Chicken Soup for the Soul: Christmas Magic

by Jack Canfield

  “A dishwasher? I don’t have a dishwasher!” I yelled into the empty room. My anger drained out as tears began to run down my face. I ran my hands over the brand new appliance. My present didn’t fit under the tree or in my stocking. I had been sent home to find it. Checking the warehouse had been an excuse to sneak in the dishwasher. I wiped my tears before heading back into the cold. My anger dissipated, only to be replaced by shame at my attitude. I slowly walked back into my folks’ house and sheepishly faced my family. Their faces were wreathed in smiles as they waited expectantly for my reactions.

  I directed my comments to my husband, “You didn’t keep your word. You got me a present!”

  “What present?” he said as he tried to keep a straight face. The twinkle in his eyes betrayed the losing battle he fought.

  “The dishwasher in our kitchen!” I replied.

  Laughter filled the room while everyone began talking at once. The laughter drove the last vestiges of frustration, anger and shame from me. That Christmas I learned a lesson or two. First, things aren’t always as they seem. Second, frustration and anger should never have first place in my life at anytime but especially at Christmas.

  ~Carol Harrison

  Construction Paper Stars

  Those who bring sunshine to the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves.

  ~James Matthew Barrie

  I tugged a heavy box of Christmas ornaments into the living room. The fresh, green scent of pine filled the house. Cards with whimsical reindeer and serene manger scenes nestled in a basket by the door. Even the snow cooperated, a light dusting covering the yard and front walk. It was Christmastime. But something wasn’t right.

  For the first time, our whole family wouldn’t be together for the holidays.

  Getting the house ready for Christmas used to be so much fun when the kids were little. But now our oldest, Kate, was newly married and lived out of state, and our son, Andy was away at college, unable to return for winter break. Our nest was empty, and I was the lonely mama bird.

  Unpacking the ornaments, I hung them one by one on the branches of the tree. My husband Mike helped reach the high places. Many of the decorations marked something special in the kids’ lives. Baby’s First Christmas. Kindergarten. Getting an A on a report card. I dangled a tiny basketball before me.

  “Remember how we used to love sitting in the bleachers, cheering on Andy and his team?” I asked.

  “He was a great point guard,” Mike recalled.

  Then there was the adorable, stuffed Winnie the Pooh. “Kate’s favorite book,” I said.

  “I used to read that to her nearly every night, until she was old enough to read it aloud to us,” Mike added. Hanging those ornaments filled us with warm, happy memories.

  I took another ornament out of the box, a handmade construction paper star with Kate and Andy’s wobbly names printed across the top. I held onto it, not wanting to let it go. But as I clutched it, I bent a little of the corner. This is what happens when you hold things too tight, I thought. I smoothed it gently and hung it in a special spot in the center of the tree.

  Although I loved Christmas, I remained sad as I baked, shopped and wrapped. I felt like I was going through the motions. Even at church. One Sunday after service, I caught sight of a little decorated tree in the corner. Twinkling white lights illuminated simple star-shaped ornaments. They were made of colored construction paper, just like the ones my kids had made when they were little. I moved closer and held one in my hand. Each one contained the name of a child in need, and a particular Christmas wish they had this year. The object was to take a tag, purchase the wished-for gift, wrap it and return it under the tree. I couldn’t seem to pull myself away from the ornaments, reading each name carefully, thinking about the children who were making the Christmas wishes and the gifts they were hoping for. The moment I selected two tags, my heart instantly felt lighter.

  “What’s that?” asked Mike, eyeing the stars.

  “Just some holiday cheer for some kids,” I answered, grinning broadly.

  At home, I baked cookies with red and green sprinkles, the warm sugar smell filling the kitchen. I took time to read and appreciate the cards we received. I even shopped more merrily, taking time to find just the right gifts on my list. Two gifts especially filled me with a sense of comfort and joy. In the evenings, Mike and I sipped cocoa while wrapping gifts and adorning them with big, bright bows.

  The following Sunday I was anxious to get to church, carrying the special gifts into the lobby. I imagined the delighted faces on the children as they tore off the paper to reveal something special, just for them. I couldn’t help smiling.

  Doing something nice for others was definitely one way of taking the focus off my own problems and turning it into something positive. But it was even more than that. It was a way for me to feel connected to little Kate and Andy, who were now all grown up.

  I placed the special Christmas gifts under the tree, the gifts that were just what each child had asked for on their star ornaments: A basketball, and a Winnie the Pooh book.

  ~Peggy Frezon

  Tannenbaum Tumbleweed

  To be upset over what you don’t have is to waste what you do have.

  ~Ken S. Keyes

  It was a cold, depressing day in more ways than one. Christmas was looming, and as a single mom of three living on sporadic child support payments, I was not looking forward to trying to make what little money I had stretch in several different directions.

  My mom and dad, along with other caring relatives, would see to it that the boys had gifts, and the big Christmas feast would be held at my brother’s home, so the basics would be taken care of.

  The annual Christmas Pageant given at the school had done little to lift my sagging spirits, and on the way home, the gray, blustery wind pushing my poor, little pick-up all over the road, only made things worse.

