RRN Online Volume 394

December 20 '03

Volume 394

The Master's Workshop By Gail Howell Sappington

The small child stood with her nose pressed against the windowpane of the Master's Workshop. It only stung just for the first few moments. Looking around she could see icicles dangling from the window ledge above her and caught a glimpse of the warm air coming from her mouth as she breathed into the coldness of the night. She was glad that she had worn the knitted scarf and hat that her grandmother had crocheted for her, and with her hands tucked in her coat pocket, she leaned in to look at the wonderment before her eyes.

There were several people working with the Craftsman preparing for the days ahead, but she did not recognize any of them. Standing on her tiptoes, she could barely see the Master as He sat at the workbench holding something very carefully in His hands. She could not see the object that He held, but she could tell by the way He looked at it that it must have been very valuable to Him. Just at that moment, He looked up and with a sparkle in His eyes, smiled at the peering bright eye staring through the window. A little embarrassed she quickly bent her knees and hid from His view. A moment later, she was drawn to gaze through the window once again. For even though the night was cold around her, there was something very warm and inviting about the Master's Workshop, for it was full of light and dreams and cheer.

Over to the side of the room sat row after row of shelves that held the magnificent gifts tooled by the Master's hands. Twisting in as close as the frosted windowpane would allow, she spotted the very gift she had so long desired. It was a display of a family--a mother, a father and a child sitting together and laughing, cuddling up on a sofa in front of a warm fire, and in the corner was a lamp burning brightly, casting off any hints of darkness or shadows.

She stood, unable to move, as tears rolled down her cheeks. Suddenly, in her hands appeared a plain white box decorated with three jeweled ornaments in the shape of the words, peace, joy and hope. With tears stinging her eyes, she did not know where the gift had come from, but it was the most precious thing that she had ever been given.

Backing away from the workshop, she hurriedly ran home and placed the gift underneath her bed--afraid to let anyone see it, lest they think she had stolen it; afraid to open it, not knowing what to expect and not really understanding that it was hers to open and keep. For a long time she continued keeping the special box hidden, only taking it out sometimes late at night and looking at the jeweled words of peace, joy and hope, then tucking it safely back under her bed.

Some years later, she decided it was time to open the box, ready to receive the gift that she had been given so long ago. Untying the ornaments and placing them gently on the floor beside her, she opened the white box and anxiously pulled back the tissue paper. There she saw the name JESUS carved into a simple wooden box. Picking the treasure up in her hands, she gingerly ran her fingertips over the name of JESUS following the curves and lines and quietly began whispering His name. She then placed the jeweled words, peace, joy, and hope, into the box, realizing that they had belonged together all along. After a little while, she found a space for the JESUS box on her bedroom shelf, picking it up now and then to hold, to touch and be reminded of the work by the hand of the Master Craftsman.

She was not given the gift from the workshop's shelf of the family of warmth and acceptance as a young child, but often felt afraid, alone and lonely. She was not given the welcoming home with the lamp burning brightly and a loving family as a teenager. Her world was one of confusion, poor choices, loud angry voices, self-destructive tendencies, and forced independence. However, all during those years she would take the JESUS box filled with peace, joy, and hope from the shelf and hold it tightly in her hands.

One day as she was tearfully holding the treasure, she remembered her visit to the Master's Workshop as a small child, standing on her tiptoes to catch a glimpse into the window. As she sat, she was transformed once again to that time and place and wiping away the frosted ice, she peered through the workshop's window. There were the servants moving around and helping the Master as He directed. To her amazement, now years older, she realized that she knew their faces.

There were her great grandparents who had taken her to church and taught her Bible stories; Sunday School teachers and women from her community; her boss who had encouraged her at work; the English teacher who saw in her great possibilities; the band director who took time to talk with her and listen; the Guidance Counselor who understood her heart cries and so many others that she had long forgotten.

The Master had placed them in her life all during those years. He had not forgotten. He had made plans for these individuals to be in her life long before she knew that she would have need of them. Looking further back there sat the Master at the workbench, and as He was singing He looked into her eyes. She felt His touch more strongly in her heart than she ever had before.

