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Hello, and a happy December to all of our Metro Readers. I hope the holidays brings you much cheer.

One thing I really notice at my age is just how quickly time flies. It seems like it was just a couple years ago that Margaret and I had 3 little kids in the house and were planning for Santa to arrive. I remember decorating the house, opening cards, playing music, and reading bedtime stories to Chris, Brad, and Austin, 3 great kids with tons of energy and excitement this time of year. 

With Christmas right around the corner, and the hectic time it brings, I pause for a minute to thank God for just how blessed I am to have a loving wife in Margaret, wonderful kids in Chris, Amanda, Brad, Valerie and Austin, and lovely grandkids in Alexa, Cooper and Olivia. I am so thankful that this past month also that we got a chance to visit everyone. 

During the visits, I got to see first hand how Chris, Amanda, Brad, and Valerie have that same love for their children that I got a chance to experience. I see the same excitment in my grandkids eyes that I saw many years ago in my own kids. In short, I see a lot of Margaret and me in our kids, and a lot of our kids in our grandkids. It is truly inspirational and special to me what Margaret and I have learned from our parents are passed down to future generations. I am so happy that the love my parents, Bob and Jean shared, and Margaret's parents Julian and Lillian shared, are also in our grandkids ensuring that although they have never met, they are part of each of them, and that they know about each other. I am also confident that although Cooper will NOT do my underpants dance, part of Margaret and me are with all of our grandkids.  And on to my final thought... 

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CHRISTMAS IS FOR LOVE

Christmas is for love. It is for joy, for giving and sharing, for laughter, for reuniting with family and friends, for tinsel and brightly decorated packages. But mostly, Christmas is for love. I had not believed this until a small elf-like student with wide-eyed innocent eyes and soft rosy cheeks gave me a wondrous gift one Christmas.

Mark was an 11 year old orphan who lived with his aunt, a bitter middle aged woman greatly annoyed with the burden of caring for her dead sister's son. She never failed to remind young Mark, if it hadn't been for her generosity, he would be a vagrant, homeless waif. Still, with all the scolding and chilliness at home, he was a sweet and gentle child.

As a teacher with many classes, I had not noticed Mark particularly until he began staying after class each day (at the risk of arousing his aunt's anger, I later found) to help me straighten up the room. We did this quietly and comfortably, not speaking much, but enjoying the solitude of that hour of the day. When we did talk, Mark spoke mostly of his mother. Though he was quite small when she died, he remembered a kind, gentle, loving woman, who always spent much time with him.

As Christmas drew near however, Mark failed to stay after school each day. I looked forward to his coming, and when the days passed and he continued to scamper hurriedly from the room after class, I stopped him one afternoon and asked why he no longer helped me in the room. I told him how I had missed him, and his large gray eyes lit up eagerly as he replied, "Did you really miss me?"

I explained how he had been my best helper. "I was making you a surprise," he whispered confidentially. "It's for Christmas." With that, he became embarrassed and dashed from the room. He didn't stay after school any more after that.

Finally came the last school day before Christmas. Mark crept slowly into the room late that afternoon with his hands concealing something behind his back. "I have your present," he said timidly when I looked up. "I hope you like it." He held out his hands, and there lying in his small palms was a tiny wooden box.

"Its beautiful, Mark. Is there something in it?" I asked opening the top to look inside. "

"Oh you can't see what's in it," He replied, "and you can't touch it, or taste it or feel it, but mother always said it makes you feel good all the time, warm on cold nights, and safe when you're all alone."

I gazed into the empty box. "What is it Mark," I asked gently, "that will make me feel so good?" "It's love," he whispered softly, "and mother always said it's best when you give it away." And he turned and quietly left the room.

So now I keep a small box crudely made of scraps of wood on the piano in my living room and only smile as inquiring friends raise quizzical eyebrows when I explain to them that there is love in it.


Yes, Christmas is for gaiety, mirth and song, for good and wondrous gifts.
But mostly, Christmas is for love. 
Cheers!

 

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