  That night the question would be asked, as it was every night, by one or all of the boys: when were we getting our Christmas tree? I was informed in no uncertain terms that Santa wouldn’t have anywhere to put the presents if we didn’t have a tree. Unfortunately, I had discovered that even the tiniest trees for sale at the Boy Scout lot were far beyond my budget.

  Huge tumbleweeds were blowing around from all directions, making driving even more challenging. They seemed to be pushing each other out of the way as though they were having a race to see which one could jump out in front of us first. Some were round and bushy, rolling very straight and fast, while others were pointed and lurched unsteadily, as if deciding which way they wanted to go. Some of them even looked a little like a Christmas tree.

  In an “Aha!” moment, I pulled to the side of the road, got out of the car, and waited for one of the tumbleweeds to come my way. The first one I grabbed was medium in size, about two feet high, and three feet wide. I tied it down in the back of the truck, and started walking through the field, looking for smaller, better shaped bushes.

  I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with them, but I got home with four and took them into the living room. When the kids came in, they inquired about the pile of brown, dead bushes.

  “That’s going to be our Christmas tree,” I said, knowing I was really in for a lot of work trying to sell it. “I’m tired of the same old kind of Christmas tree we have every year. This will be a tree like no other. None of your friends will have a tree like ours! I will be surprised if a photographer doesn’t come to take a picture of it to put in a magazine.”

  They listened politely, staring all the while at the four blobs of former foliage. The look of disbelief on their faces was the same one they have when I tell them carrots are good for their eyes and spinach will make them strong.

  The next day, I had to come up with something before they came home from school. I walked around the tumbleweeds several times, studying their individual shape and size. The smallest was pointed on top, and with a fine, white string I hung it from the ceiling in front of the living room
window with the rounded bottom facing the floor. The three round ones were hung around the bottom of the pointed one, giving the illusion of a suspended tree with plenty of room underneath for Santa’s delivery.

  But it didn’t yet look like a Christmas tree. I found a spray can of white paint and some multicolored glitter left over from a school project. I hung a sheet over the window to protect it from the paint spray, sprayed the “tree” and then carefully sprinkled the glitter on the wet paint.

  The tumbleweeds were too fragile for heavy lights, so I cautiously threaded tiny white lights around the perimeter of each one. The glitter reflected the lights, giving a shimmering effect. I added only the smallest of my ornaments, and our traditional angel, who had seen better days, fit perfectly on the point of the highest tumbleweed. It was beautiful.

  The kids saw it in the window before they came into the house, and rushed in to see my creation. “It looks like a good dream,” the youngest said approvingly. Every kid in the neighborhood came over that night and “ooohed and aaahed” over our Christmas tree.

  Fortunately, that was the last year we would be on a tight budget. Our family situation changed, and after that there was always plenty of money for a big Christmas tree in our new, big house, and we are thankful. But hard times demanded creativity we wouldn’t have discovered otherwise.

  My boys are now men and have their own families, but each year at Christmas someone tells the story of our “free” Christmas tree. How Mom wanted something different so she chased tumbleweeds for miles through the open fields during a windstorm trying to catch the perfect ones. She was tired of the same old green trees. We smile knowingly at each other and we all agree that it was the most beautiful Christmas tree any of us has ever seen.

  ~Jackie Fleming

  The Mermaid Tree

  For those who are willing to make an effort, great miracles and wonderful treasures are in store.

  ~Isaac Bashevis Singer

  Interfaith families can understand the minefield the holiday season represents. My husband is Jewish; I was raised Catholic. We have decided to give equal representation to both Christmas and Hanukah in our home. The holidays give us a perfect opportunity to share with our children the traditions we had been brought up with and to create traditions of our own. We had a designated corner for a menorah, dreidels and Star of David and another corner for a small tree, lights and nativity. The kids learned the story of Hanukah, the prayer as candles were lit on each of the eight nights, and how to spin the dreidel and play for gelt (chocolate candy coins). Our tiny tree was weighed down with innumerable preschool-produced ornaments. Wrapped presents were tucked beneath. We set up our nativity and the kids learned about the birth of Christ. We stood in line every year so the kids could tell Santa how good they had been and about the presents they hoped to receive.

  This year, shortly before Thanksgiving, the kids decided they wanted a “real Christmas tree.” Our little Charlie Brown tabletop tree was no longer adequate? Would this disrupt the delicate balance of religious equality we had created in our home? Baffled by the kids’ insistence on a “real” tree and convinced they were simply brainwashed by the rampant commercialism of the approaching holiday, we packed the kids, dog and turkey into the car and headed to Carova Beach.

  We discovered Carova Beach by accident. This quiet, off-road community is located nine miles off the asphalt of Highway 12 in the Outer Banks of North Carolina and is only accessible by four-wheel drive vehicles or boats. Carova is home to wild horses that are believed to date back to the time of the Spaniards. At the time, our Jeep’s four-wheel drive was broken and friends suggested we contact a realtor for a free ride up the beach to look for the horses. Carova consisted, in the mid-1990s, of 300 homes and seventy-five year-round residents. The volunteer fire department and a row of post office boxes constituted downtown Carova. We were captivated, and by year’s end we had purchased a lot on a canal and began building a small cottage. This became our family retreat, wild horses running through the dunes and wandering in small herds onto the long stretch of beach. A quiet place, where more often than not, we’d be the only people walking the beach, looking for sea glass and other beach treasures. We hoped to find peace there this year as well.

