Inklingo is giving away fabric!
Fabric Prize "Gothic Arch"
Check it out at http://www.lindafranz.com/blog/
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And…
The Prairie Grove Peddler is giving away Cross Stitch Charts.
Finished Christmas Cross-Stitch Ornaments
For more information, visit http://www.prairiegrovepeddler.blogspot.com/
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BG3Fvi1pJh4
And so it was in front of this hotel
Our angel did finally arrive
And standing at one corner was a young man
Who caught the angel’s eye
He had a small group of children
Gathered round him there
Who all were quietly listening
Which for children is quite rare
He was telling them christmas tales
And each one brought more children near
Where they nestled round him on those steps
So each word they could clearly hear
He then told them a christmas story
About how all men are brothers
And when that story had ended
The children clamored for another
“where does christmas go
When its day is through?
Where does christmas go,” they asked,
“and what does christmas do?”
Now children have such simple requests
Their wishes are so small
That the young man saw no reason why
He could not grant them all
They liked his stories so much
They begged him not to let it end
So he told them about the wizards of winter
Whose winter ball they must attend
How these wizards decorated their whole world
With icicles, frost and snow
And how with the dreams of this night beneath it
It all would magically start to glow
And the snow seemed to obey the young man’s every gesture
In the cold december’s air
And as for the wizards’ imperial ball
Well, they were already there
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4cP26ndrmtg
Merry Christmas
Merry Christmas
Merry Christmas
Merry Christmas
The hope that he brings
The hope that he brings
The hope that he brings
The hope that he brings
This night
We pray
Our lives
Will show
This dream
He had
Each child
Still knows
We are waiting
We have not forgotten
On this night
On this night
On this very Christmas night
The yellow shirt had long sleeves, four extra_large pockets trimmed in black thread and snaps up the front. It was faded from years of wear, but still in decent shape. I found it in 1963 when I was home from college on Christmas break, rummaging through bags of clothes Mom intended to give away.
‘You’re not taking that old thing, are you?’ Mom said when she saw me packing the yellow shirt.. ‘I wore that when I was pregnant with your brother in 1954!’
‘It’s just the thing to wear over my clothes during art class, Mom. Thanks!’ I slipped it into my suitcase before she could object. The yellow shirt be came a part of my college wardrobe. I loved it.
After graduation, I wore the shirt the day I moved into my new apartment and on Saturday mornings when I cleaned.
The next year, I married. When I became pregnant, I wore the yellow shirt during big_belly days. I missed Mom and the rest of my family, since we were in Colorado and they were in Illinois . But, that shirt helped. I smiled, remembering that Mother had worn it when she was pregnant, 25 years earlier.
That Christmas, mindful of the warm feelings the shirt had given me, I patched one elbow, wrapped it in holiday paper and sent it to Mom. When Mom wrote to thank me for her ‘real’ gifts, she said the yellow shirt was lovely. She never mentioned it again..
The next year, my husband, daughter and I stopped at Mom and Dad’s to pick up some furniture. Days later, when we uncrated the kitchen table, I noticed something yellow taped to its bottom. The shirt!
And so the pattern was set.
On our next visit home, I secretly placed the shirt under Mom and Dad’s mattress. I don’t know how long it took for her to find it, but almost two years passed before I discovered it under the base of our living_room floor lamp. The yellow shirt was just what I needed now while refinishing furniture. The walnut stains added character.
In 1975 my husband and I divorced. With my three children, I prepared to move back to Illinois . As I packed, a deep depression overtook me. I wondered if I could make it on my own. I wondered if I would find a job. I paged through the Bible, looking for comfort. In Ephesians, I read, ‘So use every piece of God’s armor to resist the enemy wheneve r he attacks, and when it is all over, you will be standing up.’
I tried to picture myself wearing God’s armor, but all I saw was the stained yellow shirt. Slowly, it dawned on me. Wasn’t my mother’s love a piece of God’s armor? My courage was renewed.
Unpacking in our new home, I knew I had to get the shirt back to Mother. The next time I visited her, I tucked it in her bottom dresser drawer.
Meanwhile, I found a good job at a radio station. A year later I discovered the yellow shirt hidden in a rag bag in my cleaning closet.
Something new had been added. Embroidered in bright green across the breast pocket were the words ‘I BELONG TO PAT..’
Not to be outdone, I got out my own embroidery materials and added an apostrophe and seven more letters.
