A
Visit by the Spirit of Christmas
It
was the day before Christmas in 1879. Six-year-old
Timmy rolled over and looked at the gold jingle bells on his bedside table.
He lifted and shook them, but the only sound they made was a click click
click. Why wouldn’t his bells ring
like the ones of his older brother and sister had in past Christmases?
He thought about the past year. Had
he been a bad boy?
Tomorrow,
when they sleighed over to Grandmother’s farm for Christmas dinner, Father
would tie the bells to Blacky’s harness, right up on top of the horse’s
shoulders. Timmy remembered how the
bells of his brother and sister had jingled all the way to Grandmother’s place
and back. But this year there would
only be a clicking sound as Blacky pranced along pulling the sleigh behind him.
“Please,
Santa, give me bells that jingle. I
won’t ask for anything else,” Timmy begged.
“Time
to get up, Tim,” he heard his father’s voice gently call from the bedroom
door.
“Okay,
Dad,” Timmy replied, sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes.
On
the way down the stairs, Father asked, “Did I hear you praying for
something?”
“Sort
of,” Timmy admitted. “I was
asking Santa to leave me some new bells. The
ones I’ve got only make clicking sounds.”
After
breakfast Father asked Timmy to show him the bells.
Timmy ran back up the stairs and returned with the bells.
“Hm-m-m,”
Father thought aloud. “These bells
definitely don’t jingle.”
“I
must have been a bad boy,” Timmy half whispered.
“Oh
I don’t know about that,” Father answered.
“I’ll tell you what. We’ll
hang the bells next to your stocking. Maybe
Santa will be able to fix them tonight.”
Father
shook the bells again. But they only
made the clicking sound.
“Maybe
it’s this leather strap that attaches them to Blacky’s harness,” Timmy
heard his father mumble. Timmy and
Father went into the living room and Father hung the bells by their leather
strap from a nail next to Timmy’s stocking.
“Do
you believe in Santa, Dad?” Timmy asked. His
older brother had told him that Santa didn’t exist.
“I
believe in the Spirit of Christmas,” his father smiled.
“But
can the Spirit fix bells that won’t jingle?” Timmy asked.
“The
Spirit of Christmas can cause miracles to happen,” Father answered.
“We’ll just have to wait and see.”
The
day went by pleasantly, as Christmas eves usually do.
The last thing Timmy looked at, before going up the stairs to go to bed,
were the bells hanging next to his stocking.
“Please,
Santa,” he said under his breath. “I
promise I’ll be a good boy next year.”
Timmy
had a dream that night. It wasn’t
about Santa Claus. It was about the
Spirit Father had spoken of. The
next morning he sprang from bed and ran down the stairs before the rest of the
family was stirring. He crept into
the living room and looked above the fireplace.
Hanging there were his two bells, but they were now held together by a
beautiful red ribbon like the ones in Mother’s sewing basket.
With
trembling fingers, Timmy took the bells down and shook them.
With a rush of happiness he heard them go jingle, jingle.
Father’s voice shook him from his reverie.
“It
sounds like Santa was able to fix them,” Father said.
“Yes,
they’re fixed all right,” Timmy answered brightly.
But I dreamed that the Spirit of Christmas visited us during the night
and fixed them. I sure am glad you
told me about the Spirit yesterday.”
“So
am I, son,” Timmy’s father answered with a smile.
“So am I.”