STORYTIME TAPESTRY

The Newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world

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Dec 17, 2005? 

Today??™s Announcements:

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? Happy Birthday to Mary Ann Featherstone

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A wonderful new writer is being added to the roster of great Storytime Tapestry writers.?  Today we welcome Janice Finley, writer 273. Please email her and give her a warm welcome.

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Now on to the good stuff..........

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Today's Christmas Contest Stories
~**~**~**~

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? Jesus The Name Before The Child

Janice Finley

Who are you little baby? Who are you little Christ child, lying so quietly in manger straw? Who are you that angels should herald your presence and stars announce your birth? That wise men and shepherds -- the high and the low -- should bow before you? Who are you, child of Bethlehem, son of David? What is your future? What is your promise?

Seven centuries before your birth the ancient Scriptures speak of you??¦.

For to us a child is born,
To us a son is given,
And the government will be on his shoulders,
And his name will be called
Wonderful Counselor,
Mighty God
Everlasting Father,
Prince of Peace.
Of the increase of his government and of peace
There will be no end.^*

What is this government? What is this peace, O Christmas baby? Are you a warrior-to-be? Are you a king? What promise do you hold?

How can you be the Mighty God while flecks of straw, blown from the stable floor, dot your fine hair? How is this?

How can you be the Everlasting Father while not yet an hour old? How is it?

How can you be a Wonderful Counselor before you've learned? A teacher before you've been taught? What is the wellspring of your wisdom?

What is this mystery set before us, enigmatic newborn lying in a stable manger, born of parents poor, yet destined for this greatness? You must be the One we've hoped for, longed for all our lives. The One who will set us free from our depressions and oppressions, within and without.

Little wonder angels cannot contain their Good News of Great Joy. Little wonder heavenly host sing in chorus,

Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace to men....^**

Be my peace, O Prince of Peace. Let its gentle, joyful blanket comfort my nervous soul, and still the warring of your earth.

Be my government, O Christ. Govern not my own heart only, but also this desperate world in which I live.

Be my Everlasting Father and my Counselor. By your counsel guide me out of confusion and turmoil into the sunlight that always shines above my low-lying clouds.

Welcome, Christ child. All my life I have needed you. O Child of Promise, this Christmas morning I give to you my heart. Amen.

Janice Finley

finleyj@otelco.net

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~**~**~? 

? The Gift

Janice Finley

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Christmas morning of my 15^th year I woke to find a wooden rifle under the tree, carefully carved by my dad, complete with a dowel barrel and a hole for my trigger finger. I can almost smell the fresh paint mingled with the fragrance of pine branches. And though I don't recall playing with it, I remember the awe I felt in knowing my dad made it just for me.

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Not all gifts, however, are so personally intended. After that horrendous brown vase I got at a Christmas party, at least I had the perverse joy of watching someone open "How to Raise Rhesus Monkeys" that had been foisted off on me the year before. Then there's a punch-out calendar to sit on my desk reminding me all year long to buy Farmer's Insurance. And the mortuary that gives away bottles of hand lotion every year--my family always calls it "embalming fluid."

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What takes the joy out of giving are the obligatory gifts--the expected office exchange, the box of candy you keep by the door to hand the Smiths when they come to call as you know they will, once a year. And don't forget the gift for great Aunt Hattie whom you haven't liked since she pinched your cheeks when you were little.

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Really difficult are the gifts that come with long invisible strings dangling from them, gifts so very expensive that you could never afford to reciprocate. Gold and diamond jewelry from a suitor. You don't want to hurt his feelings, but ....

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I wonder how Mary and Joseph felt as they watched richly robed wise men kneel before their child offering alabaster jars of precious myrrh, inlaid boxes heavy with the scent of frankincense, and iron-bound chests laden with gold--gifts fit for a king. How could they possibly repay?

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I guess the most troublesome gift at Christmas is the Child Himself. What do we say? We smile nicely and pat the humbly- wrapped present. "How nice of you, God, to have been so thoughtful," we mumble politely. But the Gift lies on the dresser unopened year after year. Perhaps because we don't expect to find much inside except a useless religious trinket. Perhaps because we don't feel any need for God just now. Perhaps because we know that if we unwrap the Gift we'll be obligated to the Giver beyond what we can ever repay. And so it sits ... and so it sits until in loneliness, in pain, in utter desperation we tug at the ribbons and tear off the wrappings, hoping against hope we'll find inside what we've longed for. And so it is. Unconditional Love!

