A Cowboy's Christmas Prayer

I ain't much good at prayin',

and You may not know me, Lord --

For I ain't much seen in churches,

where they preach Thy Holy Word.

But you may have observed me 

out here on the lonely plains,

A-lookin' after cattle, 

feelin' thankful when it rains.

Admirin' Thy great handiwork.

the miracle of the grass,

Aware of Thy kind Spirit,

in the way it comes to pass 

That hired men on horseback

and the livestock that we tend 

Can look up at the stars at night,

and know we've got a Friend.

So here's ol' Christmas comin' on,

remindin' us again

Of Him whose coming brought good will

into the hearts of men.

A cowboy ain't a preacher, Lord,

but if You'll hear my prayer,

I'll ask as good as we have got 

for all men everywhere.

Don't let no hearts be bitter, Lord.

Don't let no child be cold.

Make easy the beds for them that's sick

and them that's weak and old.

Let kindness bless the trail we ride,

no matter what we're after,

And sorter keep us on Your side,

in tears as well as laughter.

I've seen ol' cows a-starvin' -

and it ain't no happy sight;

Please don't leave no one hungry, Lord,

on Thy Good Christmas Night --

No man, no child, no woman,

and no critter on four feet

I'll do my doggone best 

to help you find 'em chuck to eat.

I'm just a sinful cowpoke, Lord --

ain't got no business prayin'

But still I hope you'll ketch a word

or two, of what I'm sayin':

We speak of Merry Christmas, Lord--

I reckon You'll agree --

There ain't no Merry Christmas

for nobody that ain't free!

So one thing more I ask You, 

Lord: just help us what You can

To save some seeds of freedom 

for the future Sons of Man!

S. Omar Barker

The Gold and Ivory Tablecloth

It happened to a young pastor. His church was very old. Once, long ago, it had flourished. Famous men had preached from its pulpit, prayed before its altar. Rich & poor alike had worshiped there & built it beautifully. Now the good days had passed from the section of town where it stood. But the pastor & his young wife believed in their run-down church. They felt that with paint, hammer, and faith, they could get it in shape. Together they went to work. But late in December, a severe storm whipped through the river valley, & the worst blow fell on the little church—a huge chunk of rain-soaked plaster fell out of the inside wall just behind the altar. Sorrowfully the pastor & his wife swept away the mess, but they couldn’t hide the ragged hole. The pastor looked at it & had to remind himself quickly, “Thy will be done!” The joyful purpose of the storm that had knocked a hole in the wall of the church was now quite clear. But his wife wept, “Christmas is only two days away!”

That afternoon the dispirited couple attended an auction held for the benefit of a youth group. The auctioneer opened a box and shook out of its folds a handsome gold-and-ivory lace tablecloth. It was a magnificent item, nearly 15 feet long. But it, too, dated from a long-vanished era. Who, today, had any use for such a thing? There were a few halfhearted bids. Then the pastor had a great idea. He bid six dollars and fifty cents. He carried the cloth back to the church & tacked it up on the wall behind the altar. It completely hid the hole! The extraordinary beauty of its shimmering handwork cast a fine, holiday glow over the chancel. It was a great triumph. Happily he went back to preparing his Christmas sermon. Just before noon on the day of Christmas Eve, as the pastor was opening the church, he noticed a woman standing in the cold at the bus stop. "The bus won’t be here for 40 minutes!” he called, & he invited her into the church to get warm. She told him that she had come from the city that morning to be interviewed for a job as governess to the children of one of the wealthy families in town but she had been turned down. A war refugee, she had imperfect English.

The woman sat down in a pew and chafed her hands and rested. After a while, she dropped her head & prayed. She looked up as the pastor began to adjust the great gold-and-ivory lace cloth across the hole. She rose suddenly and walked up the steps of the chancel to look at the tablecloth. The pastor smiled & started to tell her about the storm damage, but she didn’t seem to listen. She took up a fold of the cloth and rubbed it between her fingers. “It is mine!” she said. “It is my banquet cloth!” She lifted up a corner and showed the surprised pastor that there were initials monogrammed on it. “My husband had the cloth made especially for me in Brussels! There could not be another like it!” For the next few minutes, the woman & the pastor talked excitedly together. She explained that she was Viennese, that she & her husband had opposed the Nazis & decided to leave the country. They were advised to go separately. Her husband put her on a train for Switzerland. They planned that he would join her as soon as he could arrange to ship their household goods across the border. She never saw him again. Later she heard that he had died in a concentration camp. “I have always felt that it was my fault—to leave without him,” she said. “Perhaps these years of wandering have been my punishment!” The pastor tried to comfort her, urged her to take the cloth with her. She refused. Then she went away. As the church began to fill on Christmas Eve, it was clear that the cloth was going to be a great success. It had been skillfully designed to look its best by candlelight. After the service, the pastor stood at the doorway; many people told him that the church looked beautiful. One gentle-faced, middle-aged man—he was the local clock-and-watch repairman—looked rather puzzled. “It is strange,” he said in his soft accent. “Many years ago, my wife—God rest her—and I owned such a cloth. In our home in Vienna, my wife put it on the table”—and here he smiled—“only when the bishop came to dinner!” The pastor suddenly became very excited. He told the jeweler about the woman who had been in church earlier in the day. The startled jeweler clutched the pastor’s arm. “Can it be? Does she live?” Together the two got in touch with the family who had interviewed her. Then, in the pastor’s car, they started for the city. And as Christmas Day was born, this man and his wife—who had been separated through so many saddened Yuletides—were reunited.