Now the shirt proudly proclaimed, ‘I BELONG TO PAT’S MOTHER.’ But I didn’t stop there. I zig_zagged all the frayed seams, then had a friend mail the shirt in a fancy box to Mom from Arlington , VA. We enclosed an official looking letter from ‘The Institute for the Destitute,’ announcing that she was the recipient of an award for good deeds.
I would have given anything to see Mom’s face when she opened the box. But, of course, she never mentioned it.
Two years later, in 1978, I remarried. The day of our wedding, Harold and I put our car in a friend’s garage to avoid practical jokers. After the wedding, while my husband drove us to our honeymoon suite, I reached for a pillow in the car to rest my head. It felt lumpy. I unzipped the case and found, wrapped in wedding paper, the yellow shirt. Inside a pocket was a note: ‘Read John 14:27_29. I love you both, Mother.’
That night I paged through the Bible in a hotel room and found the verses: ‘I am leaving you with a gift: peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give isn’t fragile like the peace the world gives. So don’t be troubled or afraid. Remember what I told you: I am going away, but I will come back to you again. If you really love me, you will be very happy for me, for now I can go to the Father, who is greater than I am . I have told you these things before they happen so that when they do, you will believe in me.’
The shirt was Mother’s final gift. She had known for three months that she had terminal Lou Gehrig’s disease. Mother died the following year at age 57.
I was tempted to send the yellow shirt with her to her grave. But I’m glad I didn’t, because it is a vivid reminder of the love_filled game she and I played for 16 years. Besides, my older daughter is in college now, majoring in art. And every art student needs a baggy yellow shirt with big pockets.
The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire) by Nat King Cole
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s_W7p35SzuI
All I want for Christmas is You by Maria Carey
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXQViqx6GMY
Wonderful Christmas Time by Paul McCartney
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hWuKimtUEas
Blue Christmas by Elvis Presley
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lUyuGFoiWJ0
Carol of the Bells by Celtic Woman
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FKrx-4Awe70
White Christmas by Bing Crosby (from the movie)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9vPfOjAw5Z0
Often attributed to a Marine stationed in Okinawa, this was actually written by Lance Corporal James M. Schmidt in Washington DC in 1986. It was published in a magazine for Marines, Leatherneck, in 1991.
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Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
In a one bedroom house made of plaster & stone.
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I had come down the chimney, with presents to give
and to see just who in this home did live
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As I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,
no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stocking by the fire, just boots filled with sand.
On the wall hung pictures of a far distant land.
.
With medals and badges, awards of all kind,
a sobering thought soon came to my mind.
For this house was different, unlike any I’d seen.
This was the home of a U.S. Marine.
.
I’d heard stories about them, I had to see more,
so I walked down the hall and pushed open the door.
And there he lay sleeping, silent, alone,
Curled up on the floor in his one-bedroom home.
.
He seemed so gentle, his face so serene,
Not how I pictured a U.S. Marine.
Was this the hero, of whom I’d just read?
Curled up in his poncho, a floor for his bed?
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His head was clean-shaven, his weathered face tan.
I soon understood, this was more than a man.
For I realized the families that I saw that night,
owed their lives to these men, who were willing to fight.
.
Soon around the Nation, the children would play,
And grown-ups would celebrate on a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom, each month and all year,
because of Marines like this one lying here.
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I couldn’t help wonder how many lay alone,
on a cold Christmas Eve, in a land far from home.
Just the very thought brought a tear to my eye.
I dropped to my knees and I started to cry.
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He must have awoken, for 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.”
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With that he rolled over, drifted off into sleep,
I couldn’t control it, I continued to weep.
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I watched him for hours, so silent and still.
I noticed he shivered from the cold night’s chill.
So I took off my jacket, the one made of red,
and covered this Marine from his toes to his head.
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Then I put on his T-shirt of scarlet and gold,
with an eagle, globe and anchor emblazoned so bold.
And although it barely fit me, I began to swell with pride,
and for one shining moment, I was Marine Corps deep inside.
.
I didn’t want to leave him so quiet in the night,
this guardian of honor so willing to fight.
But half asleep he rolled over, and in a voice clean and pure,
said “Carry on, Santa, it’s Christmas Day, all secure.”
.
One look at my watch and I knew he was right,
Merry Christmas my friend, Semper Fi and goodnight.
A Kindergarten teacher was observing her classroom of children while they were drawing. She would occasionally walk around to see each child’s work.
As she got to one little girl who was working diligently, she asked what the drawing was.
The girl replied, ‘I’m drawing God.’
The teacher paused and said, ‘But no one knows what God looks like.’
Without missing a beat, or looking up from her drawing, the girl replied, ‘They will in a minute.’
