs. Skorp.” Surprised, the woman laid the picture on the counter and reached for the card. She opened it and read the childish scrawl: “Jesus loves you. And so do I. Bethann.”

Mrs. Skorp coughed and turned away. That was when Bethann sneaked a look at the picture on the counter. She saw a beautiful, smiling young woman holding a curly haired baby in her arms.

“Is that your baby that died?” asked Bethann.

Mrs. Skorp slumped into the old library chair and put her head in her hands. Her name was Betsy,” she said. Bethann stared at her. The woman’s body began to shake as deep, low sobs poured out of her. The little girl tiptoed over and put her hand timidly on Mrs. Skorp’s knee.

“I asked Jesus to send you a new little girl to love,” said Bethann. “Are you crying because He didn’t answer my prayer?”

“No,” said Mrs. Skorp. She scooped Bethann up into her lap, pressing the little head close to her heart and rocking back and forth, back and forth, in the straight chair.

“No, my little. . . darling. “I’m crying because. . .because He did.”

I love this story SO much! Make the rest of today amazing!

Merry December 1st

2018-12-01T06:27:00.003-08:00

Hello Friends and Welcome!

There is a fantastic initiative every December to Light the World, #LightTheWorld. You can learn more at lighttheworld.org. As part of the Light the World initiative we are encouraged to offer service every day in the month of December. We offer service all throughout the year. However, this month it is a huge focus, and what better gift can we give our Savior than serving his children. Each week there is a focus.

Week #1 is to Light the World
Week #2 Light the Community
Week #3 Light your Family
Week #4 Light your Faith

As our family discussed each of the things we would like to do each day we decided that we wanted to share one of our traditions with the world. So, each day through Christmas Day we will be posting here, a scripture passage, carol, and Christmas Story. We read these and sing together every day. We actually read our scriptures and sing together every single day of the year, so this isn't to abnormal for us. Really we are just reading a little more than normal. LOL.

We encourage you to read these and sing them on your own, with family and/or friends. Our goal is to share the Spirit of Christmas with as many people as we can, and we hope we can count on you to share it as well through the service you give or through sharing our family's tradition with those you know. Lets get day 1 going!

Happy December 1st! fair warning, this story always brings a tear to our eyes....

Doctrine and Covenants 128:23 Let the mountains shout for joy, and all ye valleys cry aloud; and all ye seas and dry lands tell the wonders of your Eternal King! And ye rivers, and brooks, and rills, flow down with gladness. Let the woods and all the trees of the field praise the Lord; and ye solid rocks weep for joy! And let the sun, moon, and the morning stars sing together, and let all the sons of God shout for joy! And let the eternal creations declare his name forever and ever! And again I say, how glorious is the voice we hear from heaven, proclaiming in our ears, glory, and salvation, and honor, and immortality, and eternal life; kingdoms, principalities, and powers!

Carol: O Christmas Tree (Holland's Favorite)

A Gift from the Heart

Norman Vincent Peale

New York City, where I live, is impressive at any time, but as Christmas approaches, it's overwhelming. Store windows blaze with light and color, furs and jewels. Golden angels, 40 feet tall, hover over Fifth Avenue. Wealth, power, opulence-nothing in the world can match this fabulous display.

Through the gleaming canyons, people hurry to find last- minute gifts. Money seems to be no problem. If there's a problem, it's that the recipients so often have everything they need or want that it's hard to find anything suitable, anything that will really say, "I love you."

Last December, as Christ's birthday drew near, a stranger was faced with just that problem. She had come from Switzerland to live in an American home and perfect her English. In return, she was willing to act as secretary, mind the grandchildren, do anything that was asked. She was just a girl in her late teens. Her name was Ursula.

One of the tasks her employers gave Ursula was keeping track of Christmas presents as they arrived. There were many, and all would require acknowledgment. Ursula kept a faithful record, but with a growing concern. She was grateful to her American friends; she wanted to show her gratitude by giving them a Christmas present. But nothing that she could buy with her small allowance could compare with the gifts she was recording daily. Besides, even without these gifts, it seemed that her employers already had everything.