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God sent a gift

one Christmas morn,

a wondrous gift,

a precious gift.

God sent a gift

one Christmas morn

by peasant maid

and craftsman hand.

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God sent a gift

one Christmas morn

and wrapped it up

in swaddling clothes,

For me, He did.

Yes, for me He did.

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God sent a gift

one Christmas morn

and wrapped it up

in swaddling clothes.

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For me.

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Janice Finley

finleyj@otelco.net

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? ? ~**~**~

Christmas? 

Susan Roberts

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I was 5 when we moved for Michigan to a little town in Illinois. Daddy worked for a company that had moved there, Borg Warner.?  Daddy became very ill and had to have surgery, just a few weeks before Christmas. My mother's brother came to live with us and help out.?  Since I was so little, I have forgotten, or had not known all that was going on at that time. But? I do know that it was almost Christmas.

My Uncle and my Daddy would go off and be gone most of the day, coming back with smiles on their faces. I was glad Daddy could smile about something. They would keep their heads together, talking low so? no one could hear what they were talking about.

About? this same time my favorite doll went missing! I looked all over and couldn't find her. Where could she have gone? Sure she was a little on the frumpy side, painted eyes flaking off, once red cheeks now a faded pink, and her dress looking a little worn and torn in a couple of places, but then she had been my constant companion for a long time!

At night I could hear things going on downstairs that didn't sound like the nighting sounds I was used to. I could hear Momma's sewing machine whirring, a hammer pounding lightly, and Momma, Daddy and Uncle talking and laughing. Well, I had to find out what was happening, so I climbed out of bed and started down the stairs as quietly as I could. ( the boards in my floor squeeked when I walked around my room and the stairs would groan no matter how lightly one would step on them). But when I opened the door at the bottom of the steps,? Daddy and Uncle would be sitting at the table drinking coffee, and Momma would be reading the paper. Nothing going on here! Must have been from next door!!

Daddy and Momma told me and my two sisters that Santa might not be able to bring us much for Christmas this year as Santa had been under the weather and his elves might have to do the work for him. We thought that was ok, just so we got SOMETHING under the tree.

But I worried about Santa and said a prayer for him to get better real quick!

Christmas eve I was sent to bed, after I had put out cookies and hot chocolate for Santa. My sister even pointed out a red flashing light she said was Rudolph's nose. I dove under my covers and tried real hard to get to sleep, or at least LOOK like I was sleeping so Santa wouldn't pass up our house! I couldn't help but giggle with excitement!

Christms morning? I woke up to the smell of Coffee brewing on the stove, and knew that I could get up and go downstairs. CHRISTMAS WAS HERE!

I ran down the stairs yelling for my sisters to come on. They were right behind me.

I opened the door and looked out, Momma, Daddy and Uncle had coffee cups in hand, waiting for us. We ran into the livingroom and the floor under the tree?  was overflowing with presents. There was my doll in her own little bed, with matching covers and pillow. She had a new dress on and a little suitcase with more dresses. Her hair had been washed and curled and she now had new eyes and pinker cheeks! I grabbed her up and hugged her tightly. But then I quickly put her back in her bed and dove into the gifts that had m name on them.

Each of us girls had beautiful "poodle" skirts and blouses. We had matching nightgowns. But the thing that made our eyes light up were the 3 shiny bikes!

Years later I learned that my Daddy and Uncle had gone around looking for used bikes and parts,? sanded and? painted them and put them together for us.

Momma had sewn the little blankets and doll dresses and made the mattress for the bed that Daddy had made from an old orange crate. She had also made the skirts and blouses and matching nightgowns for us girls.

But the thing that upset me was the flashing red "nose" turned out to be from a blinking red light on theradio tower miles outside of town!

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I am married to my second husband, Earl, and live on 5 acres? in the Florida panhandle.

We have 2 little "girls" midget the dog and Keeker the cat.I am a published author of the book

GOD and The Hillbilly, based on a young woman in an abusive marriage. I met her on line 7 years ago. GOD has blessed me so much in my life, I just pray that i can be a blessing to others.?  GOD BLESS YOU ALL

Susan Roberts

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Susan Roberts

twofamily2@earthlink.net

EarthLink Revolves Around You.