  The kids quickly became distracted with Thanksgiving and Marc and I decided to address the “tree dilemma” later. Thanksgiving weekend flew by. We took long walks, visited our beach neighbors, and read in the sun. Soon it was time to go, and I began the routine of packing up and closing the house. My husband and daughter took Mojo (our Golden Retriever) for a last walk on the beach.

  My daughter returned, and with eyes shining announced “Mom! We found the coolest thing on the beach!”

  “Where is it?” I asked, imagining a myriad of beach treasures already scattered throughout our home. Seashells, sand dollars, dried seahorses and hundreds of pieces of sea glass. “It was too big to bring back to the house! Hurry!” Now I envisioned less common treasures: a barnacle-encrusted tree branch, washed-up sharks, stingrays and turtles... and only hoped that whatever it was did not smell too bad as we still had a long ride home. My husband threw a rope and tarp into the back of the car and the three (Mojo too) led her brother and me over the dune.

  There on the dune lay a beautiful six-foot Christmas tree, fresh cut, its boughs pushed upward as if still wrapped in protective netting. “We found it at the tide line being tossed by the waves. We dragged it to the dune and waited to see if anyone came for it.” The beach remained deserted. “Is this okay?” I asked him over the kids’ heads. “I guess we were meant to have a tree this year. How else can you explain this?” he said.

  The tree (plus forty pounds of sand) was unceremoniously tied to the roof of our car for the trip home. We dubbed it “The Mermaid Tree.” A stand was purchased, and unexpectedly we had more than enough of the kids’ handmade ornaments to fully decorate the stunning fir. This brought to mind the parable of the loaves and fishes or the scant amount of oil that brought forth light for eight incredible days. We tied yarn on sand dollars and toasted mini bagels. We had to put those high before Mojo ate them all! Our daughter made a Star of David from aluminum foil and we placed this at the top of our tree. Lights twinkling, the house filled with the smells of Christmas. The tree became a representation of all of the things that made us unique and bound us together as a family. It was a balance long ago achieved in our hearts. We have always been unconventional. We do believe in Miracles. The Miracle of Hanukah, the Miracle of Christmas and The Mermaid Tree.

  ~Carol Clarke Slamowitz

  Tree Trunk Traditions

  Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.

  ~From the television show The Wonder Years

  As a little girl, the worst part of the Christmas season was helping my mom pack up the tree ornaments and taking down the tree at the end of the season. One by one, we would carefully wrap up each special piece until the next year and then I would watch as Dad picked up the tree and hauled it out to the backyard where it would sit discarded, until it finally made its way to the garbage dump.

  I hated that our beautiful tree, the centerpiece of our Christmas celebrations only days earlier, was deemed useless after only a few short weeks. It seemed like such a waste, and it never failed to bring me to tears.

  I was about ten years old when my dad came up with a fantastic idea that changed the way that we would look at Christmas trees. Why throw out the tree that gave us so much joy, when we would keep it forever to enjoy every Christmas? Because my dad was a talented hobbyist woodworker, he had the great idea to create tree ornaments from the lumber of the previous year’s tree.

  That year, after Mom and I had packed up all of the decorations, Dad and I took the tree to the snow-covered backyard and cut off all the branches until only the tree trunk was left. Then I watched as Dad took the tree trunk down to his woodshop in the basement and sliced it into boards. The boards would have
to dry for most of the year until the lumber would be ready.

  The following December, Dad and I began brainstorming different ideas for ornaments that we could make out of last year’s tree. Dad was in charge of the construction aspect, and he would build as many tiny ornaments as he could out of the limited lumber. And I was in charge of the finishing. I would spend hours varnishing the completed ornaments and putting the little final touches on each one.

  For our first project, we chose to make tiny houses decorated for the Christmas season. We managed to create eight little houses complete with peaked roofs and chimneys. I decorated them with windows and doors and glued a miniature wreath on the front and back of each house.

  Every Christmas, picking out the perfect Christmas tree became the job that Dad and I enjoyed together. The two of us would head out in search of the perfect tree. It had to be a nice big tree, full and lush enough to hold all of our ornaments. But most importantly, the tree had to have a good thick trunk that would provide enough lumber to create decorations for the following year.

  Most years we could get about eight ornaments from the previous year’s tree. And as soon as they were finished, together we would hang them on the tree where they were admired by everyone else in the family. Friends and family could not believe that we could make such beautiful ornaments from a Christmas tree trunk, and holiday guests would inevitably head over to our tree to admire the latest creation.

  Year after year, we continued our tradition. After the inaugural houses, we created Santa’s sleighs, piled high with wrapped gifts. Another year, we made little tables that were set for the Christmas season. Each year was special because we did it together. We carried on the tradition for ten years until I moved away to go to University. That final year Dad created the topper for our family tree, which represented our family perfectly—a sailboat.