At night, from her window, Ursula could see the snowy expanse of Central Park, and beyond it the jagged skyline of the city. Far below, in the restless streets, taxis hooted and traffic lights winked red and green. It was so different from the silent majesty of the Alps that at times she had to blink back tears of the homesickness she was careful never to show. It was in the solitude of her little room, a few days before Christmas, that a secret idea came to Ursula.

It was almost as if a voice spoke clearly, inside her head. "It's true," said the voice, "that many people in this city have much more than you do. But surely there are many who have far less. If you will think about this, you may find a solution to what's troubling you."

Ursula thought long and hard. Finally on her day off, which was Christmas Eve, she went to a great department store. She moved slowly along the crowded aisles, selecting and rejecting things in her mind. At last she bought some- thing, and had it wrapped in gaily colored paper. She went out into the gray twilight and looked helplessly around. Finally, she went up to a doorman, resplendent in blue and gold. "Excuse me, please," she said in her hesitant English, "can you tell me where to find a poor street?"

"A poor street, miss?" said the puzzled man. "Yes, a very poor street. The poorest in the city."

The doorman looked doubtful. "Well, you might try Harlem. Or down in the Village. Or the Lower East Side, maybe."

But these names meant nothing to Ursula. She thanked the doorman and walked along, threading her way through the stream of shoppers until she came to a tall policeman. "Please," she said, "can you direct me to a very poor street ... in Harlem?"

The policeman looked at her sharply and shook his head. "Harlem's no place for you, miss." And he blew his whistle and sent the traffic swirling past.

Holding her package carefully, Ursula walked on, head bowed against the sharp wind. If a street looked poorer than the one she was on, she took it. But none seemed like the slums she had heard about. Once she stopped a woman, "Please, where do the very poor people live?" But the woman gave her a hard stare and hurried on.

Darkness came sifting from the sky. Ursula was cold and discouraged and afraid of becoming lost. She came to an intersection and stood forlornly on the comer. What she was trying to do suddenly seemed foolish, impulsive, absurd. Then, through the traffic's roar, she heard the cheerful tinkle of a bell. On the comer opposite, a Salvation Army man was making his holiday traditional Christmas appeal.

At once Ursula felt better; The Salvation Army was a part of life in Switzerland, too. Surely this man could tell her what she wanted to know. She waited for the light, then crossed over to him. "Can you help me? I'm looking for a baby. I have here a little present for the poorest baby I can find." And she held up the package with the green ribbon and the gaily colored paper.

Dressed in gloves and overcoat a size too big for him, he seemed a very ordinary man. But behind his steel-rimmed glasses his eyes were kind. He looked at Ursula and stopped ringing his bell. "What sort of present?" he asked.

"A little dress. For a small, poor baby. Do you know of one?"

"Oh, yes," he said. "Of more than one, I'm afraid." "Is it far away? I could take a taxi maybe?"

The Salvation Army man wrinkled his forehead. Finally he said, "It's almost six o'clock. My relief will show up then. If you want to wait, and you can afford a dollar taxi ride, I'll take you to a family in my own neighborhood who needs just about everything."

"And they have a small baby?" "A very small baby."

"Then," said Ursula joyfully, "I wait!"

The substitute bell-ringer came. A cruising taxi slowed. In its welcome warmth, she told her new friend about herself, how she came to be in New York, what she was trying to do. He listened in silence, and the taxi driver listened too. When they reached their destination, the driver said, "Take your time, miss. I'll wait for you."
C)n the sidewalk, Ursula stared up at the forbidding tenement-dark, decaying, saturated with hopelessness. A gust of wind, iron-cold, stirred the refuse in the street and rattled the reeling ash cans. "They live on the third floor," the Salvation Army man said. "Shall we go up?"

But Ursula shook her head. "They would try to thank me, and this is not from me." She pressed the package into his hand. "Take it up for me, please. Say it's from ... from someone who has everything."

The taxi bore her swiftly from the dark streets to lighted ones, from misery to abundance. She tried to visualize the Salvation Army man climbing the stairs, the knock, the explanation, the package being opened, the dress on the baby. It was hard to do.

Arriving at the apartment on Fifth Avenue where she lived, she fumbled in her purse. But the driver flicked the flag up. "No charge, miss."

"No charge?" echoed Ursula, bewildered. "Don't worry," the driver said. "I've been paid." He smiled at her and drove away.

