Read Online Chicken Soup for the Soul Christmas by Jack Canfield - Free Book Online Page A

what made it so. One by one, she took from the box and laid before me all the special things never meant for me to see.
    One was a candy cane, half–eaten, that had once hung on our tree. She said, “This is so Santa will know the sweetness of Christmas shared with a friend.”
    Next was a child’s game set of ball and jacks, one of her favorite games to play. My daughter explained, “This is so Santa knows the joy of playing and sharing my favorite toy.” Then came a picture of the manger scene, one she had colored in Sunday school and went on to say, “This is a picture of baby Jesus with his mom and dad, so Santa can see the very first and best Christmas gift ever given to us all.”
    My heart began to melt. Raising my hand to my face, I wiped the tears that had welled up in my eyes.
    Then, from the bottom of the box, she pulled out a red velvet hair ribbon, one she only wore for her Sunday best, and said, “And this is only so Santa knows that it’s all from me. He will know because he first gave this ribbon to me.”
    A tear rolled down my cheek. Seeing and hearing of these gifts, so simple but dear, made it hard for me to speak, but I cleared the lump in my throat and spoke as best as I could. “Sweetheart, you are ever so right. These are much more special than cookies and milk. Let me help you finish your gift, and I’ll put it under the tree right out front so Santa will be sure to see it first.”
    Smiling, she looked up at me and saw a tear still hanging on my cheek. She said, “Daddy, don’t cry. Mommy and me already put your present under the tree.”
    We finished the wrapping and topped it with a golden bow. Satisfied the job had been done just right, she climbed into her bed, and I bid my little lassie a good night with a kiss on her sweet head.
    I carried out her gift and knelt before the tree, placing it right out front as I had said I would, pausing for a moment to say a wee prayer of thanksgiving for the special gift of a child sent from above.
    Santa did indeed receive the gift he had needed—and he will always treasure it—but even dearer to us is the gift of a child. For all the Christmases to come, and even when she is grown and out on her own, I know that in a special place is a gift of unselfish love and joy meant for Santa to open over and over again.
    Raymond L. Morehead

Christmas at Six
    A t Christmas play, and make good cheer,
For Christmas comes but once a year.
    Thomas Tusser
    â€œAll I want for Christmas is my two front teeth,” played on the stereo three nights before Christmas while the fire crackled. My older sister was missing her two front teeth.
    Always a showoff, she danced around the room, acting out the song for the family. Everyone roared with laugher while the pine tree glowed and the tinsel shimmered. I was full of the Christmas spirit and hope that my Santa wish would come true.
    Just after Thanksgiving, the Christmas catalogs appeared on the coffee table. Slowly turning the pages of the toy section, I selected all the things I wanted for Christmas in my mind. The list was growing when a picture of a log cabin filled the page—a real log cabin. I ran with the catalog to my mom and begged her to read the description: “Be the first to have your very own genuine log cabin made from real cedar logs.”
    I became obsessed with the log cabin, and thought about it day and night. It would be my own place. I’d put up curtains, have a slumber party with my friends, and be the happiest girl in the world. Around that time, my dad asked my brother and sisters if we had made out our wish lists. I was the youngest child and still needed help from my parents or sisters. My list was written in red and green crayon. Copying my sisters, it was bordered with blue stars, Christmas trees, and gingerbread men. Number one on the list, I wrote in red, with my best penmanship—“log cabin.” That was