Everywhere there is snow, snow and more snow. H u s t l in g a b o u t to make sure the big pot of cocoa made from dry milk was in the right place to keep it warm on the big barrel heating stove, checking to see that no more cookies had mysteriously disappeared from the plate in the kitchen, I began to wonder if the clothes in which I’d dressed year-and-one-half old Marty would keep him warm during this first experience at Christmas caroling. The village youngsters were already arriving and each time the door opened a big cloud of white frost poured into our little house. The temperature was a cold minus thirty degrees below zero on this our first Christmas Eve in Alaska. Not only was this our own little Marty’s first experience at caroling, but it was the same for each of the Indian youngsters who had appeared with eager faces that evening. We had been practicing for weeks, trying to learn two Christmas carols by heart. A few knew most of the words, but it was doubtful that even one knew a whole song. Not only was our lack of knowledge of the words a draw back to this adventure, but also there was the added disadvantage that only one girl in the whole group could carry a tune besides my husband and myself. It was decided we’d wrap our small accordion in a blanket as we walked from cabin to log cabin. Checking to see that the stove contained sufficient wood and was closed tightly, we all trooped out in the cold night air. For the first few houses, things pro ceeded quite smoothly. Then we no ticed a few children were beginning to shiver. The accordion became so cold that each time I struck a key,
my fingers would freeze to that key, and it felt as if I were touching a hot coal. So we kept the accordion wrapped from then on. It seemed our group dwindled as the caroling pro gressed, for the children would slip into their own warm homes after we had caroled there. About two-thirds of the way around the village, we noticed a thermometer reading forty-two degrees below zero. It was then we sang our last carol, called out a general “Merry Christ mas” to anyone who might have been listening and hurried on back to that warm cocoa, and the fresh cookies baked on the little wood range. Although we were trying to com memorate the birth of the King of kings and Lord of lords, we knew not one person in our village who had any relationship with Him. That was our reason for being there. Although our first Christmas Eve ended at a chilly 58° below zero, it did nothing to cool our enthusiasm to obey the Lord’s command “by all means save some.” Christmas day was clear and cold and we thought of our loved ones at home. Under our little spruce tree on the table was a tiny pair of mukluks, a gift to Marty from our people. There were other tokens of love, too. The greatest gift we wished to give them was the message of eternal life given to them by our precious Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, whose birthday we were re membering. It was cold outside but our hearts were warm with His love, and we be lieved that soon we should see souls brought to Him.
It almost seems too cold even for the husky dogs. Native graveyard on the banks of the Yukon River.
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THE KING'S BUSINESS
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