Chicken Soup for the Soul Christmas Read Online Free PDF Page A

receive. “God uses servants of all ages,” I said.
    Lynsey, then fifteen, popped up with, “We can make a gift basket for one of the old people at church!” Living with a teen had taught me to seize and rally around any act of outward thoughtfulness, so I encouraged her idea.
    Nine-year-old Laura chimed in, “Yeah, we can put stuff together and give it to ’em for Christmas.” We all agreed that a surprise gift basket would be our family project.
    â€œNow, who’ll be our recipient?” I asked. Laura suggested several names of senior citizens at church. After much discussion, we settled on “Mr. Paul.”
    Paul, known in our home as “Mr. Paul,” was a cheerful, kind, rotund gent. He and his wife had a long, loving marriage, but no children. In fact, except for his wife, Mr. Paul had no living family. Each Sunday, Mr. Paul and his wife faithfully worked in the church’s sound booth recording services for the homebound. They felt it was their ministry. They also felt it was their ministry to “hush” the children chattering in the hall. Often, they were the eyes and ears of absent parents.
    But early that year, Mr. Paul’s wife had received a diagnosis of terminal cancer. Within months, his world changed as he buried his wife and partner of fifty years. We knew it’d be a particularly lonely Christmas for Mr. Paul.
    Parties, shopping, rehearsals, baking, and festive dinners filled our weeks following that family project discussion. We were busy, yet through the demanding schedule, we each thought of Mr. Paul.
    Lynsey found an attractive basket large enough to hold a multitude of tiny treasures, including lip balm, aftershave, and a package of chocolate truffles. While baking, we set aside homemade cookies and candy for Mr. Paul. On shopping trips, Laura always found an unusual keepsake and, eyes twinkling, would say, “Mr. Paul will like this!” Then we’d tuck her chosen gift in our shopping cart. Lynsey made a Christmas card, and Dad jumped in with gift suggestions from a man’s point of view: a tie, devotional book, and wallet. Together, we came up with a variety of presents to pack in our gift basket. We imagined Mr. Paul’s reaction.
    Lynsey thought he’d cry.
    Laura said he’d laugh.
    The time spent focusing on another person gave me multiple opportunities to remind my girls of God’s gift to us—how satisfied God was in giving of his treasure. As our basket and anticipation swelled, my girls began arguing over which one would offer it. We hurriedly put in our final treats, and Laura cheerfully decorated the basket.
    Her homemade bow and carefully placed tissue paper made it a beautiful gift.
    The Sunday before Christmas arrived, and our family eagerly but gently carried the bulging basket into church.
    Lynsey and Laura both held onto the handle, each afraid the other would get all the credit. My husband and I followed close behind.
    Mr. Paul sat in his small, glass-enclosed cubicle turning knobs on a complex control panel. The girls stumbled over each other in their eagerness to get up the two steps to his level. Hearing the commotion, he turned toward them.
    When his eyes fell on the basket, my girls shouted, “Merry Christmas!” and shoved it in his direction. With a look of genuine surprise, he reached out to accept our gift. His aged arms cradled it as tears welled up in his blue eyes.
    For a moment, there was silence, but he spoke volumes through his grateful expression.
    My girls still muse over that year of our first family project when the Christmas message lived in their hearts—a gift given, a gift received.
    Brenda Nixon

The Focus
    Last Christmas I decided to let Stephen, my four-year-old grandson, help me decorate for Christmas. We keep two sets of nativity figures, one of ivory porcelain and the other of teakwood. I took the porcelain set to the hutch in the dining area, then assigned