24 Stories of Christmas Day 22

December 22

" And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." Luke 2:12-14

Carol: The Nativity Song

This is the season beloved of the year.

Sing a rhyme; Christmastime soon will be here.

Tell the true story of Jesus' birth,

When, as a baby, he came to the earth.

This is the new star, shining so bright, 

Lighting the world on that first Christmas Night.

This is the angel proclaiming the birth,

Singing "Hosanna!" and "Peace on the earth!"

This is the stable, shelter so bare;
Cattle and oxen first welcomed him there.

This is the manger, sweet hay for a bed,
Waiting for Jesus to cradle his head.

These are the shepherds, humble and mild,
Hast'ning to worship the heavenly child.

These are the wise men who followed the star,
Frankincense, gold, and myrrh brought from afar.

See the sweet mother, Mary so fair,
Joseph, who guided the donkey with care.

See the dear baby of Bethlehem,
Little Lord Jesus, the Savior of men.

In the Spirit of Christmas

by Hannelore Janke

This was not the time to be sad. Next month I'd be turning twelve; it was time to give up dolls anyway. As I carefully folded the doll clothes I had sewn for Lilo, I realized that we had hardly played together these past six months; maybe we wouldn't miss each other too much, especially since she was going to get a new mom for Christmas.

Lieselotte, Lilo for short, was neither the prettiest nor the biggest of my dolls. She didn't even have real hair. But Lilo was the only doll that had survived the war with me. In fact, it was her size, about ten inches, and her plainness that had saved her life.

When the approaching Russian troops had forced us to flee our home in West Prussia, in January of this year, 1945, we could take only a few belongings, such as a change of clothing--whatever would fit into our knapsacks. It still surprises me that Mom let me stuff Lilo into the little space I had left on top of my pack. It also still surprises me that Lilo didn't get lost in the commotion of overfilled trains and crowded refugee camps. Many children became separated from their families in those days, but Lilo and I arrived together in the small town in central Germany that was to become our new home. 

We stayed in this last refugee camp only four days, and then all five of us--Mom, my two younger brothers, and Lilo and I--were given a room in a spacious, old house with a family that had a son my age, Joachim. His cousins from Berlin, Dieter and Hans, who had lost their home to air raids, were also living there, and the four of us became the best of friends. 

Having boys as buddies was a new experience for me. Where I had played mostly with dolls before, I now played cops and robbers. We occupied our time with cards and board games, always looking for a new hideout somewhere in the lush yard or the spacious attic. Joachim's train set and his lead soldiers also got a frequent workout. As a lawyer's son, Joachim had a substantial collection of books, and the boys enticed me to read about cowboys and Indians and got me hooked on adventure stories. Was it any wonder that Lilo spent most of the summer by herself?

And it was an endless summer. Becuase of the chaos after Germany's unconditional surrender in the spring of 1945, our summer vacation lasted from April until October. 

It wasn't all fun and games, though. Scouting for food was the main occupation for Mom and me during harvest time. The food we were able to buy with our ration cards was barely enough for one meal a day. In order to survive, we had to spend most of our time in the fields and forests that surrounded our new hometown. We gathered mushrooms and picked berries and rose hips; we helped a nearby farmer harvest potatoes and sugar beets in exchange for food; we gleaned wheat by hand and took the wheat berries to the ancient windmill up on the hill to trade for flour. We made jam from the rose hips and molasses from the sugar beets and put the mushrooms on strings to hand up for drying.  

But no matter how hard we worked to survive and to prepare for the long winter ahead, what we were able to stash away lasted only a few months. Dad, who had been drafted to serve in the German Army, got captured at the end of the war and was still in prison camp. He couldn't help provide for us, and my two brothers were only four and six years old. So by the time Christmas rolled around, we were hungry again. That's when I decided to trade Lilo for food. 

I was too young to know my way around the Black Market; however, during the four days we had spent in the refugee camp, we had met a woman who I felt would be able to help me. As a single mother with two small children, she had learned some survival shortcuts, and because she needed a Christmas present for her little girls, she was delighted to make a deal with me. I expected her this afternoon, as soon as she was able to get some food from the Black Market. Lilo was packed and ready to go. 

What a sad and happy day. I had to say goodbye to Lilo, and I received two loaves of bread. It was a good deal because on the Black Market a loaf of bread cost thirty times more than on ration cards. 

Now I could make plans for Christmas. One loaf was for Mom and the boys. Because I was in the middle of a growth spurt and would get so hungry that my knees became weak and shaky, Mom wanted me to keep the other loaf. How rich I felt having my own food to eat and to share! Of course, I also wanted to share it with my buddies. It was the only Christmas present I had for them.

I proudly cut three slices of my heavy, whole-grain bread. Wrapping paper was not available in any form, so I placed the slices on a plate I had decorated with small pine boughs. Mom gave me a little of our last rose hip jam. I put a dab of it on each piece. Now I was ready for Christmas Eve, which is the high point of a German Christmas. 

I was so happy to have a surprise for my friends. I had no idea that they would also have a surprise for me.  I had not expected any presents; having come through the war alive was the greatest gift. 

But on Christmas Eve I received a tray decorated with small pine boughs and loaded with treasures. Of all the Christmas gifts I have received since then, in over forty years, the simple presents on that tray moved me the most: a pencil stub, a sheet of used carbon paper, half a scratch pad, and a book from Joachim's library.  The memory of that Christmas Eve still fills me with joy that comes from caring and sharing. Each one of us shared our last precious possessions. Because of that, the Christmas of 1945 is the one I remember best. 

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