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TEN WAYS TO TEACH YOUR CHILD ABOUT CHRISTMAS
Society is secular and Christmas is becoming secularized. 'Next thing, they'll be bringing religion into Christmas!' This started out as a clergyman's joke. Now, keep your ears open, and you will hear it around any overtly Christian display in a department store or bookshop in the run-up to Christmas. Secularism is in the schools. We may have aided and abetted the secular Christmas by giving the impression that the festival is all about gifts, consumption and TV. So how do you give your child the right idea about Christmas? Here are ten suggestions:
1 Sing the music of Christmas with your child. Don't worry about your musical ability or lack of it. Put it on the hi-fi, and talk about the meaning of the words of those familiar carols. 2 Visit a nativity scene. In most towns there's a nativity scene with figures of Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus with, perhaps, the shepherds and the sheep. This can be an excellent visual aid to teach a child the story of Christmas. 3 Read about Christmas traditions. Your local library can help you here. Learn about the origin of Christmas customs with a view to discriminating between the sacred and the secular. Make sure that the Gospel story is central and that Santa Claus, the tree, the holly and the mistletoe, are identified as inessential frills. 4 Tell of your own childhood Christmases. Children want and need a sense of their own beginning. This is a good time to bring out the photograph albums and share the family history with your child. Christmases really were better in the old days! 5 Build your own family traditions. Introduce your child to activities you enjoyed when you were young, or establish new traditions. A visit to a carol concert or a Christmas service is more important than a visit to Santa Clause.
6 Turn "What do you want for Christmas?'
questions into 'What do you do for Christmas?'
Children sometimes seem self-centred when they answer the
barrage of 'What will Santa Claus bring you?' questions from
adults. Focusing on pre-Christmas activities may shift attention
away from the opening of gifts and lessen some of the
pre-holiday tension. One excellent activity is to make Christmas
gifts with your child. Not only is this a delightful activity in
itself, but it has the added benefit of helping a child
7 Teach your child to give.
Even a small child can help select — or better
still, make — a gift for a family member. Older 8 Tell the Christmas story. The story found in Luke 2 is usually the easiest for children to under- stand, but even it may need to be paraphrased for younger children. You might try writing out your own paraphrase of the story, then have your children illustrate it.
9 Plan Christmas meals with your child.
If Christmas lunch is traditionally at a grandparents' house,
plan a Christmas eve or
Reprint with permission from: FOCUS VOLUME FOURTEEN NUMBER FOUR ISSN 0143-7925 Editor: DAVID MARSHALL Design; BARRY ALLEN Marketing: EDWARD JOHNSON Printed and published by The Stanborough Press Ltd.. Alma Park, Grantham.
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Buying a Miracle
Tess was a precious eight year old when she heard her mom and dad talking about her little brother, Andrew. All she knew was that he was very sick and they were completely out of money. They were moving to an apartment complex next month because daddy didn't have the money for the doctor's bills and their house. Only very costly surgery could save him now and it was looking like there was no hope. She heard daddy say to her tearful mother with whispered desperation, "Only a miracle can save him now." Tess was a precious eight year old when she heard her mom and dad talking about her little brother, Andrew. All she knew was that he was very sick and they were completely out of money. They were moving to an apartment complex next month because daddy didn't have the money for the doctor's bills and their house. Only very costly surgery could save him now and it was looking like there was no hope. She heard daddy say to her tearful mother with whispered desperation, "Only a miracle can save him now." Tess went to her