The JESUS box has not been placed on the shelf since that day. She keeps it close--tucked in her pocket or placed in the bag she is carrying; ready to show others who need to catch a glimpse of the Master and His Workshop.

What a story she has to tell! You may be wondering about the gift on the Master's Workshop shelf, the one of the family--mother, father and child wrapped in warmth and love…She received it a few years ago as a young adult in the glow and excitement of her own family. With her husband and children by her side on the sofa, and her mother close by in the side chair, laughter, forgiveness and acceptance fill the air. In the corner of that room and every room in the house the lamps glow, chasing the darkness away.

At Christmas time, the ornaments are removed from the JESUS box and positioned on the Christmas tree. Peace, joy and hope shine brightly through the open window, as a testimony to the work of the Master's hand.

Note: Gail H. Sappington, a transplant from Pontotoc, resides in Hattiesburg, MS.

The Best Christmas By Kay Grafe

As Christmas races in our direction we search for quiet evenings alone to reminisce.

"You want a cup of hot chocolate or coffee?" Ray asks as we sit in front a roaring fire. Our roaring fire is gas logs. The original log fireplace lost its appeal.

"Hot chocolate."

He brought two cups made from packets of instant mix and sat next to me on the sofa. I took a sip.

"Hot chocolate used to taste so good when the girls were home and you made it from scratch," he smiles.

"It was better. Remember how we'd sip hot chocolate and listen for jingle bells?"

"I was just thinking," he says, "about all the Christmas' I've lived through."

"What was your most memorable Christmas as a little boy?" I ask.

"In 1944, I was 11. Most people in Lucedale didn't have Christmas lights. Factories had stopped making nonessential items and were producing war-related supplies. My day was a mechanic and very creative. I watched him as he searched for old taillight bulbs. He connected them together with a strand of electrical wire, dipped each bulb in paint using a variety of colors, took the battery out of our car into the house, and connected the strand to the battery. That was the prettiest tree and best Christmas I ever remember. For an hour each night the week before Christmas my brother and I savored our colorful tree lights."

"What did you get for Christmas?"

He shrugged his shoulders, "I can't remember. Not much I'm sure, but I do remember the tree and the good time with my family.

"That's incredible," I had tears in my eyes.

I went to the phone and called Dawn, our oldest daughter.

"Hello."

"Dawn, briefly, what was your most memorable Christmas?"

There's no way Dawn tells anything briefly, but here's the summary.

"I have several. The years Babette and I gathered our own toys and clothes from our closets, plus new toys we bought. We stopped by the grocery store and filled our buggy with food and gave it to a needy family with lots of children. I'll never forget those grateful little faces looking up at me as I helped hand out their gifts."

Dawn and I held the receiver without saying a word and cried.

"What did you get for Christmas that year, honey?"

"I can't remember."

After I hung up I dialed Babette.

"Hello."

"Bug, what was your most memorable Christmas?"

"When six grandparents had Christmas dinner with us. I was very young, but I remember everyone hugging and giving special attention to our great-grandparents. The next year I only had two grandparents left."

"What did Santa bring?"

"I can't remember."

Back on the sofa with my sweetheart we gazed into the flames, both in our own thoughts. He was the first to speak.

"I know your most memorable Christmas."

He took my hand.

"Yes, when I was 5 all I wanted was for Mother to come home from the hospital."

"Material things are trivial," he said, swallowing his last drop of hot chocolate.

"Gifts are only commas. Our family and sharing with those in need are capital letters and exclamation points," I said.

Note: Kay Grafe and husband Ray live in Lucedale, MS. Kay writes for Today In Mississippi and the Sun Herald of Biloxi.

