Christmas in My Heart: A Treasury of Timeless Christmas Stories

by Joe L Wheeler PH.D. Ph.D.

Overview

Transforming Brokenness into Christmas Joy

Christmas is often associated with joyful traditions like baking cookies, exchanging gifts, and remembering the birth of our Savior. Yet for people experiencing difficultythe ache of a loved one lost, the uncertainty of a job situation, or even the anxiety of a hectic Christmas schedulethe pain can overshadow the joy.

The heartwarming stories of Christmas in My Heart 14 celebrate loves triumph over brokenness. So pour yourself a mug of hot cocoa, stretch out in your favorite chair, and rediscover the joy that awaits you at Christmastime.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780816334018
Publisher:	Tyndale House Publishers
Publication date:	06/28/2015
Series:	Focus on the Family Presents
Pages:	8
Product dimensions:	8.40(w) x 6.90(h) x 0.40(d)

Read an Excerpt

Christmas in My Heart

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By Joe L. Wheeler

Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

Copyright © 2003 Joe L. Wheeler
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0-8423-7126-5

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Chapter One

Myrtle "Cookie" Potter

Oh, how she longed for that doll! She decided to peek under the Christmas tree and see if it was there. It was, but it was for another little girl.

Then came the great temptation.

It was Christmas Eve and the family was gathered at my grandparents' house in San Francisco. I was six that year and my cousin Tom, eight.

We'd waited for months, and now that the time for gift-giving was almost near, every moment seemed a lifetime. Would I get the baby doll I longed for-the one in the window of Mrs. O'Connor's variety store? For months I'd spent part of every day staring at her with my nose pressed against the pane. I was certain that baby doll looked sad every time I left.

"Why don't they give out the presents right now?" I asked. "Why do we have to wait until after dinner?"

"I can't wait," said Tom. "Let's sneak into the living room. Maybe we can find out what we're getting."

"Grandpa and the uncles are out in the garden," I said. And our cousins Dorothy, Mildred and Mabel were in the attic playing dress-up.

We peeked in the kitchen. The aroma of fresh-baked bread and roasting turkey with sage dressing filled the air. Grandma smiled as she chopped onions. Aunt Agnes and Aunt Susan bumped happily against each other as they stirred the gravy. But Aunt Margaret scowled as she basted the turkey. "You can't come in here," she said, shaking her spoon at us.

So far so good. Everyone was accounted for. We hurried down the hall to the front of the house and cautiously turned the knob on the living-room door. My heart beat fast. This was forbidden territory until after dinner. We both took a deep breath and Tom pushed the door open.

What a sight! The magnificent pine tree, aglow with lights of every color, was covered with tinsel and bright ornaments. On the top an angel rested serenely, his sparkling wings brushing the ceiling.

"Wow," whispered Tom. "Look at the presents." The rug was covered with gifts. He fell to the floor and started to shake the boxes that bore his name. "This one's just clothes, I think, but doesn't this one sound like an Erector set?"

I was too busy to answer. One of my packages smelled like perfume, another like chocolate. But where was a box that might hold a baby doll? I glanced around the room and spied something covered with a quilt behind a couch. I rushed to it and lifted the cover. Underneath was a buggy-with a doll inside. "My baby!" I cried, picking her up and hugging her.

"Put her back," hissed Tom, yanking my arm. "That doll's not yours. See, the tag says 'To Dorothy.'"

I refused to look. "She's mine," I insisted, jerking away. "I've wanted her forever. Santa just made a mistake putting Dorothy's name on her."

Clutching the doll, I ran down the hall and out the back door to Grandpa's workshop. Quickly I thrust the baby onto a pile of wood shavings behind a stack of lumber.

Tom came storming in after me. "You're a kidnapper and a thief," he cried. Then, losing interest, he announced he was going inside. I ran behind him. Tom's last remark worried me: "Do you think you're the only one who wanted a doll? Dorothy asked Santa for a baby too."

I hadn't thought of that. What if it really was hers? Her parents would be upset that the doll was missing. Tom would tell on me. Mama would be ashamed. Aunt Margaret would stare down her nose at me, just like her stuck-up daughter, Dorothy.

If that doll was Dorothy's I'd never hear the end of it. Why had I taken her? I had to put her back. My heart beating wildly, I ran as fast as I could to Grandpa's workshop and was about to open the door when I heard voices. Grandpa was in there showing Uncle Edward the cabinet he was building. I couldn't go in now.

Just then Grandma called us to dinner. Shakily I climbed the steps to the house.

In the dining room we bowed our heads as Grandpa said grace. "We thank you, Lord," he began, "for letting us all be together on the day of Jesus' birth." I almost choked. It was bad enough to be a thief and a kidnapper, but to think I'd done it all on baby Jesus' birthday!

