Sharing Christmas (Part 2)
by Various Authors

Christmas is a time for laughing, loving, and sharing. And we’re sure you’ll want to share these true heartwarming stories with family and friends this holiday season.

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All of us have favorite Christmas memories, but our experiences are as varied as the ornaments on the tree. Whether selflessly giving or graciously receiving, or celebrating Christmas in less-than-ideal circumstances, the authors of the following stories poignantly capture the true spirit of the season.

Giving, Sharing, and Remembering

By Elder Carlos E. Asay

Each yuletide season brings to my mind a flood of memorable experiences. However, three of those experiences stand out like lampposts in the chambers of my memory. One involved giving and a young woman by the name of Emily, another centered on sharing and a family bicycle, and a third focused upon remembering and an old Armenian tradition called “the burning of the calendar.”

Emily and Giving

Emily, a fifteen-year-old daughter of a stake president, sat across the breakfast table from me. It was a few weeks before Christmas and the home was adorned with a Christmas tree and other traditional decorations. Some of the lively mealtime conversation with family members was about school, stake conference, the delicious food being served, Santa Claus, and anticipated gifts. As the meal ended, Emily asked, “Elder Asay, if Christ were here with us today, what would you give him?”

I was caught off guard, surprised by the thought-provoking nature of the question. One does not often receive from a teenager an inquiry so timely and of such significance. When I had collected my sense, I responded with these lines from the poet Christina Rossetti:

_What can I give him, poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb.

If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part.

Yet, what can I give Him? Give my heart._

I shall never approach another Christmas season without thinking of Emily and her question.

A Family Bicycle and Sharing

My mother and father were not wealthy people. They possessed many things that money cannot buy, but, as to the things of the world, their possessions were precious few. Therefore, Christmas was a challenging time. The issue for them was always, “What can we afford to give six children this year?”

On one particular Christmas morning we six children, on signal from our parents, bounded out of bed and raced into the living room to see what Santa Claus had brought us. All of the stockings were full of nuts, fruits, and candy. And we observed a few personal items like gloves and handkerchiefs. But there were no large toys or balls or skates of the usual variety. In the center of the room, however, stood a new red bicycle with a card attached. The card read: “To all the children.”

It was not an easy thing for six active youngsters—four boys and two girls—to schedule the use of a single bicycle. But we did, and we learned to share! Christmas is for sharing, especially when the shared gift is received from loving parents who give freely of their meager resources.

The Burning of the Calendar and Remembering

Years ago, I was introduced to a wonderful Armenian tradition called “the burning of the calendar.” I was serving as a full-time missionary in the old Palestine-Syrian Mission with headquarters in Beirut, Lebanon. The setting was the palatial home of a wealthy merchant in Alexandria, Egypt, where approximately one hundred people had gathered to end the year and begin another.

As midnight approached, the mood of the group changed noticeably. I wondered what was going to happen. Quietly, even reverently, the host and his family led the group into a nearby drawing room. Once inside, I raised on tiptoe to see over the crowd. I saw our host’s mother, the family matriarch, seated in a soft chair surrounded by her children, grandchildren, and invited guests. No one spoke; I hardly breathed. I have rarely been in a place or among people outside of the temple where the atmosphere was more solemn or sacred.

Then, just before the stroke of twelve, the butler entered with a large silver tray in his hands. On the tray was a colorful Armenian calendar of the year that was coming to a close. The old woman slowly struck a match and lighted the paper. In perfect silence, we all watched as the burning calendar symbolized the end of the year.

I expected bedlam to break out and the usual New Year’s shouts to fill the room. But there were no shouts or wild demonstrations. Another servant entered from the other side of the room. He carried another tray with another colorful calendar on full display. The old woman took from the tray the calendar of the new year and showed it to the group at the stroke of midnight.

I saw the old woman whisper something to her son, who stood nearby. He in turn whispered to another, and the word passed in this fashion until the wave of whispers reached me.

“The lady,” said my companion, “knows that you are a minister of the Lord Jesus Christ, and she wonders of you would be willing to lead the group in a New Year’s prayer.”

Though somewhat stunned by the invitation, I said that I would be honored to give the prayer, providing I could give it in my own language. (I feared that my command of the Armenian language was too limited for me to do the occasion justice.)

Time will never erase the memory of that sacred occasion with friends who remembered God first and last—at the beginning of a new year and the close of the old.

Yes, the yuletide season is a time of giving, sharing, and remembering. God bless us to treasure all the priceless gifts related to the righteous traditions of our lives.

My First Christmas as Bishop

By Marvin K. Gardner

Last December was my first Christmas as bishop and the first time I had conducted tithing settlement. Never before had I seen so clearly the beautiful correlation between those two events: tithing settlement and Christmas.

I was overwhelmed by the spirit of giving as faithful ward members came into my office—as individuals, as couples, as families—and declared privately that they had paid a full ten percent of their income to the Lord that year. I was filled with a spirit of gratitude as most of them also reviewed with me the additional contributions they had made to the missionary and fast offering funds.

I thanked the members for their generosity. I thanked the widow for her mite, the child for his pennies. I thanked the unemployed and retired members who had given much less than in earlier years, but still a full ten percent. Never before had the Christmas spirit of giving been so present for me.