bedroom and pulled a glass Jelly jar from its hiding place in the
closet. She poured all the She waited
patiently for the pharmacist to give her some attention but he was too
busy at this moment. Still nothing. She cleared her throat with the most disgusting sound she could muster. No good. Finally she took a quarter from her jar and banged it on the glass counter. That did it! "And what do you want?" the pharmacist asked. "I'm talking to my brother from Chicago whom I haven't seen in ages," he said without waiting for a reply to his question. "Well, I want to talk with you about my brother," Tess answered back in the same annoyed tone. "He's really, really sick and I want to buy a miracle." "I beg your pardon?" said the pharmacist. "His name is Andrew and he has something bad growing inside his head and my daddy says only a miracle can save him now. So how much does a miracle cost?" "We don't sell miracles here, little girl. I'm sorry but I can't help you," the pharmacist said, softening a little. "Listen, I have the money to pay for it. If it isn't enough, I will get the rest. Just tell me how much it costs." The pharmacist's brother was a well-dressed man. He stooped down and asked the little girl, "What kind of a miracle does your brother need?" “I don't know," Tess replied with her eves welling up. "I just know he’s really sick and mommy says he needs an operation. But my daddy can't pay for it, so I want to use my money." "How much do you have?" asked the man from Chicago. "One dollar and eleven cents," Tess answered barely audibly, "and it's all the money I have, but I can get some more if I need to." "Well, what a coincidence," smiled the man. "A dollar and eleven cents—the exact price of a miracle for little brothers." He took her money in one hand and with the other hand he grasped her mitten and said, "Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents. Let's see if I have the kind of miracle you need." That well dress man was Dr. Carlton Armstrong, a surgeon, specializing in neurosurgery. The operation was completed without charge and it wasn't long until Andrew was home again and doing well. Mom and Dad were happily talking about the chain of events that had led them to this place. "That surgery," her Mom whispered, "was a real miracle. I wonder how much it would have cost?" Tess smiled. She knew exactly how much a miracle cost—one dollar and eleven cents . . . plus the faith of a little child. A miracle is not the suspension of natural law, but the operation of a higher law.
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The Christmas Makeover
I learned the truth at 17,
that love was meant for beauty queens . . ." played from our car
radio in Fast
forward four years—at 16, I was chosen from more than 200 girls
to go to Paris and become a fashion My glamorous, exciting life was filled with dancing, drinking, dating and parties. Life was a thrill a minute. It never occurred to me that my excessive eating and drinking could affect how I looked. At the modelling agency I was told, "You look puffy and tired!" One morning 1 went to a photo shoot. The hairstylist painstakingly arranged my hair in an elegant up- sweep. I put on a gown that the dresser had waiting for me. The assistants set the lighting and I got into place. The photographer scrutinised me up and down, and said, "No. No good. You can go home." The first taste of rejection as a model was devastating—! felt as if I had been punched in the stomach. On the way home I bought a huge chocolate bar and overindulged. I wasn't accepted because of my weight
Six months later, I was living on my own, in an apartment
in New York. One evening, my mom called, "Your agent, Valerie, phoned us
and said you've gained a lot of weight and that you're fat. Tonya, are
you fat? I was consumed
with the way I looked and I was obsessed with food. When I scrutinised
my appearance, it as like looking in a fun house mirror. My view was
distorted—what was real was not what I saw. When I looked in the mirror
I no longer saw a resemblance to Cheryl Ladd, but to Miss Piggy. Searching for answers
A few weeks after
I got home, a friend of mine called and invited me to church. The night
before we went, “Accept the Lord first," she encouraged me. "He'll help you clean up your life."