To all who heard this story, the joyful purpose of the storm that had knocked a hole in the wall of the church was now quite clear. Of course, people said it was a miracle, but I think you will agree it was the season for it!

The True Spirit of Christmas

Christmas 1940 makes me misty-eyed every time I think about it. I was a high school student in California’s San Joaquin Valley. In the hard times of the era, people depended on one another. We collected food, clothing, bedding and household items and gave them to the needy.

We saved the toys we collected for Christmas. The home economics classes made new dresses for the dolls, while the shop classes turned lumber into trucks, games and other toys.

That Christmas we students found ourselves wrapping toys and loading packages for delivery. As we presented the gifts, we saw joy in many faces, especially those of the children.

We had a few more visits to make on Christmas morning. The air was heavy and chilled us to the bone. A rancher offered us his truck for deliveries, and we gratefully accepted. For several hours, we knocked on doors. But as the cold hours passed, our enthusiasm gradually waned.

When we finally headed home, someone pointed to a small house down a canal bank. Although there were no electric or telephone lines running to the structure, smoke curled from the chimney. The house stood bleak in the forlorn terrain that surrounded it.

None of us knew who lived there, and we wondered if there were children. We still had a doll, two trucks, assorted small toys, chocolate Santas and a box of groceries. We decided to make one last visit. Three of us climbed down from the truck bed and gathered the gifts.

Mud sucked at our boots, slowing our progress. When we knocked on the door, a young woman whose dark hair was tied back with a red ribbon answered it. Three small children peeked from behind her skirt—a little girl of about 2, and boys perhaps 4 and 5 years old. The mother put an arm around the toddler and looked at us questioningly.

“Merry Christmas,” we chorused as we bent down and handed the gift-wrapped packages to the children and the box of groceries to the mother, whose eyes widened with amazement. She slowly smiled, then quickly said, “Come in.” The catch in her voice was sufficient for us to accept her invitation. We removed our boots and stepped inside.

I knelt to reach the little girl, and it was then that I looked around the room. The linoleum floor was worn but spotless. Bleached flour-sack curtains hung at the windows. Neatly made beds occupied one corner of the room and the kitchen another. A small stove furnished heat.

As I turned back to the children, dressed in clean, neatly patched clothes, I noticed several green tree branches standing upright in a dirt-filled pot. A red cloth circled the base. Can lids and paper angels hung on strings, and a tiny paper star graced the treetop. Streamers of popcorn completed the decorations.

The room was silent as the children looked at their mother, wondering if the gifts were really for them. The little girl hugged her doll, and the boys grasped the trucks as they sought an answer. She put her arms around them and said in a choked voice, “I told you Santa Claus would come.”

Story by Beverly Roberts Jostad, Salem, Oregon

If you give, you will receive. Your gift will return to you in full measure, pressed down, shaken together to make room for more, and running over. Whatever measure you use in giving -- large or small -- it will be used to measure what is given back to you." Luke 6:38

Why Jesus is Better Than Santa Claus

Santa lives at the North Pole...
     JESUS is everywhere.
Santa rides in a sleigh...
     JESUS rides on the wind and walks on the water.
Santa comes but once a year...
     JESUS is an ever present help.
Santa fills your stockings with goodies...
     JESUS supplies all your needs.
Santa comes down your chimney uninvited...
     JESUS stands at your door and knocks, and then enters your heart when invited.
You have to wait in line to see Santa...
     JESUS is as close as the mention of His name.
Santa lets you sit on his lap...
     JESUS lets you rest in His arms.
Santa doesn't know your name, all he can say is "Hi little boy or girl, what's your name?"...
     JESUS knew our name before we were born.  Not only does He know our name, He knows our address too. He knows our history and future and He even knows how many hairs are on our heads.
Santa has a belly like a bowl full of jelly...
     JESUS has a heart full of love
All Santa can offer is HO HO HO...
    JESUS offers health, help and hope.
Santa says "You better not cry"...
     JESUS says "Cast all your cares on me for I care for you."
Santa's little helpers make toys...
    JESUS makes new life, mends wounded hearts, repairs broken homes and builds mansions.
Santa may make you chuckle but...
    JESUS gives you joy that is your strength.
While Santa puts gifts under your tree...
     JESUS became our gift and died on a tree...the cross.
We need to put Christ back in CHRISTmas, Jesus is still the reason for the season.

"For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life" (John 3:16). 

If

“If you own just one Bible, you are abundantly blessed one-third of the world does not have access to even one. If you woke up this morning with more health than illness, you are more blessed than a million who will not survive the week. 
If you have never experienced the danger of battle, the loneliness of imprisonment, the agony of torture or the pangs of starvation, you are ahead of five million people around the world. 
If you attend a church meeting without fear of harassment, arrest or torture of death, you are more blessed that almost three billion people in the world. 
If you have food in your refrigerator, clothes on your back, roof over your head and a place to sleep, you are richer than 75% of this world.
If you have money in the bank, in your wallet and spare change in a dish someplace, you are among the top 8% of the world’s wealthy. 
If your parents are still married and alive, you are very rare. If you hold up your head with a smile on your face and are truly thankful, you are blessed because the majority can, but most do not. 
If you can hold someone’s hand, hug them or even touch them on the shoulder, you are blessed because you can offer God’s healing touch. 
If you prayed yesterday and today, you are in the minority because you believe in God’s willingness to hear and answer prayer. 
If you believe in Jesus as the Son of God, you are part of a very small minority in the world. 
If you can read this message, you are more blessed than over two billion people in the world that cannot read anything at all.”