Gingerly bending to gather the pieces he couldn't reach, he paused as an unusual pair of legs captured his attention. He hesitated to look up. One was real. One was not. ~ Fourth Down and Tomorrow to Go There is a force beyond us, a power unmoved by weapons, and a peace no army can destroy. We must surrender what we are for what we might become. ~ Spirit of the Ukraine "No, not intentionally. . . sometimes, we're just out a control. We believe we have control, but we don't. And before despair strikes . . . your spirit takes over. . . " ~ Snow Runner A distant memory, like radiation filling empty space, unseen, yet full of energy, forced its emergence into my subconscious. ~ On Tiny Wings Nobody knew we were here. We gazed in awe along the trail. . . the physical history of our journey buried beneath the purest snow. ~ The Intruder He studied the smooth softness of her numbed left side. Creases recorded memories with each experience. Her intense awareness merged with another dimension of the wilderness hidden from him. ~ Home
Sharing Light
Stories of ChristmasBy Tim MorrisonAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 Tim Morrison
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4670-6273-2 Contents
Introduction........................................1It's a World for Love...............................5The Great Christmas Artist..........................15Return of the Spirit................................31Fourth Down and Tomorrow to Go......................44Spirit of the Ukraine...............................61Mystic Wind.........................................78Christmas Predicaments..............................94Snow Runner.........................................116Tomato Boy and the Junkyard Dog.....................135On Tiny Wings.......................................151The Intruder........................................162Home................................................175Notes...............................................195Acknowledgements....................................197
Chapter One
It's a World for Love
The Christ Child's eyes blurred. The once tender, comforting touch of her lips gracing his cheek reduced to memory.
Brian's heart raced ahead of him as a crisp breeze swept through his jet-black hair. The farther he ran, the more his legs wobbled like jelly. Fearless, he halted.
Short of breath, the small ten-year-old gasped, "I'm out."
Vigilantly, the boy walked along the cleared sidewalk. Scouting the path ahead and behind, he searched for anyone suspiciously following him. He slid along the sidewalk, methodically kicking the shoveled snow crowding the edge. Scanning the sky, he studied a clouded array of inverted, gray pillows, stuffed with snow. Trees in the neighborhood bared their branches. Footprints of children and pets littered the worn white blanket covering the ground. The day before Christmas catered to last-minute bargain hunters.
Brian suffered, dreaming about how the auto accident that claimed his parents' lives must have occurred. His imagination crafted agonizing scenarios for he knew no details of the tragedy. Uprooted from his neighborly hometown, Springdale, he failed to find fertile soil at Marian's Home in Denver. Living in Marian's environment of regimented rules stifled his spirit. He spent his ninth year of life in the brick structure occupied by troubled adolescents. Every night at the posted time, he claimed his bed among three others sharing his room.
During an extended recess while most battled beneath a barrage of snowballs, Brian squeezed between two iron posts of a fence circling the playground. Taking advantage of the distracted attendants, he ran much faster and farther than any timed event he'd run against his peers.
What road led to Springdale and friends?
Cold air slapped his cheeks. His stomach growled for a hard salami sandwich. Perhaps escaping just before noon was a poor decision. Ignoring wisdom, he compromised hunger, rest, and shelter. His body lost the enthusiastic heat it acquired during his clandestine jaunt. The cold penetrated his coat. Crystals falling from above patched the white blanket below. He resigned from kicking any more snow. His clammy toes stiffened.
As he approached the corner, he heard faint crying. His glassy blue eyes scanned the tightly packed row of houses lining the neighborhood. A disturbing siren sounded to his left. Pivoting on the curb, he isolated a toddler lying in the snow. Sprinting as fast as his tired legs would carry him, he converged on the boy.
As Brian drew near, he discovered the boy had slid down a short, but steep embankment in the front yard. Unable to correct for pitch, the little tike repeatedly climbed two steps and slid back, again. Failure to conquer the slope spawned frustration.