The next morning the pastor asked, "Do you have a void in
your life? Have you tried everything and still feel empty? God so loved
the world that He gave His only begotten Son, and that if you believe in
Him you won't perish but have everlasting life. Do you want everlasting
life? Would you like your empty life to be full of meaning? I felt that
he was speaking directly to me. No matter what I had accomplished or
acquired, I was Newness in Christ Until then, I
only knew about Jesus' death in a historical sense. I didn't think that
it had anything to do with Eight years ago,
I began writing about a life I hadn't talked about in years. As a
mother, I wondered, how Would they realise that their worth to God is not measured by their weight or contingent upon having chiselled cheekbones? How would 1 balance that message with the fact that they must take good care of the unique and wonderful bodies God had created for them? As I tucked their
sweet, pyjama clad bodies into bed that night, I read them 1 Samuel
16:7, "For the Over the years, I encouraged my children to be beautiful—on the inside. My grown daughters are now attending Bible College. They've been to Europe too—but as missionaries, not fashion models. My two sons are growing taller by the day. Recently, I awoke during the night unable to sleep. It was cold outside, but I was warm in my cosy bed as I lay next to my husband. With his arm draped across my body, he was so close I could feel his heartbeat and his warm breath upon my face. I was filled with peace and contentment. If I had taken my life in that lonely hotel room 22 years ago - I would have missed all this. Today, the painful memories that used to overwhelm me—the feelings of hurt, anger and bitterness—do not have the hold over me that they once did. I love the Scripture in Jeremiah 29:11, "For 1 know the thoughts that I think toward you—thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope." I still struggle
sometimes with wanting to look younger and thinner. I wish my stomach
did not lie next Valuable in God's sight You are valuable
to God. You are His artwork—a unique, one-of-a-kind masterpiece. Famous
fashion Are you struggling with low self- esteem and competing with the standards of this world? You don't have to—in Christ there is freedom to live according to God's perfect plan for each of us. In the same way
that you received Christ into your life by faith, God has also promised
to empower each
Dear Father, I need You. I acknowledge that I have sinned against You by
directing my own life
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Christmas at a Frontier Pastor’s House
Author unknown I remember a day one winter that stands out like a boulder in my life. The weather was unusually cold, our salary had not been regularly paid, and it did not meet our needs when it was. My husband was away much of the time, travelling from one district to another. Our boys were well, but my little Ruth was ailing, and alas none of us were decently clothed. I patched and re-patched, with spirits sinking to the lowest ebb. The water gave out in the well and the wind blew through the cracks in the floor. The people in the parish were kind, and generous too; but the settlement was new, and each family was struggling for itself. Little by little, at the time I needed it most my faith began to waiver. Early in life I was taught to take God at His word, and I thought my lesson was well learned. I had leaned upon the promises in dark times, until I knew as David did, "who was my fortress and my deliverer." Now a daily prayer for forgiveness was all that I could offer. My husband's coat was hardly thick enough for October, and he was often obliged to ride miles to attend some meeting or funeral. Many times our breakfast was Indian cake (corn .bread) and a cup of tea without sugar. Christmas was coming: the children always expected their presents. I remember the ice was thick and smooth and the boys were craving a pair of skates. Ruth, in some unaccountable way, had taken a fancy that the dolls I had made were no longer suitable; she wanted a nice large one, and insisted on praying for it. I knew it seemed
impossible, but oh I wanted to give each child its present. It seemed as
if God had deserted us, but I did not tell my I put in a piece
of bread for his lunch—it was the best I could do. I wrapped my plaid
shawl around his neck and then tried to whisper a Before long James returned, chilled and exhausted. He drew off his boots. The thin stockings slipped off with them, and his feet were red with cold. "I wouldn't treat a dog that way let alone a faithful servant," I said. Then as I glanced up and saw the hard lines in his face, and the look of despair, it flashed across to me - James had let go too. I brought him a cup of tea, feeling sick and dizzy at the very thought. He took my hand and we sat for an hour without a word. I wanted to die and to meet God, and tell Him his promises were not true; my soul was so full of rebellious despair. There came a sound of bells, a quick stop, and a loud knock at the door. James sprang up to open it. There stood Deacon White. "A box came by express just before dark, I brought it around as soon as I could get away. Reckon it might be for Christmas. At any rate I said they shall have it tonight. Here is a turkey my wife asked me to fetch along, and these other things I believe belong to you." There was a
