Book: Christmas Stories

“You could find everything you needed in Forest Grove – everything, that is, except a smile or a kind word. Smiles and kind words seemed to have been transported out of town with the last load of coal from the old mine down the hill. There was no joy in Forest Grove. Life just went on as though the town folk were obligated to exist and just as obligated not to enjoy it. There was only one church in Forest Grove. It was pastored by a zealous young man who had been brought in from upstate by the denomination to see if indeed he could perform a miracle and inject a little life into this catatonic flock. Thus far, all Reverend Tom had injected were shock waves.”

“It was on one of those icy-cold mid-November afternoons when Reverend Tom was in his study that he heard a muffled knock on his front door. He had been studying and praying all day, and he was asking God for one man – just one – whose heart and soul literally beat only for God. And while he was still praying, there came the knock on the door. “This is my answer,” the young pastor thought as he literally jumped to his feet and ran for the door. However, the reverend’s left foot landed on one of his son’s roller skates, and with an absence of grace akin to an elephant on ice, his left foot went east, his right foot went west, and his whole body went south while his left shoulder engaged the corner of the coffee table as he came careening to the hardwood floor. His right leg was broken.”

“On the front porch stood young Bobby Simpson, the twelve-year-old grandson of his head deacon, “Grandpa” Billy Simpson. Pastor Tom, in agony, invited him in and asked him to call the doctor, then while they waited, Bobby asked him about his sermon on Jesus and Nicodemus. “You said Jesus told him he had to be born … over?” Bobby said. “You said until Jesus comes into our hearts, we can come to church ‘n everything, but we can’t be happy, ’cause we haven’t had our sins forgiven. We’re cut off from God. Reverend Thompson, I’m a sinner,” Bobby almost shouted. “I’ve never been, you know, born over. What do I do?” Bobby now began pleading with the preacher. “What do I do?” Pastor Tom said, “Tell Him you know now that He died in your place – that He did it all for you – and tell Him that you want to become a Christian.” As the lad prayed, the reverend could almost see the second that Christ came into his life.”

“When old Doc Forsythe arrived and tended to Pastor Tom, Bobby asked him “Have you ever been born over? Your whole life will be changed.” “Bobby,” the tired old man said (there was an eternal pause), “Bobby, I believe you’re right. I haven’t slept since last Sunday’s message about Nicodemus,” he said. “I’ve been a member of Forest Grove Church for 34 years, but I’m not a Christian. Pastor, I need to be born, uh – born over myself – like Bobby here.””

“Now the following week in Forest Grove was not your average week. Word was out. Young Bobby Simpson got “saved,” whatever that was. Old Doc Forsythe got “religion,” whatever that meant; and young Reverend Thompson broke his leg in the process! The result was a new boldness in Tom’s preaching. Nearly every Sunday some mention was made of this “new birth” thing. He was even talking about heaven and hell, something Forest Grove hadn’t heard for a generation or two. There was an underground revolt afoot in the Forest Grove Parish about this unsolicited unsettling of the status quo. Grandpa Billy told the Bishop up in Northton that “either the denomination reach down and recall this heretic or the Forest Grove Deacons were goin’ to boot him plum out of town.””

“Five years have passed now since that eventful December 25th so lovingly called “The Day that Grandpa was Born”. Five long years. It’s late December, as we wind our way through those ice-caked highways that twist and turn, we see come into view a little town that seems to have been preserved in ice from a century past. There’s Grandpa Billy’s Drug Store. In one window is a Christmas tree; a banner draped above it reads, “Happy Birthday Jesus”. If Grandpa Billy’s there, the first thing you see is a smile so big you can’t help but think those wrinkles on his leathery face are gonna break in two. And should you take the time to join him for a cup of coffee, chances are that the kindly old druggist will ask you if you happen to know a friend of his – Jesus.”

“Just behind the drug counter, almost lost in a sea of pills and powders is Grandpa’s diminutive childhood sweetheart, and wife of 41 years, Ethel Simpson. Beneath her steel blue eyes and gracious smile, Ethel Simpson is the proud owner of an iron will. “A woman can do whatever she makes up her mind to,” she would often philosophize, adding, “Nobody’s gonna give you nothin’ in this world; life’s only gonna give you what you go out and get. God helps those who help themselves,” she utters with such authority you’d think she coined the phrase herself. Grandma Ethel saw goin’ to church as a misuse of time (except, of course, for Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter, when, as she piously expressed it, “A Christian ought to pay their respects to God.”)”

