Please, everyone, read the story I have written below — for we, you and me, can work wonders for others, and teach our own children, grandchildren, and school friends at an early age the importance of giving. . . their own gift given at Christmas. I will make it short, but touching. Ready? We are the stories that we tell. My granddaughter told me that her teacher wrote my name on the chalkboard at school because everyone in her class didn’t know how to spell it. They were writing about socks in their journals. I had visited her classroom to talk to the children about collecting socks for the area homeless shelter. This was to be their service project for the holiday season, and they were excited to get started. Some children brought socks with them the first day and were eager to place them in the clothes hamper that I brought. The First Graders had visited our Library for a field trip in November, and they saw the shopping cart heaped with food donations that we keep near the entranceway. The shopping cart started several years ago as a “food for fines” holiday food drive, but we, the board members, keep it going year-round. People need to eat twelve months a year. The folks at the local pantry tell us that they receive more food donations from the Library than any other community group or organization. We are the stories we tell. On a snowy December morning, I am standing kettles with my granddaughter, ringing the bell outside the local grocery store. Lily tells me that the bell is like the Liberty Bell, but without the crack. She learned about all the symbols for America during the 2008 Presidential Election. The kettle is filling up with loose change and dollar bills given by shoppers pushing full carts as they make their way to the parking lot. We brought a set of Santa’s sleigh bells, which make a wonderful tinkling sound to offset the loud clang of the large bell. Back at our car—glad to feel some heat—Lily resumes writing a list of book titles that she would like to have for her very own. Mostly they are titles of favorite books that we have checked out from the library. As I’m driving, I spell some words out loud as she asks me. We are headed to do some hats & mittens shopping with a very generous $100 donation from a local man that the Library received for our annual Hat & Mitten Giveaway held in January. Lily helps me select colors and sizes from the bargain section, and we pile everything into our cart. At home, we sort and count everything, so that I can write a note of thanks to the generous donor. 91 items total: 29 hats, 42 pairs of gloves, 20 pairs of mittens. We did our math, and these purchases will warm 124 hands and 29 heads. I wrote a note of thanks, and shared with him the story of our day, and our math lesson. He shared his story with me and it is a heartbreaker - and I am sure he wouldn’t mind if I shared: “When my mother’s mother died, I did not think it had much impact on my mother, but on the way home from the funeral in South Dakota, she spoke the first and only time I ever heard her remark on her childhood. She was from a very poor family, one in which her father prized his good suit and took it when he left the burning home instead of his children, all of whom made it out safely on their own. She spoke of things I never knew—begging for food on the streets, getting only an orange for Christmas if that, and never really knowing where the next meal would come or if it would. She made a solemn vow that she would never have her children suffer that way, no matter what it took. And she held to that promise in spite of my father’s limited ability to earn the kind of money it took to raise four children on his eighth grade education. We never wanted but she always taught us to be reasonable in what we expected. I never will forget that long ride home in the car and the sacrifices she made in her life that we might not suffer that fate. So if I can assist some other mom or dad to provide for her/his child, I will seize the day. For life has been very good to me and I can never give back enough.” Today, with the help of some 6 and 7-year old children, we delivered an overflowing bin full of new socks to the homeless shelter. This was an act of kindness for a lot of people who are not able to help themselves at the moment. Lily and her classmates know that whenever they reach out to the poor, they are really touching the heart of our Lord. This is a true Christmas story. Go tell it on the mountain! Merry Christmas from Joan.

There are so many problems right now that it is hard to choose the one that worries me the most. Hunger, homelessness, the destruction of our habitat, the list of inequities and horrors builds it seems with each passing day. The answer to what I do about it is far easier, I do at least one “good deed” a day. The deed can be as small as picking up another person’s trash on the street or as large as taking one of my daughter’s neglected friends on an adventure, to the mall, for example. It doesn’t have to cost money, although it often does. And the important part of this, is that I work very hard, to teach my children to do the same. Whether we like it or not our beloved children are not born compassionate… that is a learned behavior. They learn it from us, or they don’t. My story for this year is my daughter coming up to me and saying, “My goal this year is to put $10 in the Salvation Army kettle. Last year I only got to $5.” The other one that touched me from her, she has a new Latin teacher this year fresh out of school, teaching “honors Latin 3”. In other words, the hated grammar phase. The first 3 months she struggled with liking him because the subject matter is so boring. Christmas time comes, “Who to give cookies to? “Oh mom, we have to give cookies to Mr. B., or he’ll forget why he wanted to be a teacher.” Thank you Maggie It’s the small lessons in compassion. Merry Christmas from Cynthia