Ursula was up early the next day. She set the table with special care. By the time she was finished, the family was awake, and there was all the excitement and laughter of Christmas morning. Soon the living room was a sea of gay discarded wrappings. Ursula thanked everyone for the presents she received.

Finally, when there was a lull, she began to explain hesitantly why there seemed to be none from her. She told about going to the department store. She told about the Salvation Army man. She told about the taxi driver. When she was finished, there was a long silence. No one seemed to trust himself to speak.

"So you see," said Ursula, "I try to do kindness in your name. And this is my Christmas present to you."

How do I know all this? I know it because ours was the home where Ursula lived. Ours was the Christmas she shared. We were like many Americans, so richly blessed that to this child there seemed to be nothing she could add to all the material things we already had. And so she offered something of far greater value: a gift from the heart, an act of kindness carried out in our name.

Strange, isn't it? A shy Swiss girl, alone in a great impersonal city. You would think that nothing she could do would affect anyone. And yet, by trying to give away love, she brought the true spirit of Christmas into our lives, the spirit of selfless giving. That was Ursula's secret-and she shared it with us all.

New Adventure

2018-05-18T20:58:00.001-07:00

The past month and a half has been a little bit crazy. Off and on for years I have had lower abdominal pain, and I just attributed it to one thing or another. The last month and half the pain has increased and remained longer. So I have gone through some testing to see what is going on.

Blog posts are boring without pictures....

What my doctors have come up with is that I have some food allergies that have been hurting my gut. This was a relief compared to what it could have been. I didn’t sleep much for a couple of weeks. It didn’t matter much since I still have a nursing baby and don’t sleep a whole lot, but idle brain at night while nursing can be vicious on nerves.

My doctor walked into the room and smiled before asking, “What would you like to know first? You aren’t going to probably like it.”

I started laughing, and just asked her to tell me that I’m okay and not dying.

She assured me that I’m not dying, but my lifestyle is going to have to change. After assuring me that I have a very healthy, gall bladder, kidneys, liver, pancreas, female organs, and everything else that was scanned, and everything that was in my blood testing was great, she said I have some “interesting food allergies that are a little bizarre because of the mixture and many are healthy”. She wasn’t joking. Funny enough, she wasn’t going to test me for food allergies. I was just curious and asked for it to be done. I’m glad I did since that gave us a ton of answers.

So…. Here are the allergies, clam, shrimp, eggs, Brewer’s yeast, baker’s yeast, bell peppers, broccoli, cabbage, cauliflower, green beans, kale, potatoes(not sweet potatoes though), peanuts, soybeans, chia seeds, walnuts, bananas, coconuts, barley, bran, gluten, malt, rye, wheat, and mustard.

It could definitely be worse, and I was praying that it wouldn't be. When I was having some imaging done prior to my latest doctor's appointment I had prayed that I wouldn't be so nervous and we would get some answers. I kept having to hold my breath and then releasing it, and I grew increasingly nervous. I said a little prayer and started taking to the tech and looked over towards her while she was going her thing. I noticed a tattoo on her inner arm, and it said, "Be still and know that I am God." Well played Heavenly Father, well played. I instantly was able to calm all of my nerves. That was kind of a Turing point for my nerves all together. It helped to remind me that, no matter what, our Heavenly Father is watching over me and loves and cares for me and my specific worries, joys, and feelings as a whole. Oh man do I love him and his timing. It is always perfect to help me learn and grow at just the right times.

My new reality is changing, and it’s frustrating and tough yet exciting and a fun new challenge. Definitely not the worst thing in the world, but definitely not the easiest or cheapest.

I went to get a salad dressing and vegan mayo(since I can’t have eggs), and it was just not happening. Out of every salad dressing in the store, we literally went through them all, there were three that didn’t have mustard or eggs in it. Vegan mayo or even normal mayo, forget it! All of them have soy, eggs, or mustard in them. Who is allergic to mustard? ME!!! I’ve always liked being a little different. I just never expected to be THAT person who asks what is in EVERYTHING. I'm having the opportunity to learn about so many things I never knew about, like aquafaba, which can be used to make a vegan mayo. I'll let you know how it goes....