Gently, Brian spoke as not to startle the little one. "Hey, may I help you?"
Surprised, the child ceased crying.
"Come here." Brian stepped behind him. "I'll help you."
Clutching him under the arms, Brian struggled to swing him up and over the icy rise. Upon reaching the doorbell, Brian summoned help with the rescue. Seconds later, a young mother answered.
Glancing at the pair, she caught a glimpse of her son. "What are you doing with Fredrick?" She reached for her son's hand and led him to her side.
"He slipped down the hill." Brian pointed. "Crying, he'd try to climb up, but he couldn't."
"Well, thank you," she stuttered, "I haven't ever seen you around here. Do you live in the neighborhood?"
"I don't ..." Silent, he almost conceded the brief success he struggled so hard to achieve. Composing his thoughts, he pointed figuratively to a distant area. "I live about three blocks from here."
Despite her toddler's tugging for freedom, she clasped his snow pants. "Again, thank you for helping Fredrick. I hope you have a merry Christmas."
"You too!" Brian turned and slid down the short slope as the youngster's mother ushered him inside.
The snowfall thickened. The frigid air wisped against his neck forcing a shiver to slither down his spine. His toes and fingertips constantly reminded him he needed warmth.
Daylight surrendered to gaudy and classy light displays alike. Business hours expired. Traffic lined the avenue. As he trudged through the slush, a black and white object attracted his attention. Shrill whimpering resounded from a snow bank. Closing the gap, Brian discovered an abandoned puppy.
The small creature struggled to break free. Digging into the snow, Brian lifted the pup. A two-inch cut hampered its right hip. Straddling the pup's legs over his forearm, Brian fingered the wound. The puppy yelped in pain. He gently nestled the dog beneath his coat, cradling it in such a way as to form a tiny cushion. In silence, he felt it shiver from the cold.
Continuing, he finally reached the major intersection. He looked both directions along the avenue. Buildings displayed magnificent arrays of color, each topped with a conical tree creating an elevated electric forest. Spectral flakes danced in the turbulence of passing cars.
The signal flashed green. The refugee skated across the slippery pavement. Upon entering a department store, warmth thawed his frozen shell. The puppy had fallen asleep. But to verify he wasn't dead, Brian squeezed his supporting hand. Wiggling to reestablish his comfortable position, the pup continued to sleep.
Brian wound through cluttered aisles to Santa's Workshop. A young girl occupied Santa's lap. Upon observation, this Santa appeared quite young. Brian knew Santa to be a fictional character. He quickly evaluated. This Santa should have been older. What a ridiculous, unfortunate fraud, he thought.
Santa gave a striped candy cane to the child and rose from his throne. She waved and disappeared into a sea of aisles.
Brian scampered toward Santa hollering. "Wait, Santa! Wait!"
The man in costume turned and assumed his winter throne. "Ho, ho, ho," he bellowed, "what can I do for you, young man?"
Kris Kringle directed the lad to sit on his lap. "What is your name?" The white bearded impersonator wrapped his bulky arm around his final visitor.
"Brian."
"And Brian, what do you want for Christmas?" he chuckled.
"I want to be happy for Christmas."
"Is that all ... no toys?"
Brian hesitated. He didn't want to compromise his identity. Studying Santa's lively brown eyes and peaceful nature, the escapee considered surrendering the day's events for complete freedom. Time dissolved into the puddle at his feet. He made his decision.
"You're not Santa Claus," he scolded. You're too young. Besides, my mom and dad told me all about Santa. You've got it all wrong."
"Ho, ho, ho, I'll tell you what," Kris compromised, "if you don't tell a single soul, I'll give you two candy canes. And ... I'll bet ... Santa comes to your house, tonight."
He relinquished the ransom of two candy canes.
Brian vaulted from Santa's lap and dashed to the front door. Pulling it open, he turned and yelled back, "I'll bet not!"
