Sing a song of Christmas by Rebecca Talley

Ashlie watched Mrs Barnewald lean on her cane and walk slowly over to a padded rocking chair. Mrs Barnewald sat down. "I'm glad you came to visit me today Ashlie," she said. "You and your family are good neighbors."

"I like to come to your house," Ashlie looked at a photo that sat on the table next to the rocking chair.

"That's my family in front of our home in Germany. I was born in that house," Mrs Barnewald said.

"Is your family still in Germany?"

"Oh no, I'm the only one left. My husband, Hans, and I came to America many, many years ago. You know, we were never blessed with any children and when he passed away a few years ago, he left me all alone." Mrs Barnewald sounded sad.

Ashlie placed her hand on Mrs Barnewald's wrinkled hand. "Are you lonely?" she asked.

"Sometime, especially during the Christmas season." Mrs Barnewald took the photo in her hand and looked at it for a minute. "We used to have such fun at this time of year. When I was a little girl in Germany, we had many traditions, but now I'm too old for them." She turned to Ashlie, "I'm glad to have a friend like you. I feel like you are my family."

Ashlie grinned. She glanced over at the clock that hung on the wall. It was time for dinner. She got up and gave Mrs Barnewald a hug. "I better go home."

"Thank you so much for visiting me today."

"See you soon."

Ashlie kicked at the ground on her walk home. She opened the front door and heard her mom in the kitchen, so she walked in and sat at the table. Resting her head on her hands, she let out a big breath.

"How was your visit?" mom asked.

Ashlie shrugged her shoulders. "Mrs Barnewald is so lonely. I want to do something special for her this Christmas."

"That's a wonderful idea," mom said.

Ashlie went to her room and lay on the bed, trying to think of something wonderful to do. She thought and thought and thought. Christmas was only a few days away. Ashlie thought about what Mrs Barnewald had said about traditions. She rolled over on her stomach and saw the handout from Primary she's set on her desk. She had an idea.

Ashlie called her Primary teacher, Sister Jensen, because she often told the class about her mission to Germany. After she talked to Sister Jensen, Ashlie knew just what to do for Mrs Barnewald.

On Christmas Eve, Ashlie and her family went to Mrs Barnewald's house for a visit. They took her some Turkey, mashed potato's, stuffing, and freshly baked cookies. Ashlie turned down the lights in the living room and handed candles to each of her parents and to her sister. Softly, in German, they started singing "Silent Night" while Ashlie lit the candles.

Stille Nact, heilige Nacht, Alles schlaft, einsam wacht, Nur das traute, hochheilge Paar, Holder Knabe im lokkigen Haar, Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh, Schlaf in himmlischer Ruf!

Ashlie couldn't sing the last few words because of the lump in her throat. When they were finished, Mrs Barnewald had tears on her cheeks and Ashlie's chest felt warm and tingly. She couldn't take Mrs Barnewald back to Germany, but she could bring a little bit of Germany to Mrs Barnewald for Christmas.

The Christmas Spirit

Why is it that we let the world take us over and we forget how wonderful life is? I haven't watched "It's a wonderful life" in years but I can still recite most of the lines and the major plot of the show. What a powerful message that show brings to all of us. How simple it is to understand that the reason we are here on the earth is to let go of the "worldly" things and to hold onto the important.

As children our lives revolve around happiness, learning, and our families - all the important things in life. If we are brought up in loving homes with goodly parents, those things are constantly at our grasp. As we grow up, our world starts to extend beyond the walls of our family/home and there we start to crumble. As teenagers, and through the rest of our lives we strive to prove ourselves, to compete or compare ourselves to others, to find ourselves, and to constantly wonder why. The little stresses of life confound us at every turn, attachments if we are single, children if we are parents, work if we have jobs, deadlines for anything and everything, time and how quickly it flies.

Christ said to return to him, we must "become as little children". I have heard that phrase all my life in Sunday School lessons, songs in Primary, and Sacrament Meetings. Today it finally made sense. I don't need to "find" out who I am, I was born knowing and until the world stepped in, I was happy and content with who I was. I did all the things I loved: danced, sang, played, read, kissed and hugged and loved people unconditionally, forgave easily and with no strings attached. Harbored no grudges and felt pain when I hurt myself but than it felt better because someone cared and patched it up. As a teenager, it took me until my Senior year in HS to "find" myself and discover that I liked who I was and could stand on my own two feet no matter what the idiots around me thought. Senior year was the best year I ever had in HS - I did all the things I loved. I sang, danced, wrote, read, hung out with friends, made life lasting friends and got rid of the ones that didn't matter. Now as an adult, with my own children and friends starting to face these realities - it's finally hitting me - I KNOW who I am - but I let the world influence me and distract me, so I forget.

I'm still that child who loves to sing, to dance, to play and have fun, I still care and love unconditionally and my children have learned to still accept random hugs and kisses. =] I need to not let the world remove "my child" from me - but embrace it so that I don't forget the trust and faith that my Heavenly Father wants me to have. The feelings that the world feels once a year at Christmas time - when we all remember and return to being kids. The Spirit of Christ, the gift of love, and the only way we can return to him.

A boy learns a Lesson by Thomas S Monson

In about my tenth year, as Christmas approached, I longed for an electric train. The times were those of economic depression, yet Mother and Dad purchased for me a lovely electric train.

Christmas morning bright and early I thrilled when I noticed my train. The next few hours were devoted to operating the transformer and watching the engine pull its cars forward - then backward around the track.

Mother said that she had purchased a windup train for Widow Hansen's boy, Mark, who lived down the lane at Gale St. As I looked at his train, I noted a tanker car which I so much admired. I put up such a fuss that my mother succumbed to my pleadings and gave me the tanker car. I put it with my train set and felt pleased.

Mother and I took the remaining cars and the engine down to Mark Hansen. The young boy was a year or two older than I. He had never anticipated such a gift. He was thrilled beyond words. He wound the key in his engine, it not being electric nor expensive like mine, and was overjoyed as the engine and three cars, plus a caboose, went around the track.

I felt a horrible sense of guilt as I returned home. The tanker car no longer appealed to me. Suddenly, I took the tank car in my hand, plus an additional car of my own, and ran all the way down to Gale Street and proudly announced to Mark, "We forgot to bring two cars which belong to your train".

I don't know when a deed has made me feel any better than that experience as a ten year old boy.