I’m relatively familiar with gluten free things because my sister is gluten intolerant, but I can’t do gluten free bread because if the yeast. LOL. Also, every gluten free all purpose flour I have looked into has potato starch in it. This is the beginning of a new exciting journey where I’m trying to figure out what I can eat and how to cook all over again.

Already found a delicious snack free from my allergens!!!

Here is to a healthier more intentional adventure! My girls are so sweet and are making this new adventure a little easier. They are so aware of me and always offer me whatever they are eating, and then make sure to ask if I can have it or not. They will keep me honest for sure. Love my family, and I love that we are still making our best day every day even though I’m having a little bit of a difficult time accepting this. Everyday will be a little bit easier and better. I’m excited to find new yummy healthy recipes and write them here is I don’t lose them.

They are the cutest little besties ever!

***Any specific brands mentioned are not sponsoring this post.

I love me some donuts!!! Bacon Maple Donuts

2015-02-10T17:43:00.002-08:00

Over Christmas Break my husband and I went out to California to visit family. While we were out there my sister and I got together and played for a day. She gets me into TONS of trouble! When we were on our way back to her house she insisted that we stop by a gourmet doughnut shop in Newport Beach called Sidecar Doughnuts & Coffee. http://www.sidecardoughnuts.com/ Oh my goodness!!! My world was changed. Ask any of my close friends, I LOVE learning how to do new things, especially in the kitchen. I had never made doughnuts before and after trying their Maple Bacon Doughnut, I was determined to learn how to make them for myself. When I got back to Arizona, I got to work. This is what I have found for a delicious yeast light and fluffy doughnut, tips and tricks included. They are DELICIOUS!!!

Donut Recipe

4 ½ tsp Yeast, I use Saf Yeast, It’s the best! You can find it here.

1/4c warm water (105-115 degrees Fahrenheit)

1 ½ c scaled and then cooled to lukewarm whole milk (speaking from experience, it is important that it is whole milk)

½ c sugar

1 tsp salt

2 eggs

1/3 c shortening

5 c all-purpose flour

Oil for frying

Scaled the milk, and set it aside to cool.

To scaled milk: Put milk in a saucepan and put on the stove over medium heat, do not stir. Let the milk heat until it forms a film on the top. Do not bring the milk to a boil. As soon as it forms a film on the top remove from the heat.

Stir together yeast and water, and let sit for 5 minutes to proof. Make sure your milk is cool enough to add to the yeast mixture. (You don’t want it to be too hot or it can kill the yeast) When you milk is cool enough, add the milk, sugar, salt, eggs, shortening and 2 cups of flour to the yeast. Beat on low speed for 30 seconds. Make sure you constantly scrape down the sides of the bowl. Occasionally scrapping down the sides of the bowl beat on medium speed for 2 minutes. Stir in the remaining 3 cups of flour until the dough is smooth. (I like to mainly do this with my hands). Cover and put in a warm place to rise until the dough has doubled, about 1 hour. Turn the dough out onto a floured surface. Lightly sprinkle to coat it with flour. Gently roll the dough out with a floured rolling pin to be ½ inch thick. Cut with doughnut cutters (you can also to the cap to your oil bottle and a cup, depending on the sizes) Cover and let rise in a warm place for about 30-45 minutes. While the dough is rising heat the oil to be 350°F. After this rise, try to not touch the dough very much, they will be very fluffy. Slide the doughnuts into the hot oil with a wide spatula; I normally do 2-3 at a time. Cook for about 1 minute on each side. Turn and remove the doughnuts with a skewer or a chopstick, be careful to not puncture them with the skewer or chopstick. Drain on a plate with a cloth or paper towel. When they have cooled slightly dip in maple glaze. Right after you dip in the glaze sprinkle crumbled bacon on top so the glaze hasn’t cooled yet.

Maple Glaze

1c brown sugar

½c butter, room temp

¼ c whole milk

2c powdered sugar

2 tsp maple flavoring

In a saucepan, bring the brown sugar and butter to a boil. Add milk, and return to a boil stirring constantly(it helps it to be mixed together evenly). Remove from heat as soon as it starts to boil again, and stir in powdered sugar and flavoring. Stir until smooth. This sets VERY quickly. If it starts to set, stir. If it is too thick after it sets, put back on the stove and heat slightly and add a little milk. This can make it a little thinner than the original batch, but it tastes just as delicious.