A couple hours ticked away. Pausing to rest, the fugitive entered the Holy Family Church. Warmth bathed him once again. A simple Nativity scene generously lit for display filled an ornate archway in the sacristy. A few elderly meditated on the essence of that night nearly two millennia ago as they anticipated the midnight celebration. Brian strolled down the aisle and sat on the marble steps leading to the manger sheltering the crib and a statue of the Christ Child. Sheep, oxen, cattle, shepherds, parents, and angels attended the newborn.
The Child's eyes stared into his own. Words from the past penetrated his thoughts. He is a very important child. His mother's voice created the story of the Nativity. He felt her gentle arms wrapped around his neck and her soft, smooth cheek touch his own. In a pleasant voice, she whispered. Mary and Joseph were very poor. Nobody had room for Mary in the inn. She was pregnant with a baby. Joseph gathered straw and made beds for them in an old manger that housed farm animals. Joseph, a fine carpenter, built a crib and filled it with straw. Soon after, Mary gave birth to a baby boy. He was a gift promised from the good Lord.
"What's so good about that?"
That little boy offered love and offered the world peace and joy.
"He did?"
Yes, he did. It is something like when you were born. You brought your father and me much closer together in love and devotion. Presents don't make people happy. It's the joy and love you give them. We would rather have you more than anything else in the entire world.
Tears trickled across Brian's cheeks. He could not hear her voice any more. She was gone. Why? The Christ Child's eyes blurred. The once tender, comforting touch of her lips gracing his cheek reduced to memory.
The skinny runt demanded food, scratching and squirming beneath the boy's coat. Squelching his sobbing, Brian cradled his puppy. As he reached into his pocket, he unwrapped a candy cane and set it on the material before the dog's nose. Satisfied, the pup licked the sweet treat.
Drying his eyes with the sleeve of his coat, Brian rose and descended the steps quietly. The longer he lingered within, the more memories overwhelmed him, harnessing his quest for freedom.
Snow accumulated. Faint caroling drifted from behind. Rushing—around the corner, the ten-year-old nearly crashed into a large crowd. He heard their voices, but he couldn't see the source. "The First Noel" cut through the thick snow. His puppy slept.
Enveloped into the crowd, "Silent Night's" harmony flooded his thoughts. Last year, when his family attended an outdoor Christmas concert, his father lifted and propped him on his shoulders. He saw every choir member.
Before he could react to his reflection, a voice pierced the background vocals.
"Leave me alone. I want to go home." A gruff, sober child stomped away from her parents.
Separating from the crowd, she pouted and fussed while her parents enjoyed the performance. "O Holy Night" challenged her. Brian refused to tolerate it. Why should she be unhappy?
He approached the girl of his own age. Arms folded as a barrier, she sported a cream colored coat trimmed with a chestnut collar. He'd like to trade for her mittens, scarf, and snow boots. Sulking wrinkled her freckled face. Thin patches of blond hair peeked from beneath her stocking cap with a fluffy blue ball on the top.
He questioned. "What's wrong? It's Christmas."
With her hazel eyes aglow, she snapped, "Why don't you quit bugging me?"
"I didn't mean to bug you. I just don't understand your mood."
"What's your name anyway?" she cross-examined sternly.
"Brian."
"Okay, Brian." She cocked her hands on her hips. "What do you want?"
"Why aren't you happy?"
"Maybe because you're bugging me ... Hey, look, I asked for a bunch of things for Christmas. I know I'm not going to get them."
"How do you know?" Unsure what to say next, he curbed his curiosity.
"Because, they told me. I never have. All my friends always get the cool stuff." She glanced away attempting to ignore him. "What do you know anyway?"
"Look around you." he offered without criticism. "See all of those people smiling and singing. See how happy they are?"
"Yea, I see. Most of them are moms and dads," she stated sarcastically.
"The moms and dads are happy 'cause God's showin' His love tonight. None of those people are happy because they're going to get lots of presents. They're happy because they love each other."