“Their spiritual differences really came to a head when the Reverend Thompson used Easter Sunday to preach a message on Noah and the flood. His title was, “Noah’s Amazing Umbrella”. Being Easter, Ethel was there, but she left after the service angry at the way he talked about “coping with life”. The crux of his message was that Noah went through the storms of life safely because he had that amazing umbrella called faith. He had ended his message by asking, “What kind of umbrella do you have to weather the storms of life? I you haven’t asked Jesus Christ to come into your life, when storms come, you’re going to find that your umbrella of self-reliance has a hole in it, and unless you trade it in for one of God’s amazing umbrellas, you’ll never be able to weather life’s storms.””

“Angrily she said, “Just who does he think he is, prescribing Jesus like a pill for hard times? You Christians don’t have a corner on strength. Strength comes from the will. You can’t hang that one on God.” You see, one of Ethel’s struggles was that she had lived such a “good” life, she couldn’t imagine needing to be saved from anything. She’d been a nearly perfect mother, a loving wife, a diligent citizen, and a hard worker. She could see maybe a savior for sinners, but by her standards at least, a sinner she definitely wasn’t. But Ethel’s main gripe was that this indicated that there was a need in life for someone else to live your life for you, and enable you to become what he kept calling “more than conquerors.” Ethel fancied herself a conqueror, and she had done it all with sheer will power. “I’ve got my own umbrella,” she proclaimed. Grandpa Billy had a good answer: “You’ve got a mighty fine umbrella, Ethel,” he acknowledged, “You’ve weathered some tough ones without so much as gettin’ wet. I reckon, however, that some day you just might get into a storm that your umbrella can’t handle.””

“From east to west, sand was all you could see. Just outside the make-shift village of khaki tents were lines of tanks, roughly disguised by camouflage netting. Young men, many of whom looked more like they belonged at a high school prom than a war, walked nervously about. The word was out that a deadline was nearing. Either a truce would be signed or all-out hostilities were imminent.”

“Up at the top of that mound of sand on the left you’ll find a tent filled with typical guys. Ray Angleton, a fighter pilot from a little town in Kansas; Sandy Ferguson, a quiet, unassuming, somewhat introverted lad; Al Sanchez, a decent kind of guy who liked to talk; and Bob Berns. “Born Again Bob” his buddies laughingly called him. He saw the war as his personal mission of evangelism and the people around him as his particular mission field.”

“The guys had a game they played entitled, “When the sun comes up in the desert.” Every day a new person would be “it”. As they arose, someone would say, “When the sun comes up in the desert…” and then the person who was “it” had to come up with a totally new thought to end the sentence. Bob’s contribution was, “When the sun comes up in the desert, The Son is coming soon,” which had so little real meaning to his buddies that they almost gave up the whole game.”

“As Christmas drew nearer, the mood became even more solemn than before. Bob’s latest jingle still had a decided evangelistic message, but it had a somewhat eerie undertone. He sang, “When the sun comes up in the desert, and casts its glow once again, only Jesus knows if I’ll be here or if I’ll be with Him.””

“About 4:30 the silence was interrupted by a siren that sounded with such intensity that all four men leaped from their bunks in unison, and you could almost see the camels hide their heads in the sand to flee the horrendous noise. Over the public address system, a somewhat garbled voice could be understood only too well. “Alert! Alert! All pilots report to your planes immediately. Repeat. All pilots report to your planes immediately. This is not, I repeat, this is not a practice drill.””

“To Rob Fontaine, Christmas was a dream come true. He loved Bing Crosby; and more than that, he loved Bing’s song “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas.” He played “White Christmas” all winter long, and all summer long, for that matter. Rob’s family, his wife, Jenny, his teenage daughter Elaine, and the twins, Buddy and Betty, had little choice but to accept his fixation with “White Christmas”. It seemed to be practically the only imperfection in his personality.”