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~**~**~

WHAT I WOULD GIVE...... ? 

Sharon Bryant

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I heard them coming down the hall.?  Everything had been quiet until they arrived.?  I wondered if they would "hurt" someone with the noise they were making.?  Then I thought, "How could they??  It's Christmas."

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They were in the room next to the one I was standing in.?  I looked at the woman lying on the bed.?  I bent over and said, "They're going to come in here and sing for you."?  She tried to smile.?  I saw the pain in her eyes.

I knew her time was running short.?  So did she.

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They entered the doorway, several of them.?  Then in the softest, sweetest voice, they began........"Silent Night."?  I watched her eyes as she tried to take in how many there were.?  She nodded her head and I knew it meant it was ok, it wasn't bothering her.?  I bowed my head and silently whispered a prayer, "Please God, make a miracle happen."

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It was a cold winter night that December.?  Snow fell heavily outside the window.?  She motioned for us to open the curtains.?  The lights across the way were beautiful.?  I knew this would be the last Christmas she would see on earth.

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I miss her so much.?  I want to still today pick up the phone and dial that old familiar number and say, "Hi Mom, it's me, your kid!"?  She always laughed when I did that.?  What I would have given to see her laugh that last night.?  What I would have given if we had known we would lose her the next day.?  What I would give today to go back in time and change the clock.?  But most of all, what I would give if there were a cure for cancer.

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I donated my hair to Locks of Love in her memory.?  I think she knows.?  I think she knows how much she is missed and loved by her family.

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It robbed my dad of years? of a beautiful marriage.?  It robbed four siblings of their mother.?  It robbed all of us of our past.?  Now all we have left is our memories.? 

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Tonight I opened a box.?  She gave it to me many years ago.?  I touched the gold metal and held it in my hands, squeezing it tightly.?  It was the last gift she gave me.?  I will treasure it always.

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I love you mom.

Sharon

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Sharon Bryant

1946 @bellsouth.net

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About Me:

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I am Sharon Bryant,? 59 years old and reside in Alabama. I lost my child in 1977 when he was five and I write articles on bereavement often. I am a chocolate/candy maker and also a wood crafter and knitter. I am married to a wonderful man, and have two remaining children, a daughter 26,
Amy, and a second son, Randy, age 24.

My main goal in life is to help those who
have lost a child. My website is: www.angelsremembered.tk

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Writers Feedback

These are such good tips on critiquing, Carol.?  I have had groups before that wanted to be down right cruel in their critiques--I won't allow that to happen.?  There is a right and wrong way to address people's work; just because you don't like the subject matter or read this genre, doesn't mean it is bad writing.

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Thanks for sharing this with us all.

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Barb

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Come come, Carol.I see a poet in there!!! It's even trying to wake you up at night! So don't take fright, let Carol the Poet come into ..Sight Hav' a good one. Robert

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Prayer Requests and Updates

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? SENIOR WRITERS

Chief Writer: Sharon Bryant

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? Agee, Vance;? Apted, Violet;? Baker, Kathy; Batt, Al;?  Berry, Nell; Blaine, Pamela

Boda, Ginger;? ? Buhagiar, Victor; Cassady, B.J.;?  Cavalera, Robyn; Crider, Mark;? 

Deming, Barb; Doherty, Maria; Gilbert, Robert Jr; Goodier, Steve; Halley, Ellie Braun;

Harris, Kathy Anne;? Hunt, Sharlette;? Hymes, Christina

Jacobson, Gary;? Kiser, Roger Dean; Kerens, Claudia; Kevin, Tim Jenkins, Pamela;

Liles, Norma; Lilly, Jodi Flesberg; Lock, Joyce; Mazzella, Joe;? Morris, Deepak;

Ojeigbe, Georgewaters;

?  Petry, Dianna Doles; Roberts, Susan;?  Shiveley, Debra; Shaw, Bob; Sims, Richard; Streidel, Saskia; Swarner, Ken; Vaknin, Sam; Verhoeff, Jan

Walker, Bill; Walker, Joe;? Warner, Gorden K; Walsh, Sue

Weymouth, Barbara; Whirity, Kathy;? White, Robert;

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STORYTIME TAPESTRY STAFF

Publisher: Carol Roach-founder

Moderator: Thelma Hartselle-co founder

Moderator: Clara Westerfer

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