Milford chronicle., 1927-12-23
CHRISTMAS

CrOWdS paIdOe inc uOMAtO"0
shopping district. Stores are filled
with eager customers. Christmas IS
upon us once again, another mile
stone in the varied journeys that we
take as we press on the 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 eter-
nal task of finding means to pro-
vide food and warmth and shelter,
that time has become mill-race
that sweeps us on to the end OF our
course. There are many stations a
long the way And the most hope
full 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
brains. The disappointments make
heavy our hearts. The greed we
nurture within us makes us selfish.
Our ego, prompted by our earnings,
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 be-
come sordid indeed.
The most hopeless, hapless, help
less 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 wo-
man, who frows at ideals; who
mocks at faiths; who scorns love as
a weakness and who worships at the
shrine of self. He goes his lonely,
unlighted way, snatching at gems
and discovering that they are only
dross when he finds them in his
hand. For happiness does not de-
pend on what we wrest from the
world. Happiness depends upon
ability to enjoy. And we can en-
joy the things we have only to the
degree in which we are permitted to
share them with others.
Study these faces in this Christ
mas shopping season.
See that white-bearded old man,
whose steps is slow, whose hands
are palsied, but whose eyes are
bright with a light that is but re-
Election of the sparks of gladness
that nestles in his soul and warns
him and makes him content. A
grandfather, perhaps! Some place
a child is standing at a window,
dreaming Of the generous-hearted
Santa Claus concerning whom
Grandpa has told wonderous stories.
How slowly the days creep by for
this child! It jumps from its warm
bed in the morning and rushes to its
mother, with the oft-repeated quest
ion;
is this Christmas, mama%
"Why, no, Says mother" not yet,
but pretty soon."
Tomorrow? Will tomorrow be
Christmas, mama"
You know how it is. You know
If you ever had child in your house
at Christmas time.
The old man in the department
store is dreaming of that child as he
inspects doll or a woolly little
horse or this and that. Before so
very long, perhaps, head and say,
"Come-come with me-" But today
he lives. No king in all his glory
has ever wrung from his life a joy
that was deeper than is his joy now
as he stands in tiny city of toys
and chuckles at a vision of a Christ
mas morning now near at hand.
What if the road he has travelled has
been hard? Has he not found his
reward in child who runs her fling
ers thru his soft, white hair as she
snuggles in his arms when story
telling time has come? Perhaps
there have been days when his ton
que 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 Christmas nears, Good Will
Toward Men," and good will toward
boys and good will toward little
girls who stand at windows and
dream Of Santa Claus.
Thus are we reclaimed at Christ
mas time-reclaimed from ourselves,
our worst enemies. Thus is the
course Of our sordid selfishness in
terrupted, so that we emerge from
the Christmas season better equipp-
ed morally to go our way.
It isn't the gift that we give that
counts. It's the gift that we receive
thru giving that makes of Christ
mas a season Of joy.