When I think of Christmas, I think of warmth, family, candy canes, nativities, Christmas carols, friends, home, and love. Christmas has always been a magical time for me. From the time I was a child, it was a season filled with wonder. I have always loved the way that people go the extra mile at Christmas. They do things for others, they deliver goodies, the buy presents, they call, they write, they care. To me, Christmas is filled with the joy of love.
When I think of Christmas, I remember Him whose birth we celbrate and remember. There are many ways of putting Christ back into Christmas. I suppose that we live at a time in the world where we need to be careful of how we express our beliefs. But, Christmas starts with Christ. I would never be comfortable taking Him out of my celebration. I love to remember and rejoice in the story of His birth. When shepards watched and angels sang. When a star rose in the sky and guided the wisemen on thier journey to find the child. I love the simplicity of the story. I marvel that He was born in a stable.
Time flies and things change, but the simple truth of this story continues to stand as a witness of Him. The seasons come and go, but every Christmas still brings a new time to better the life of another. Kindness begats kindness. Love is shown and expressed more at this celebration of His life that at any other time. There are so many opportunities to give of ourselves available to us at this time of year. We can search out those who morne, comfort those who stand in need of comfort, lift those who are weary, feed the hungry and clothe the naked. We can strive to serve others as we know our Savior would serve them. We can make each Christmas a present to Him.
As I was looking through the December 2008 Ensign, I found a talk by President Monson and he tells this story that is now one of my favorites.
"In the early 1930s, Margaret Kisilevich and her sister Nellie gave a Christmas gift to their neighbors, the Kozicki family, which was remembered by them all their lives and which has become an inspiration to their families.
Home to Margaret back then was Two Hills, Alberta, Canada—a farming community populated largely by Ukrainian and Polish immigrants who generally had large families and were very poor. It was the time of the Great Depression.
Margaret’s family consisted of her mother and father and their 15 children. Margaret’s mother was industrious and her father was enterprising—and with all those children, they had a built-in labor force. Consequently, their home was always warm, and despite their humble circumstances, they were never hungry. In the summer they grew an enormous garden, made sauerkraut, cottage cheese, sour cream, and dill pickles for barter. They also raised chickens, pigs, and beef cattle. They had very little cash, but these goods could be exchanged for other commodities they could not produce themselves.
Margaret’s mother had friends with whom she had emigrated from the old country. These friends owned a general store, and the store became a depot for folks in the area to donate or trade surplus hand-me-down clothing, shoes, etc. Many of these used items were passed along to Margaret’s family.
Alberta winters were cold, long, and hard, and one particularly cold and difficult winter, Margaret and her sister Nellie noticed the poverty of their neighbors, the Kozicki family, whose farm was a few miles away. When the Kozicki father would take his children to school on his homemade sleigh, he would always go into the school to warm himself by the potbelly stove before returning home. The family’s footwear consisted of rags and gunny sacks cut into strips and wrapped about the legs and feet, stuffed with straw, and bound with twine.
Margaret and Nellie decided to invite the Kozicki family, by way of the children, for Christmas dinner. They also decided not to tell anyone in their family of the invitation.
Christmas morning dawned, and everyone in Margaret’s family was busy with the preparations for the midday feast. The huge pork roast had been put in the oven the night before. The cabbage rolls, doughnuts, prune buns, and special burnt sugar punch had been prepared earlier. The menu would be rounded out with sauerkraut, dill pickles, and vegetables. Margaret and Nellie were in charge of getting the fresh vegetables ready, and their mother kept asking them why they were peeling so many potatoes, carrots, and beets. But they just kept peeling.
Their father was the first to notice a team of horses and a sleigh packed with 13 people coming down their lane. He, being a horse lover, could recognize a team from a long distance. He asked his wife, “Why are the Kozickis coming here?” Her response to him was, “I don’t know.”
They arrived, and Margaret’s father helped Mr. Kozicki stable the horses. Mrs. Kozicki embraced Margaret’s mother and thanked her for inviting them for Christmas. Then they all piled into the house, and the festivities began.
The adults ate first, and then the plates and cutlery were washed, and the children ate in shifts. It was a glorious feast, made better by the sharing of it. After everyone had eaten, they sang Christmas carols together, and then the adults settled down for another chat.
Margaret and Nellie took the children into the bedroom and pulled from under the beds several boxes filled with hand-me-downs they had been given by their mother’s merchant friends. It was heavenly chaos, with an instant fashion show and everyone picking whatever clothes and footwear they wanted. They made such a racket that Margaret’s father came in to see what all the noise was about. When he saw their happiness and the joy of the Kozicki children with their “new” clothes, he smiled and said, “Carry on.”
Early in the afternoon, before it got too cold and dark with the setting sun, Margaret’s family bid farewell to their friends, who left well fed, well clothed, and well shod.
Margaret and Nellie never told anyone about their invitation to the Kozickis, and the secret remained until Margaret Kisilevich Wright’s 77th Christmas, in 1998, when she shared it with her family for the first time. She said it was her very best Christmas ever."
President Monson went on to say, "If we are to have the very best Christmas ever, we must listen for the sound of sandaled feet. We must reach out for the Carpenter’s hand. With every step we take in His footsteps, we abandon a doubt and gain a truth.
It was said of Jesus of Nazareth that He “increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man.” Do we have the determination to do likewise? One line of holy writ contains a tribute to our Lord and Savior, of whom it was said, He “went about doing good … ; for God was with him.” (Acts 10:38)
My prayer is that at this Christmas season and all the Christmas times to come, we may follow in His footsteps and go about doing good to each other and to our neighbors. That we might continue to strive in all we do and say to be more like Him. Then each Christmas will truly become the best Christmas ever.