, 1926-12-22

49, CrOWdS parade the downtown shopping district.
Stores are filled with eager customers. Christmas is upon
us once again, another milestone in the varied journeys
that we take as we press on to varied goals.
The years no longer loaf in their passing as they did
when we were children. They speed by now and leave
their marks upon us. So busy are our hands and heads
in the eternal task of finding means to provide food and
warmth and shelter, that time has become a milLrace that
sweeps on us to the end of our course. There are many
stations along the way. And the most hopeful of all of
them is Christmas, for it is the Christmas spirit that de-
scends upon us and saves us from ourselves.
The grind of business wearies our brain. The .dissap-
pointments make heavy our hearts. The greed we nuture
within us makes us selfish. Our ego, prompted by our
yearnings, destroys our concern for others. And then
comes Christmas and purges us of our hates and our lack
of faith in our kind. Without this season of good will we
would become sordid indeed.
The most hopeless, hapless, helpless individual in all
the world is the unbeliever-the unbeliever in everything
that is worth while-the individual who does not believe
in man; who does not believe in women, who frowns at
ideals; who mocks at faiths; who scorns love as a weak
ness and who worships at the shrine of Self. He goes
his lonely, %unlighted way, snatching at gems and discover
ing that they are only dross when he finds them in his
hand. For happiness does not depend on what we wrest
from the world. Happiness depends upon ability to enjoy.
And we can enjoy the things weshave only to the degree
in which we are permitted to share them with Others.
Study those faces on this Christmas shopping season.
See that white-haired old man, whose step is slow,
whose hands are palsied, but whose eyes are bright with
a light that is but a reflection of the spark of gladness
that nestles in his soul and warns him and makes him
content. A grandfather, perhaps! Some place a child
S"NAoiH5 ~ q "hHuo" uedHlHS Ol III SenefOuS-neart-
ed Santa Claus concerning whom Grandpa has told wond-
rous stories. How slowly the days creep by for this
child! 1t jumps from its warm bed in the morning and
rushes to its mother, with the oft-repeated question:
's this Christmas, mama?"
Why no" says mother, mot yet, but pretty soon"
Tomorrow? Will tomorrow be Christmas, mama-?"
You know how it is. You know if you ever had a
child in your house at Christmas time.
The old man in the department store is dreaming of
that child as he inspects a doll or a woody little horse or
this and that. Before so very long, perhaps, a shadow
f1gure-the figure of death-will stand at his bedside
and touch his forehead and say, "Come-come with me-"
But today he lives. No king in all his glory has ever
wrung from life a joy that was deeper than is his Joy
now as he stands in a tiny city of toys and chuckles at
a vision OF a Christmas morning now near at hand. What
II the road he has Travelled has been hard? Has he not
found his reward in a child who runs her fingers through
his soft, white hair as she snuggles in his arms when
storytelling time has come? Perhaps there have been days
when his tongue was sharp, when his heart was hard, but
whatever venom there may have been on his tongue is
dissolved now, and a song sings in his heart. For Christ
mas nears, Good Will Toward Men" and good will toward
boys and good will toward little girls who stand at win
dows and dream of Santa Claus.
Thus are we reclaimed at Christmas time-reclaimed
from ourselves, our worst enemies. Thus is the course of
our sordld selfishness interrupted, so that we emerge from
the Christmas season better equipped morally to 90 our
way.
1t isn't the gift that we give that counts. It's the
gilt that we receive through giving that makes Christ
mas a season of joy.