basket of potatoes, and a bag of flour. Talking all the time he hurried
in the box and then with a hearty good night he rode away. Still without
speaking, James found a chisel and opened the box. He drew out first a
red blanket, and then we saw that beneath it the box was full of
clothing. It seemed at that moment as if Christ fastened upon me a look
of reproach. James sat down and covered his face with his hands, "I
can't touch them," he exclaimed. "I haven't been true, just when God was
trying me to see if I could hold out. Do you think I could not see how
you were suffering? I had no word of comfort to offer. "Wait a moment dear I can't talk now," he said. Then he went into another room. I knelt down, and my heart broke. In an instant all the darkness, all the stubbornness rolled away. Jesus came again and stood before me, with the loving word, "daughter!," sweet promises of tenderness and joy of soul. I was so lost in praise and gratitude that I forgot anything else. I don't know- how long it was before he came back, but he too had found peace. "Now my dear wife," gee -said. ''let us thank God together," and he then poured out word? We searched the Bible words: for nothing could express our thanksgiving. It was hollow and there was something else in the box, and nothing touched but the warm blanket we needed. We piled on some fresh logs, lighted two candles, and began to examine our treasure. We drew out an overcoat. I made James put it on; just the right size, and I danced around him. Then there was a cloak. He insisted on seeing me in it. My spirits always affected him, and we both laughed like foolish children. There was a warm suit of clothes also and three pairs of woollen hose. There was a dress for me, yards of flannel, a pair of arctic overshoes for each of us. In mine was a slip of paper. I have it now and mean to hand it down to my children. It was Jacob's blessing to Asher, "Thy shoes shall be iron and brass and as the days so shall thy strength be." In the gloves, evidently for lames, the same dear hand had written, " I the Lord thy God, will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not I will help thee." It was a wonderful box, and packed with thoughtful care. There was a suit of clothes for each of the boys, and a little red gown for Ruth. There were mittens, scarves and hoods. Down in the centre of the box was another box. We opened it and there was a great wax doll. I burst into tears again. James wept for joy. It was too much. We then both exclaimed again. Close behind it came two pair of skates. There were books for us to read, some of them I had wished to see, stories for the children to read, aprons and underclothing, knots of ribbon, a gay little tidy, a lovely photograph, needles, buttons, thread and actually a muff, and an envelope containing a ten-dollar gold piece. At last we cried over everything we took up. It was past midnight, and we were faint and exhausted even with happiness. I made a cup of tea and cut a fresh loaf of bread and James boiled some eggs. We drew up the table before the fire, how we enjoyed our supper! And then we sat talking over our life and how sure a help God always proved. You should have seen the children the next morning! The boys raised a shout at the sight of their skates. Ruth caught up her doll and hugged it tightly without a word. Then she went to her room and knelt by her bed. When she came back, she whispered to me, "I knew they would be there, Mamma, but I wanted to thank God just the same." We went to the window and there were the boys out of the house already and skating on the ice with all their might. My husband and I tried to return thanks to the church in the east that sent us the box and have tried to give thanks to God everyday since. Hard times have come again and again, but we have trusted Him, dreading nothing so much as a doubt of His protecting care. Over and over again we have proved that "they that seek the Lord shall not want anything." Just as the Lord supplied the Saviour so many years ago He supplies today. We have been fooled into thinking that we have to have more and more to be happy. When we have so much that we have trouble being happy with our bounty. Maybe this story will help all of us to be a little more content with the things we often take for granted.
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Jimmy’s Christmas Wish