"God sent us a baby boy so He could unite us and make us happy. Look at it this way, when your mom and dad had you, you brought more love to them and they like you and everyone more."
Brian's puppy stirred beneath his coat.
"What's that?" She stared at his coat.
"My hand twitched. Kinda cold. I forgot my good gloves."
"That's sorta dumb."
He quickly redirected her attention to her parents. "Look at your mom and dad. Sure, they're smiling, but not very big. Walk over to them and I'll bet they'll be a lot happier. Love and happiness with your family and friends are what Christmas is all about. Your mom and dad love you more than anything in the world."
"How do you know? I don't see your parents," she challenged. "Did you make them happy?"
His eyes avoided hers to pan the gathering. "I hope so."
"Don't you know?" She questioned his credibility.
"They aren't here anymore." Silence quenched the verbal fire. Brian pushed her firmly toward her parents. "Go on. I'll bet you!"
He wandered across the street seeking solitude while she stepped between her folks. Both parents embraced her joyfully. Smiles swept their faces.
The song, "Do You Hear What I Hear," lifted the steam from their voices. She turned, watching Brian crouch on the steps of a clothing stare. Tugging on her father's pants, she whispered in his ear. A moment later, her father crossed the street.
Exhausted, hungry, and cold, Brian rested his head in his palms, mesmerized by his tears melting tunnels into the banked snow. Impatient, the runt stirred again. Brian arranged another piece of candy before the pup's nose.
As the girl's father approached, he recognized the boy. He bellowed, "Ho, ho, ho, Brian!"
Astonished, Brian raised his head. The man who played Santa Claus in the department store stood before him. The man chuckled with a victorious glow. Sitting beside the boy, he said. "I bet you are short one Christmas in a warm home."
Remembering his earlier wager with Santa before he fled, Brian issued a simple smile and surrendered, "Yeah, I am."
"Come home with us. We'd enjoy having you as our guest for Christmas." He extended his hand in invitation.
Cautiously as not to disturb his hand, he stood. "Do you really mean it?"
"Of course. After all, you did want `happiness' for Christmas."
As Brian entered Santa's family home, chimes signaled the midnight hour. Entering the living room, he froze in the presence of an ornate pine tree branches stretched like arms shadowing gifts reflecting the lights from above.
Santa's wife delivered hot chocolate on coasters with a bag of mini-marshmallows tucked under her arm. "Please make yourself comfortable and add as many marshmallows as you would like." She offered to take his coat, but the boy clutched it tightly.
Giggling with excitement, his new friend informed him of the family ritual. "It's traditional to open our gifts under the tree's lights, only!"
Absorbed in the moment's ambiance, Brian watched her parcel gifts. Colorful paper and cartoon newsprint littered the floor. A single light cast an evening hue over a dedicated Nativity scene orchestrated on a bookshelf. Grateful for their kindness and generosity, Brian had no gift for them. He could give them his puppy, but who'd want a mangy half-dead pup? He did! Both were homeless. He loved the orphan.
The refugee observed the family immersed in paper, gifts, and laughter. Santa paused to ponder thoughts at the base of the beautiful tree. Brian reached into his coat and presented his friend.
"Here, I brought him for you. Thank you for bringing me into your home on this Christmas night."
Tears of joy rolled across his red cheeks as the family quickly gathered around the puppy. The cut on the puppy's hind side had healed and his skinny sides were full.
Merry Christmas © 1978 written by Tim Morrison
Dedicated to my three wonderful sisters, Jody, Sharon, and Diana. I'll always love you!
The Great Christmas Artist
When you love or when somebody loves you, you create a masterpiece for the entire world.
"Come on, Doc, you can't move Margaret. She means everything to Joey." The husky Dutchman pried, "Why are you moving her? Give me one good reason." His blue eyes fired a warning glance opposed to excuses.
Dr. Johnson resigned setting his medical charts on the counter as if establishing a definitive line.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Sharing Lightby Tim Morrison Copyright © 2011 by Tim Morrison. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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