Then a couple came in. They had contributed liberally throughout the year. As we were about to conclude our visit, the husband said, “Bishop, is there anyone in the ward who has special needs this Christmas? We don’t have a lot of extra money, but we would like to give what we do have to someone who needs it.”

Immediately I thought of a single mother in our ward. She was doing her best to be self-reliant and certainly wasn’t looking for a handout. But money was tight.

I accepted their offer in her behalf. They told me they weren’t interested in knowing the name of the receiver. And they, too, wanted to remain anonymous.

The next day, while taking the money to the recipient, I became a little uneasy. How would she receive this gift? Would she be offended? Would she hesitate to accept it?

When I handed the money to her, I described the spirit in which the gift had been given and encouraged her to receive it in that same spirit. She accepted the money gratefully.

As I reviewed the monetary contributions so many ward members had made during the year, I couldn’t help remembering, too, their year’s worth of donated labor: The people who, week after week, had provided lessons and leadership—wherever they had been called to serve. The young men and young women who had cleaned the yards of elderly members, both in spring and in autumn. The sisters who had helped a member with wallpapering and painting. The elders and high priests who had done heavy yard work and repairs for those who were unable to do it alone. The Scouts who had collected toys and books for Primary Children’s Medical Center. The many people who had quietly listened—and cared—and lifted. And the ones who had served in many ways without anyone else knowing about it.

And I thought of the many thank-yous from gracious receivers.

One was from a nine-year-old boy. The following is the letter he sent our Relief Society president and me after his family had received a load of food from the bishop’s storehouse:

_Dear Bishop Gardner and Sister Thomas,

I just got home from school. Ricky walked in first and said, ‘What in the . . . ?!’ Then I saw what he just saw. Food . . . Food! Food all over the place! Boxes, bags, cans, and even cartons of milk and eggs!

We wanted to thank you, Sister Thomas, and the whole Church (especially our ward) for all the help you’re giving us right now, especially all this nice food from the bishop’s storehouse. It’s such a wonderful feeling to feel so loved, so cared for, and thought about.

Gratefully, (and then he signed his full name.)_

Then it was Christmas Eve. There was a knock at our door. It was Santa Claus! In living color! He ho-ho-hoed himself into the living room, made a big fuss over each child, reached into his enormous sack, and pulled out a gift for each member of the family. As he did so, I noticed a vague resemblance between Santa and a member of our ward.

What a Christmas it was—my first Christmastime as bishop! How could I ever express my gratitude for the many ward members who had made it a joyful time of giving and receiving—and for all who carry that spirit with them throughout the year?

And how could I ever express my gratitude and love for the Savior, Jesus Christ, who had set the pattern and had give the greatest gift of all?

Certainly, my nine-year-old friend is right: “It’s such a wonderful feeling to feel so loved, so cared for, and thought about.”

No Gifts?

By Milton L. Weilenmann

From the vantage point of one’s middle years, it is exciting and stimulating to look back at the Mount Everests in our lives—the high points of our existence—the lesson-makers of our mortality.

In 1960 our family experienced one of these high points. During the month of October I was called by President David O. McKay to preside over the Alaskan-Canadian Mission. It was newly organized, and no mission home existed. I was asked to find a suitable home, and a prayerful search of the great city of Vancouver, British Columbia, led me to a stately mansion on Connaught Drive. Built by a family prominent in the lumber and fishing industries in Canada, it was now unoccupied and darkened. Constructed along the lines of a great English manor house, the home had a ballroom that had witnessed receptions for two presidents of the United States and many prime ministers of Canada. Royalty had entered through its massive oak front door.

Yes, the family who owned it would sell it to the Church, but with one stipulation—it could not be occupied by its new owners until Christmas Eve, because on December 23, the family who had built the home wanted to come back and hold one final great dance in its ballroom.

Such a plan for purchase was agreeable to the Church, and on the night of the day before Christmas Eve, the great ball was held. Five massive Christmas trees were place in the home.

On the day before Christmas we moved in—my wife, six children, and I. Save for those five trees, a great dining table with eighteen chairs in the dining room, and four beds in the bedrooms, the house was vacant. Our furniture, together with gifts we had purchased for each other—all the usual things one has for the celebration of Christmas—were on a moving van somewhere between Salt Lake City and Vancouver.

When we awoke Christmas morning there were no presents under the trees. That day we learned a lesson—and a great truth dawned. We conquered another Mount Everest and witnessed another high point in our lives. No gifts—yet we shared the greatest gift of all, and more than any one of us could open, hold, have, or enjoy in a single day. And what was it? It was ourselves, and the joy of being together.

We left the house and skipped together in a beautiful park, and looked up to a lazy sun that filtered through majestic pines. We even took our shoes off and dipped our feet in the Straights of Georgia, whose chill had been tempered by the warming Japanese current.

In the afternoon, when the missionaries and Saints came, we sliced a big ham and enjoyed good food with our new friends. Afterwards, we sang again, and talked again, and prayed again!

Never in its most glittering days, never even in the presence of a prime minister, had that great old home known such joy or happiness. Never in its fifty or more years had the house seen such a marvelous Christmas . . . nor had we! And it was done without gifts, with nothing but each other, our friends, and the missionaries.

LDS Living, Nov/Dec 2008; Photo by Veronica Moore

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Wonderful Christmas Stories! Posted by Debbie from Cedar City Thank you for the wonderful Christmas stories! They have added a greater dimension to my holidays. I hope to also share them with my own family.