STORYTIME TAPESTRY

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

Special Treat - Christmas Contest Submission ??“ Barb Deming

Dec 23, 2005

All special treats will be Christmas Contest entries from now on. This way I can maximize on the number of stories I can get out to you. Please do not influence your vote because you see a writer has a special treat. I will pick a story at random for this selection. The soul purpose of using the special treat section is to get out my Christmas stories to you. You will still vote for your favourite writer at the end of the contest whether or not they were slotted for a special treat or remained published in the main newsletter.

Carol Roach

And now for today??™s selection:

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DADDY??™S TREE STORY

By Barbara Deming

The Christmas season arrives each year bringing along a host of memories. All wrapped and bowed and waiting for me to open. I never wait until the actual date to open these gifts for I know without these memories Christmas wouldn??™t be the same.

One of my earliest holiday memories is of going with daddy to chop down the Christmas tree. There were no Christmas trees growing around our town as all the land had been scraped bare to plant rice fields and graze cattle. It was on a Saturday during the prior summer months that we would take a picnic lunch about five miles outside of town to the banks of Chocolate Bayou. On that day we would have picked out the finest pine tree to be cut come December.

Riding along in the front seat of the Chevy, I would listen to daddy sing Christmas carols in his clear tenor voice. O Little Town of Bethlehem was one of my favorites, as was Joy to the World. Reaching the bayou ended the singing much too soon.

Daddy used his axe to chip notches in the tree trunk, first one side, then the other, then back again. And as he worked, probably to keep his daughter from wandering away, he told me the story about how the tree came to be set up in houses.

Legend says that a woodcutter was out later than usual on Christmas Eve. He was hurrying home but was stopped by a glorious sight on the clear starry night.

A fir tree stood proud and tall in the silent cold air. But it appeared to be lit by hundreds of lights. The stars on that Holy Night were shining through the branches??”a grand showering of sparkled illuminaries touched the branches.

The man wanted his family to see the beautiful sight too. He cut down the tree and carried it home. Installed in a bucket of earth to hold it upright it looked like exactly what it was??”an ordinary tree in a bucket of dirt. The woodcutter was disappointed and lay awake that night wondering how he could manage to share what he had seen.

It was still dark when he awoke with the solution. Hurrying into the parlor, he prepared for the family to rise to share their meager gifts. When they came into the room, the woodcutter??™s family saw the tree covered with the light of candles attached to each branch, glowing with the glory of the season.

Daddy told me the candles represented the star shining bright over the manager where Jesus was born, the light that led the shepherd boy and the Wise Men to greet the Holy Child. And that statement by Daddy led me into asking more questions about that wondrous birth and humble birthplace: Was it a cave like some said where he had been born? Or was it a red barn like the one grandpa had? Did the hay scratch his soft cheek? What did His parents do with those expensive gifts the Wise Men presented to him? Did they sell them for money to flee? Or to have the scribes teach him as He grew up?

I don??™t remember all of the answers to my questions but I??™m sure Daddy gave satisfying ones. In my heart I can still experience the day we went after a Christmas tree and I cherish Daddy??™s telling the tree story which, though true or not, was always easy for me to believe.

The birth of Jesus is a story that will live on as long as there are people, daddy??™s in particular, to tell them??”and little girls to listen??”and remember when daddy??™s voice is silenced.

Barb Deming

tejasbabs@aol.com

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Barbara Deming celebrates Jesus??™ birth in So. California. ???The Quilt Maker,??? available from Amazon.com is a bestseller and ???Growing up Barefoot in the South??? may be ordered at publishamerica.com.

ON TO JERUSALEM

Barb Deming

The little burro hurried along

Sensing the nearness of time

For the lovely lady he carried

Would give birth soon, he knew the signs.

It had been a long journey

Soon they??™d be housed, warm, at rest.

He would have oats and straw

But this Mary needed the very best.

As they neared the city

The burro could plainly see

That the streets overflowed

A room for her there might not be.

Innkeepers turned them away

???No room here, look elsewhere, man.???

The burro knew both Mary and Joseph

Could go no further in this land.

The burro lead them into a stable,

A place for the lady to lay her head,

On the sweet smelling hay,

Although a lowly birthing bed.

At midnight the burro awoke,

The area was filled with light

And he could now see

A tiny baby in Mary??™s arms with halo bright

Then others arrived,

Shepherds and angels, later Magi, too

Bowing in deep adoration

Before the Christ Child, the Savior sent for me and you.

And the rest of His life

The burro would always remember

His part in that wondrous birth

On a special night in December.

By Barbara Deming (2003)

tejasbabs@aol.com