You can get super creative with these. Next time I make them I want to make an orange glaze with candied orange peels. Then maybe some jelly feeling and a peanut butter icing. Or strawberry filling and a chocolate glaze. The possibilities are endless. I get super excited talking about doughnuts now days!!! They are delicious and SO fun to make. They take a while, but are oh so worth it!!! I hope you have just as much fun making them as I do!

P.S. Thanks for the several extra pounds sis!

What flavors do you think would be great?

What is your favorite doughnut?

What are you favorite things to cook/fry/bake/make?

Got Milk?!? Or Cookies?!?

2015-02-04T16:30:00.000-08:00

So, with little I felt like my milk was getting low. I tried Fenugreek and it did awful things to my body. I tried Mother's Milk tea, loved it, but got tired of drinking it all the time. So I started to look into other options, and I came across lactation cookies. Don't worry, they don't call for breast milk, but, in my experience, you will have any abundance of breast milk after each a couple of them. They are delicious too. Be careful to not eat to many though. I have woken up a few times in the middle of the night completely engorged and completely covered in milk. I have a major sweet tooth and love these cookies. It's hard to just stop at one or two or three.....

I normally get about 3 dozen cookies from this recipe:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit

1 1/2 c flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
Mix together in a bowl. Set aside.

3/4 c almond butter or peanut butter
1/2 c butter, salted, softened
1 c flax meal
3 T brewer's yeast
1/3 c water
1/2 c sugar
1/2 c brown sugar
2 tsp plus a splash vanilla, a good vanilla
In a large bowl, beat all of these ingredients together until they are creamy. Mix in 2 eggs. Gradually mix in the flour mixture.

Mix in 1/2 cup of chopped nuts of your choice, 1/2 cup of raisins, and 2 cups (12oz.) of chocolate chips or carob chips. Slowly add in 1 3/4 cups of oats (not steel cut or instant).

Roll out balls of dough and place onto baking sheets and press down each ball with a fork.

Bake for 12 minutes.

These are great frozen too! Little loves to steal them from me too. They wont make someone create milk, they should just help someone already lactating to increase their milk volume. Just a note, most moms don't have a problem with their milk supply. Also, the ingredients that may help increase the milk supply are the flax meal, brewer's yeast, and oats. You don't have to use the brands in the hyper links, those are just so you can see what they are because I hate seeing something in a recipe that I have never used before and not knowing what to look for when I go to the store.

Have you heard of any foods that may increase milk supply?

What are some of your favorites?

Have any worked for you?

Feeding my babies

2015-02-04T07:00:00.000-08:00

So, my oldest is two(almost), and when I had her I was completely oblivious to what being a mommy entailed. I read blogs, articles, listened to advice from family and friends, but it is completely different when you are actually a mom. Any of the advice you get or read about is REALLY hard to remember when you are completely sleep deprived. For some reason I didn't believe anyone when they told me I would be sleep deprived. It was bad, really bad. That sweet girl wouldn't sleep for more than two hours at a time EVER. It was hard, really hard, but I/we got through it. Anyways, probably the most difficult thing for me was breastfeeding. I didn't want to give up on it because formula is expensive, I knew breastfeeding is what was best for my baby, and I had the ability to do it. The lactation consultant in the hospital came in a few times and tried to help me when I would call them in. They said my latch was great and every thing looked perfect. They also told me I could only feed her every two hours for 20 minutes on each side. Not knowing any better, that's what I did. I crackled, bled, bruised, cried, and repeated A LOT! I think that's why she and I had so many problems.

On a visit to California to see my parents, before they became our neighbors, I met a girl who helped me tremendously, by that point little was a month old and I had finally gotten the hang of the whole breastfeeding thing. She was so encouraging and told me about a program where I could become a lactation educator counselor and help other people in their journey through breastfeeding. My hubs and I talked about it, and we decided that I should do it. I did, and it has changed everything for me. I now teach breastfeeding classes and counsel clients individually. If you are looking for a breastfeeding class, I can do them via the internet, and I can counsel over the phone, or if you are in Arizona I can come to you. I don't want anyone to go through what I went through with breastfeeding. So, if I can help make your journey easier I would love to help!