No one wants to pull hospital duty on Christmas Eve, or Christmas Day either, for that matter. Working as I do in a children's hospital, Christmas duty can be both a heartbreaking and heart warming experience. But when I drew the assignment for both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, I tried to make the best of it. We hosted a visit by a merry Santa Claus who spread cheer throughout the hospital as. He distributed gifts to delighted youngsters, and we stuffed stockings with toys that the patients would wake up to the next morning. As we worked busily in the staff office, there was a knock on the door. It was a teenage patient who was familiar to us all. He had been in and out of the hospital several times during the past year, and we had grown very fond of him. Despite his own serious condition, he was a warm and generous-hearted boy. He always took the time to scoop the younger patients up in his arms and give them rides in his wheelchair, read bedtime stories to them, or initiate water-gun fights, which distracted the children and filled them with glee. Jimmy had just been readmitted to the hospital and had come to our office to offer his help in stuffing the stockings. We were taken aback that this feisty teenager had allowed himself to be admitted—at all times!—on Christmas Eve. Why hadn't he waited until the following morning? Didn't he want to stay home with his family and open presents? A sad expression stole over Jimmy's face. "No," he answered, "it would be worse for me to stay home." He explained that his parents couldn't afford what he really wanted for Christmas. "What do you want?" we asked, hoping against hope that it was something we had already heaped in one of the overstuffed stockings. "A Nintendo
64," he answered. Our shoulders sagged in disappointment. It was
certainly not among the "I know," he said wistfully. "It's Just that I thought if I got one, then maybe my brothers would stay home more often and play the games with me, instead of leaving me alone." Our hearts broke for Jimmy, but we couldn't fulfil his one—maybe his last— holiday wish: Even if the toy had been available, every single store in our neighborhood was closed. Christmas morning, my department beeper went off at 6:30. Surprised, I called in to see what was up, and the secretary in the emergency room said that she was going off duty and wanted to give me a gift that had been dropped off during the night. I asked her to open the wrap- pings in order to determine whether the gift should be left at Security or remain in the ER. She could not fathom why I started sobbing when she told me it was an Nintendo 64. "How did it get to the emergency room?" I sniffled. "Some people dropped it off at about 1 a.m.," she said. "They asked us to give it to a patient in the hospital who would enjoy it." There are no words to describe Jimmy's face when he opened that package or his smile as his brothers sat with him in his room for hours playing Nintendo. I rummaged through the bag in which the Nintendo had been left and found a credit card receipt. I called information and found a listing. A woman answered the phone and when I asked if she was the one who had dropped off the Nintendo the previous night, she answered yes. Together she and her son had stopped at the hospital with the gift. How did they come to bring a Nintendo 64? “Oh it’s a long story,” she said. “Please tell me” I begged. “Well”, she began, “my son is engaged to a woman who lives in a different state. She has two boys by a previous marriage, and they wanted an Nintendo 64 for Christmas. Because the toy is so popular, it wasn’t readily available in the small town where she lives, so she asked my son to try and get one for her. He, too experienced difficulty in obtaining one – it seems to be quite a hot item this year. When he called her a few days ago to announce triumphantly ‘Mission Accomplished!’ he had finally bought one, she laughed and said she had just bought one too, that very same day!
"We were returning from services last night when I
noticed the Nintendo on his back seat. I asked him what he was planning
to do with the extra one, and he said, 'Return it when I get the time.” I told the
woman a little bit about Jimmy, the patient who had been the thrilled
recipient of her special generosity. She asked me about his illness, and
I told her that he had cancer. She started to cry. Then she asked what
type. When I answered, she cried even harder. She told me that she
herself had been diagnosed We used to have
a lot of skeptics on staff at the hospital. We now have a lot of brand
new believers who have witnessed firsthand how wonderfully connected all
of us are by the spirit of friendship and love. And I am very glad,
after all, that I drew hospital duty that Christmas shift, so that I
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The Parable of the Shopper My feet were tired, my hands cold, my arms exhausted from the weight of the packages, and it was beginning to snow. The bus was late. I kept rearranging my packages, trying to hold them in a different way in order to give my poor arms a rest. I still remember that day as if it were yesterday, and yet fifteen years have gone by. Nevertheless, when Christmas rolls around, I remember that day on the bus. Like I said, I was tired. I had been Christmas shopping all day long. When the bus finally arrived, it was packed with holiday shoppers in the same exhausted mood as I was. I sank into the only vacant place, near the back, by a very handsome gentleman. He politely helped me to situate my packages and even held some of them himself. "My goodness," he said, "did you leave any merchandise still in the stores for the rest of us?" "I don't think so," I moaned. "Worst of all, I still haven't made all of my purchases."