“Rob is a “good guy”. He goes to church, but only now and then. He considers himself a Christian because he goes to a Christian church, but he has a problem with one of the church’s basic tenets. Sin. He considers sin an ugly word, and he doesn’t see himself as a sinner, to be sure. To Rob, sin is behavioral. To be a sinner, your behavior has to be such that it radically and consistently affects other people in a negative way. Wife Jenny is what Rob affectionately calls a “religious nut”. She gets up early every day to pray, goes to some kind of a citywide Bible study, and even has little Bible verses pasted on the refrigerator door, which she claims to be trying to memorize.”

“As Christmas drew near, their church bulletin proclaimed: “The Centerview Community Church invites you to their annual Christmas musical presentation, ‘I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas'”. “Well, it’s about time these religious groups came to appreciate the real meaning of Christmas,” Rob muttered under his breath. “We’ll be going to that one,” he announced. “We’ll just have to see what they do with Bing Crosby.” All three kids were about to decide Christianity was not for them. They had all read the story of the birth of Christ, and none of them remembered Bing Crosby singing in the background. And besides, they could all just picture dear old Dad standing up in the middle of the musical, hand across his heart, making out like the Christmas crooner himself.”

“Jeremy Hansen was no ordinary child. He was one of those special gifts from God who came into this world somewhat damaged, but, given huge amounts of love and a few doses of special attention, turn into life’s extraordinary people. Jeremy was a “Down Syndrome” baby. He had been born without the capacity to grow and to perform in many of the ways the world calls “normal”. But Jeremy, like so many “special” children, had turned out to be a source of joy beyond comparison for the Hansen clan. Well, somewhat of a mixed kind of joy, perhaps.”

“So continuously destructive were little Jeremy’s activities, that he had been given the nickname “Little Jeremy Raincloud” because wherever he went, a storm was sure to follow. The Hansen’s religious life had been obviously affected by Jeremy. His presence in their lives gave them a sense of need, and an awareness of the existence of a God, but Jeremy’s presence in most churches produced a more unholy reaction. So they had gone from church to church looking for “just the right place” for little Jeremy.”

“They decided to visit Bridge Street Bible Church, since they heard they were having a Christmas musical. The performance was a story, set to music of the incarnation, death, and resurrection of Christ, followed by a brief explanation in song of what one vocalist referred to as “being born again”, or “meeting Jesus”. This kind of terminology was somewhat new to the Hansens, and an outsider looking on would never have known what they might have been thinking. The interesting thing to watch was the face of Jeremy Raincloud. He never budged. He didn’t squirm. He just listened and looked and sat perfectly still in the pew.”

“Football was coach Ron Sylvester’s life. Though unknown to him, it would soon be sharing center stage with a totally different kind of game; a game where the stakes were even higher, but no matter the contest, Ron was a man of such intensity, that you knew somehow he was going to be a winner. To Ron, losing just wasn’t acceptable. Even if it took a miracle to win, Ron, to that degree, believed in miracles.”

“Of course, if winning is everything, anything else means losing; losing the things in life that are really important. Often such things as marriages, children, and moral and religious pursuits fade into relative obscurity as the quest for the victory overtakes reason. His wife, Amy, had paid the price. A faithful, sensitive, kind woman, she had enjoyed the financial benefits of being a winner’s wife, but in the process, she felt she had lost her husband. Ron’s problem was not his job. His problem was his perspective.”

“Billy the Bully O’Brien, the team’s best running back, had burrowed his way to the top of the rushing statistics in the league and was Ron’s number one commodity. All that ended while he was traveling in a light aircraft piloted by one of Ron’s assistant coaches, which crashed while landing in a crosswind. The sole survivor was Billy the Bully. Ron was at home in his study when the phone rang, and the voice on the other end hesitatingly told him the bad news. An assistant coach and two backup defensive backs were dead. And Billy the Bully, if he were to live, would never play football again. It would in fact be a miracle if he ever walked again.”

“The press wasted no time interviewing the angry, unprepared coach at home. “What will this do to your season? And what do you think of Billy going down in flames the day after he got religion?” “The day after he what?” the bewildered coach responded. “You haven’t heard? He made some kind of ‘decision for Christ’ at a church gathering night before last, and announced that he was giving up his partying ways to follow Jesus.” “Follow who?” Ron Sylvester bellowed back. “Billy never followed anyone but a good blocker. Where did you get that hogwash?””