After that I had no appetite. When our mothers finally cleared the table and started to do the dishes, I hurried back to the workshop, hoping I could get the doll. But Grandpa was in there again, this time with Uncle Archie.

When we finally gathered in the living room, my face felt hot. The party dress Mama had made me seemed too tight around my neck.

Grandpa began calling names and giving out presents. He waited for each person to open the gift before he called another name. I stole a look at Tom; he was totally involved in unwrapping his own packages. After an hour, Dorothy's buggy was still behind the couch. Though I'd received several presents, Mama could see I wasn't happy. She left the room and came back wheeling a doll buggy. "Santa left this for Myrtle," she said.

I gasped. Inside was a doll better than the one I'd taken. She had a different dress, a pretty bonnet and a coverlet of pink and blue satin. She wore a ruffled petticoat, lace panties and bootees. I knew Mama had made them; the blanket was of the same satin she'd used to make Grandma a robe. My baby was so special that I hugged her right then and vowed never to let her go.

Suddenly I felt sick to my stomach. For a moment I'd forgotten Dorothy's doll. It was still missing.

"What's the matter, Myrtle?" said Mama. "Don't you like her?"

"Oh, Mama, I love her."

But of course I couldn't enjoy my present until I put Dorothy's doll back. How could I possibly do it? Jesus! It was His birthday. Maybe He could help me. Jesus, I prayed silently, I'm sorry I was so bad. Please help me make things right.

Grandpa called for attention. "We've got a lot more presents to give out. But we're going to take a recess. Pumpkin pie with whipped cream is waiting in the dining room."

This was my chance! As everyone headed for dessert, I stole out the back door and down the steps. This time no one was in the workshop. Behind the lumber, with her dress askew and wood shavings in her hair, lay Dorothy's doll. I grabbed her and got her back to the living room without being seen. I picked the shavings out of her hair, smoothed her clothes, and started to put her in the buggy behind the couch.

But my heart sank when I saw a pink smear on her cheek. Grandpa painted landscapes and there must have been a drop of paint on the wood shavings. Rub as I might, I couldn't get it off. Dorothy and Aunt Margaret would be sure to notice it.

I knew what I had to do. With trembling fingers I undressed both dolls. I put Dorothy's doll clothes on my perfect doll, and the clothes Mama had made on the doll with the smudged cheek. I put the perfect doll in Dorothy's buggy and the one I'd kidnapped in my buggy, with her smeared cheek against the pillow.

When everyone returned to the living room, Grandpa finished giving out the presents. Dorothy received her doll and was just as happy with her as I had been with mine.

"Our dolls look like twins," I said. "Let's have a tea party for them."

"That'll be fun," said Dorothy. "I'll bring cookies."

She's not stuck-up, I told myself. I'm sure we can be friends.

"Mama," I said that night as I was getting into bed, "I'm naming my doll Mary, after Jesus' mother."

"That's lovely," said Mama. "You know, your doll has a little pink mark on her cheek. Mrs. O'Connor has a lot of other dolls in her store. I'm sure we can exchange her."

"No," I cried. "I like her just the way she is."

I snuggled in my blanket, holding Mary close, filled with an overwhelming joy that had nothing to do with dolls or buggies. I was only six years old but already I'd sensed it: When you do something bad, it's possible, with God's help, to make things right.

Myrtle "Cookie" Potter

Myrtle "Cookie" Potter of San Mateo, California, writes for contemporary family and inspirational magazines.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Christmas in My Heart by Joe L. Wheeler Copyright ©2003 by Joe L. Wheeler. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

	Acknowledgments	xii
	Introduction: Joseph's Love Story	xv
	The Kidnapped Doll	1
	Van Valkenberg's Christmas Gift	9
	Joyful and Triumphant	27
	A Love Song for Christmas	33
	Merry Christmas, Mr. Keene	45
	A Song is Born	67
	Santa Claus is Kindness	75
	Our Part of the Circle	109
	The Family Twinkle	117
	Christmas Bread	125
	The Night of the Blizzard	159
	The Story of the Field of Angels	169
	The Gift of the Manger	177
	Somewhere I'll Find You	193
	Christmas Sabbatical	203

Editorial Reviews

Joe Wheeler returns with Christmas in My Heart: A Treasury of Timeless Christmas Stories, the 12th installment of his annual collection. Kathleen Norris (no, not that Kathleen Norris-the one writing a century ago) contributes a sentimental yarn about a family rift that is healed on Christmas Eve, and Wheeler offers two of his own sketches. In all, there are 16 stories-some historical, some contemporary, and all guaranteed to require a handkerchief. Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.

Publishers Weekly