I am grateful that I stuck with it! I am grateful for the knowledge I have gained from a tough experience. I am grateful for breastfeeding. I LOVE it! It is definitely a bonding experience for me and my babies, let alone all of the health benefits to me and my cuties. It is truly a blessing in my life!

Pop Pop is awesome!

2015-02-03T18:44:00.002-08:00

I was going through pictures on my phone and am shocked that I don't have pictures of my dad with my girls on my phone. They love him and spend so much time with him. Little asks to see pop pop all the time. Today I'm incredibly grateful for him.

He is the best dad I could have ever had! When I was little he was working several jobs to support our family and worked on his masters. When he finished his masters he when on to work on and finish his doctorate as well. Smart dude! And the entire time he worked like crazy to provide so well for us. On the weekends he would work in his honey do list that my mom had for him. Many weekends were spent with my on the flat bed cart riding around Home Depot. Or riding on a rototiller around our yard. I'm sure I slowed him down always following him around, but he always took the time to just hang out with me and show me how to do whatever he was doing.

He does the same thing with my kiddos. I love it! While I was trying to find someone to watch my girls today so I could go to an appointment that they couldn't come to, he offered to do it even though he was already running my 95 year old grandma around to several appointments as well. He took a huge weight off of my shoulders by doing it, and he's willing to do it most any time for us too.

He is awesome for so many more reasons! But that would make this post forever long. I sure do love him!

Who are you grateful for?

Doctors, pain, and trials

2015-02-03T15:34:00.001-08:00

I was crazy busy yesterday and upset for part of the day so I didn't write a post, but I definitely had one in mind. I've been struggling with some pain since I had Holland. So, I was on the phone with doctors a good portion of the day, and trying to figure out who could watch my girls while I went to an appointment today.

A couple of weeks, maybe a month after I had Holli I started to have extreme pain in my face. I've been diagnosed with trigeminal neuralgia. With many different tests, we still aren't sure why. But I'm so grateful for doctors who keep trying to find out why. I feel like they genuinely care about me and my well being. I have seen a few specialists and they are all working together to help me out. They are seriously the best!!!

With that, I'm so grateful for the health I do have. I may be in pain, but I can still go about my daily life and be happy. Yesterday, was a tough day for me because I was frustrated. But those days are few and far between. I'm so glad that I can get up each day and play with my girls.

There are so many people who don't have the health that I have, and I'm sure there are people who would trade me the pain I have for their ailments. I just have to laugh most days. Sometimes I feel like I'm falling apart, but I have faith that this will pass. In the meantime, I'm grateful for my circumstances. I'm definitely growing and am grateful for this trial and the opportunity it is giving me to grow.

What are you grateful for today?

He's The Best

2015-01-31T07:18:00.002-08:00

It's the weekend, and my husband is a teacher, normally he's home all weekend(with the exception of mountain biking with the guys every once and a while) Yesterday he had a training so he was gone all day, and I never realized how much I look forward to the weekend to hang out with him. It kind of stinks when my other best buddy has to work on a day he normally has off, but I am so grateful for him! He does SO much. He leaves for work early in the morning and gets home late at night, but always in time to put our oldest little to bed. Daddy LOVES putting her to bed. Even though it normally involves a lot, a whole lot, of crying at first, from her not him. He makes time to go swimming with her, and hang out with all of us. It doesn't matter what we are doing, we always have to much fun together.

He truly is my best friend.

Here is a small list of some things I love about him:

Devin is one of the most positive individuals in know. He's always looking on the bright side.

He has a way of always making me happy. When I feel as though things are hopeless, he always shows me the hope.

He and I have different senses if humor, but he always laughs at my jokes even when he just thinks in a nerd.

He reads with such great enthusiasm. I love it. (Voices and everything. It's awesome!)

He is getting so much better about seeing when something is needing to be done and doing it.

He loves our little girl so much, and makes such an effort to spend time and bond with them. It melts my heart.

He loves vacuuming and I'm grateful for it.

When he puts his mind to something he gets it done. I.e. Painting our eaves.

We have the best spontaneous dance parties.

I love talking and he hates it, but he will sit there and listen to me go on forever about things. Poor guy, but it's so sweet of him to do.

He truly is my better half! I'm better with him than I ever was without him, and he makes me want to be better and helps me get there. I'm lucky to be able to keep him forever!!!