European Vacation By Ruth McCullough

Our recent trip to Europe was a whirlwind of planes, trains, London cabs, and even a boat trip on the canals of Amsterdam. We toured castles, palaces, and cathedrals, one of which was St. Paul's in London where we attended the annual Thanksgiving Day service for Americans in Europe. That afternoon, after lunch with friends, we rode the London Eye, which is something like a huge Ferris wheel (440 feet high). One complete rotation takes 30 minutes. From the glass-enclosed observation cars, holding 20 to 25 people each, one is able to see the landmarks of London in all directions.

I loved the wonderful art museums in Amsterdam and London and the theatre production of Les Misérables that we saw in London. Floyd and I were both carried back in time and almost moved to tears as we visited the homes of Anne Frank and Corrie ten Boom and spent hours in the Imperial War Museum and Churchill's underground W.W. II headquarters.

Back in Germany, we enjoyed meeting and eating with David's friends, visiting the base, and driving around the beautiful German countryside. We spent some time in the charming town of Gelnhousen where Billy, Leoda and Kim Morrow lived when Billy was in the service. Driving along on a high road, sometimes several villages or towns could be seen at one time, each marked by tall church spires and surrounded by well kept farms.

Since it is [now] Christmas time, I'll tell in a little more detail about the unique German Christmas markets which are held in a number of towns and cities. I knew they were outside, and I had pictured tables set up somewhat like our yard sales. Instead, all the vendors were set up in sturdy little houses with the top half of the front open, similar to booths at a fair or festival.

Each little house was covered with fresh fir or other greenery from the woods and carefully decorated for Christmas. There was a wide variety of items for sale, with most vendors specializing in a particular kind of item such as homemade goodies, tree ornaments, jewelry, wood carvings, knives, scarves, linens, etc.

Personally, I favored the booths with homemade cookies and other sweets (though to our American taste, their "sweets" were really not very sweet). However, these booths were so charming, with clear cellophane wrapped hard ginger cookies (cake-size) hanging by ribbons across the front. Cut in shapes such as Christmas trees, stockings, or hearts, they were iced in bright green and trimmed in red with a German Christmas greeting written in white.

Wafting through the air was the tantalizing smell of hot cidar and big fat sausages (bratwurst, I think) sizzling on huge grills. This was a delicious way to ward off the sharp chill in the air.

The market in Hanau, where David teaches, was set up in the Town Square. The square was centered with a huge statue of the Grimm brothers, who were born in Hanau. The cidar was served in mugs depicting different fairy tales written by the Grimm brothers. For a small price you could keep your mug, so of course we did. Nothing was really a small price though, because the dollar fared so poorly against the Euro.

This was our second trip to Europe and most places we saw and things we did were different from the first trip. This is a different world--in some ways a fairy-tale world-- and we are so thankful we've been able to have these wonderful experiences. However, on two separate occasions, we met up with and talked with two Americans in London who were so eager to talk with us.

One lady was from Nashville, married to an Englishman, living in London, and from all appearances, quite wealthy. She heard our Southern drawl and engaged us in conversation, eager to visit with someone from the South. There's no place like home!

Our trip home was very long, and we were tired, but for "old folks," I think we did pretty well.

Note: Ruth McCullough and her husband Floyd live in Pontotoc and recently visited their son, David, who teaches in Germany.

Bodock Beau Snowplow Bewilderment

Norman and his wife live in Calgary. One winter morning while listening to the radio, they hear the announcer say, "We are going to have 8 to 10 centimeters of snow today. You must park your car on the even numbered side of the street, so the snowplow can get through."

Norman's wife goes out and moves her car.

A week later while they are eating breakfast, the radio announcer says, "We are expecting 10 to 12 centimeters of snow today. You must park your car on the odd numbered side of the street, so the snowplow can get through."

Norman's wife goes out and moves her car again. The next week they are having breakfast again, when the radio announcer says, "We are expecting 12 to 14 centimeters of snow today. You must park..." then the electric power goes out.

Norman's wife is very upset, and with a worried look on her face she says, "Honey, I don't know what to do. Which side of the street do I need to park on so the plow can get through?

With the love and understanding in his voice like all of us men who are married to blondes exhibit, Norman says, "Why don't you just leave it in the garage this time?"

Submitted by Bing Crausby

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