Christmas Stories

	Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus New York Sun Editorial, 1897 We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun: I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, "If you see it in The Sun, it's so." Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus? Virginia O'Hanlon Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a sceptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! How dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished. Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world. You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding. No Santa Claus? Thank God he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!!!!

Legend of the Candy Cane

It had to be special to be a gift for the King of Kings, thought the humble candy maker. Not just any piece of candy would do. It had to be hard candy because the church is built on solid rock and God's promises are a firm foundation.

It would be formed in the shape of the Good Shepherd's staff. A "J" that would also stand for the precious name Jesus. But it had to say more. White stripes would symbolize the virgin birth and sinless nature of Christ.

Three small red stripes would represent the scourging Jesus suffered on his way to the cross. One large red stripe would remind those with eyes to see and ears to hear of the blood Jesus shed as payment for our sins.

It would be a gift of love that would tell His story-the greatest story ever told.

A Very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year from Our House to Yours. May God Bless and Keep You! Thank You for Visiting Us this Christmas!

	The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Anderson Once upon a time . . . a little girl tried to make a living by selling matches in the street. It was New Year's Eve and the snowclad streets were deserted. From brightly lit windows came the tinkle of laughter and the sound of singing. People were getting ready to bring in the New Year. But the poor little matchseller sat sadly beside the fountain. Her ragged dress and worn shawl did not keep out the cold and she tried to keep her bare feet from touching the frozen ground. She hadn't sold one box of matches all day and she was frightened to go home, for her father would certainly be angry. It wouldn't be much warmer anyway, in the draughty attic that was her home. The little girl's fingers were stiff with cold. If only she could light a match! But what would her father say at such a waste! Falteringly she took out a match and lit it. What a nice warm flame! The little matchseller cupped her hand over it, and as she did so, she magically saw in its light a big brightly burning stove. She held out her hands to the heat, but just then the match went out and the vision faded. The night seemed blacker than before and it was getting colder. A shiver ran through the little girl's thin body. After hesitating for a long time, she struck another match on the wall, and this time, the glimmer turned the wall into a great sheet of crystal. Beyond that stood a fine table laden with food and lit by a candlestick. Holding out her arms towards the plates, the little matchseller seemed to pass through the glass, but then the match went out and the magic faded. Poor thing: in just a few seconds she had caught a glimpse of everything that life had denied her: warmth and good things to eat. Her eyes filled with tears and she lifted her gaze to the lit windows, praying that she too might know a little of such happiness. She lit the third match and an even more wonderful thing happened. There stood a Christmas tree hung with hundreds of candles, glittering with tinsel and coloured balls. "Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed the little matchseller, holding up the match. Then, the match burned her finger and flickered out. The light from the Christmas candles rose higher and higher, then one of the lights fell, leaving a trail behind it. "Someone is dying," murmured the little girl, as she remembered her beloved Granny who used to say: "When a star falls, a heart stops beating!" Scarcely aware of what she was doing, the little matchseller lit another match. This time, she saw her grandmother. "Granny, stay with me!" she pleaded, as she lit one match after the other, so that her grandmother could not disappear like all the other visions. However, Granny did not vanish, but gazed smilingly at her. Then she opened her arms and the little girl hugged her crying: "Granny, take me away with you!" A cold day dawned and a pale sun shone on the fountain and the icy road. Close by lay the lifeless body of a little girl surrounded by spent matches. "Poor little thing!" exclaimed the passersby. "She was trying to keep warm!" But by that time, the little matchseller was far away where there is neither cold, hunger nor pain.

	'Twas the Night Before Christmas 'Twas the night before Christmas, He lived all alone, In a one-bedroom house made of Plaster and stone. I has come down the chimney With presents to give, And to see just who In this home did live. I looked all about, A strange sight did I see, No tinsel, no presents, Not even a tree. No stockings by mantle, Just boots filled with sand, On the wall hung pictures Of far distant lands. With medals and badges, Awards of all kinds, A sober thought Came through my mind.. For this house was different It was dark and dreary, I found the home of a soldier, Once I could see clearly. The soldier lay sleeping, Silent, alone, Curled up on the floor, In this one-bedroom home. The face was so gentle, The room in such disorder, Not how I pictured A United States Soldier. Was this the hero Of whom I'd just read? Curled up on a poncho, The floor for a bed? I realized the families That I saw this night, Owed their lives to these soldiers Who were willing to fight. Soon 'round the world, The children would play, And grownups would celebrate A bright Christmas Day. They all enjoyed freedom Each month of the year, Because of the soldiers, Like the one lying here. I couldn't help wonder, How many lay alone, On a cold Christmas Eve In a land far from home. The very thought Brought a tear to my eye, I dropped to my knees And started to cry. The soldier awakened And I heard a rough voice, "Santa, don't cry, This life is my choice; I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more, My life is My God, My Country, My Corps." The soldier rolled over And drifted to sleep, I couldn't control it, I continued to weep. I kept watch for hours, So silent and still, And we both shivered From the cold night's chill. I didn't want to leave On that cold, dark night, This guardian of honor So willing to fight. Then the soldier rolled over, With a voice soft and pure, Whispered, "Carry on Santa, It's Christmas Day, all is secure." One look at my watch, And I knew he was right "MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!"