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December, 1944
we have.” (And maybe they w ill be a bit blurry to Him, even as they are to Mommie arid Daddy at the sight of seven shining little faces all'intent on the loveliness of candlelight and the happiness of His day.) Christmas Day begins for Mommie and Daddy the night before. It takes a bit of time to see that every last gift is wrapped and placed under the tree all ready for morning. Last year the paint on the little boats Daddy made was hardly dry in time/, and we hung them by strings from the clothes rack over the heater ,and put them under the tree the very last thing. Mommie has to see that all the clothes are in order for the morning: the best everyday polo shirts for the boys, flower-sprigged d r e s s e s fo r . Becky and Jane, and the new-for- Christmas house dress for herself. Last year it was almost inidnight before the mending was finished and every thing proper for Christmas morning. The breakfast table must receive special care on Christmas Day. Mom mie takes the left-over fir bopghs and fashions a small tree for the center of the table. There is a Christmas card for each place because Auntie Bessie always did it that way when Mommiè was a little girl. The simple practice forms a “ path of remembering” back through the years. Mommie wonders: W ill her girlies do this too in the years to come, and in the doing feel the warmth of home and thé special ness of His birthday? After everything is finished a n d Daddy has g o n e out to his study, Mommie turns o n ,the Christmas-tree
“Yes, He’d like that ... . most of anything,' little girlie. He wants our love /for His birthday. He wants it so much that He g a v e Himself to get it.” dh, the ache of a heart that gives and does not receive love! “ He came • unto his own, and his own received, him not. But as many as received him, to them gave he power [or the right] to become the sons of God” (John 1:11, 12). I Christmas at Our House At our 'house, we make Chiistmas . as lovely a time as we can, and we ..remember that it is His birthday. As the Christirias gifts arrive, we put some up high over the windows where they can be seen but not handled. .Many are,;the speculations as to what bach gaily wrapped package, contains. We bake cookiesf Some o f them are cut with a heart-shaped cutter, be cause Christmas is a loving time. Arid if eager little hands shake the col ored sugar all |n one pile on a cookie /-instead of sprinkling it just so and evenly, it doesn’t matter. We like them that way. We ■ talk about His birthday. “But Mommie, how; can..we trim a birth day chair for Him, and would He like a cake?” “We can trim all the chairs, and He will see, and be glad to have. it so, because it means we each love Him specially on His day. And we can have a cake, and He will see, and w ill hear us sing ‘Happy birthday, Lord Jesus, happy birthday to You.’ And we c.an put on all the candles
says “Happy Birthday,” that no one seems to be remembering . . . this is loneliness. Do you suppose the Lord ever feels forgotten on His day? Perhaps He is not forgotten so much as He is over looked on this day of tinsel and gifts and shining Christmas trees. Birthdays, and the Gifts of Love At our house we make a special thing of birthdays all through the year. They not only build a path of remembrance for> later years, but they also look forward to that greatest birthday of the year, our Lord’s. We decorate the table, we tie festive crepe paper bows to the “ birthday chair,” and we pile our gifts in the center of the table. The gifts are very simple, most of them from the ten- cent store: a jar of paste, a package of crayons, a color book—lots of gifts to open, but not much money in volved. When Jon was three he wrapped up a fence staple in an orange wrapper, tied it with a piece of string, and laid it on the pile of gifts for Daddy’s birthday. It was given and received with love. His eager, shining eyes were on his Daddy’s face, waiting for the bright smile/of approval that was soon forthcoming. Watching that scene, one could not help but think of the heavenly Father and of how much every expression of love must mean to Him. It isn’t the gift that matters; it’s the heart, that gives it. • We were talking one year about what we could give the Lord Jesus for His birthday. “I’ll give Him a wiggle-bug,” said Jon (meaning himself, perhaps!). A wiggle-bug, to Jon, was a most desir able treasure. “ And I’ll give Him a bag of candy, and climb on His lap and put my arms around Him and love Him,” added Jane. “Would He like that, Mommie?”
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Dr. and Mrs. Willard Aid- rich and* their seven children are p i c t u r e d at home— a home which exalts the Lord.
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