The woman in the seat behind
us joined in my grief and added, "No, the worst thing is that
the day after Christmas we will be carrying this same armload
back to the stores to exchange it." Her comment brought a
general chuckle from all those within earshot, including my seat
mate. As the laughter subsided, he began in a quiet, melodious
voice, deepened with experience, to teach me a lesson "Hear now the parable of the shopper," he said, speaking gently and indicating my packages. "A woman went forth to shop, and as she shopped, she carefully planned. Each child's desires were considered. The hard-earned money was divided, and the many purchases were made with the pure joy and delight that is known only to the giver. Then the gifts were wrapped and placed lovingly under the tree. In eager anticipation she scanned each face as the gifts were opened. 'What a lovely sweater,' said the elder daughter, 'but I think I would prefer blue. I suppose I can exchange it?' 'Thank you for the cassette player, Mother, It's just what I've always wanted,' said her son. And then aside, secretly to his sister, he continued. 'I told her I wanted the one with the automatic reverse and an extra speaker. I never get what I want!' The youngest child spoke out with the spoiled honesty of her age, 'I hate rag dolls! I wanted a china doll. I won't play with it!' And the doll, still in the box, was kicked under the couch. One gift still lay under the tree. The woman pointed it out to her husband. 'Your “gift is still there.” 'I'll open it when I have time,' he stated. '1 want to get this bike put together first.' "How sad it is," continued his soft, beautiful voice. "When gifts are not received in the same spirit they are given. To reject a thoughtful gift is to reject the loving sentiment of the giver himself. And yet, are we not all sometimes guilty of rejecting?" He was talking not only to me, but also to all of those on the bus. They had all gathered around. The bus was parked. He took a present from my stack. "This one," he said, holding it up and pretending to open the card, "could be to you." He pointed to a rough looking, teenage boy in a worn denim jacket and pretended to read the gift card. "To you I give My life, lived perfectly, as an example so that you might see the pattern and live worthy to return and live with Me again. Merry Christmas from the Messiah." "The gift of example is a precious yet often rejected gift." He set the present down and took another one from my pile. "This one," he said, holding up a pure, white present, "is for you." He held out the gift to a worn-looking woman, who in earlier years must have been a real beauty and was still attractive in her slim black skirt, black tights, and heels. She read the card out loud and allowed her tears to slip without shame down her painted face. "My gift to you is repentance. This Christmas I wish you to know for certain that though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow, and I the Lord will remember them no more. Have a happy New Year. Signed, your Advocate with the Father." "Ah, repentance, something every Christian needs," said my seat mate. "But that isn't all. No, here is a big, red package." He looked around the group and brought a ragged, unkempt, little child forward. "This big, red package would be for you if He were here. The card would say, 'On this Christmas and always, My gift to you is love. My love is pure! It is not dependent on what you do or what you look like. I love you as you have been, as you are now, and as you will be in the future. From your brother, Jesus.' " Then he gently wiped the ninny, dirty, upturned nose with his white handkerchief and drew the child into a tight hug. "And this silver package to you, madam," he said with a bow and handed the gift over to an aging grandmother two rows behind. "Yes, it would be for you, because you would appreciate it most of the time. His precious gift to you would be the gift of salvation. The surety that you will rise from the grave and live again with a perfect, resurrected body. The card would read, 'I give this precious gift freely to you and all men, by laying down my life for you. Signed, your Saviour." "One final gift," said my seat mate. "The greatest of all the gifts of God. Eternal life! A chance to receive the same quality of life that Christ Himself lives. But though this gift is to all men, it must be assembled. He has given us the instructions. They are here in the scriptures." He tore off the paper to reveal a worn, well used book. "He even has a toll-free number if you need help; anytime, day or night, just pray." He held our minds and our hearts. We were a hungry audience. Though our shopping had left us drained, now we were being filled by his words. "How we receive these gifts, these precious gifts from the Babe of Bethlehem, is the telling point. Are we exchangers?" he asked. "Is there really anything else we would rather have?" He searched our eyes and our souls. "Is there a feature missing? It is what we do with a gift long after we have opened it that shows our true appreciation. Have we used it, worn it, displayed it, or cherished it?" I glanced at the loving hands still holding tightly the Holy Book. He followed my glance and holding up the book asked, "How does Christ feel when we don't even take time to open it? Or when we don't use His gift of repentance, the one He purchased with such a great price? How sad it is when gifts are not received in the same spirit they are given!" He stood up. He was leaving, making his way slowly down the aisle. He paused just as he reached the front and said, "One last gift. Peace! Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." With those words, he was gone. That was fifteen years ago, only a wink in time. But not even an eternity could erase the sermon, or the man.
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