December 14th, 2024
by Dr. Ron Harvey
by Dr. Ron Harvey
Fulton Oursler, American journalist, novelist and playwright, wrote a beautiful Christmas story years ago that I would like to share with you today—
A man named Pete was in his shop the day a little girl came to his door. The small front window was strewn with a disarray of old-fashioned things: bracelets, gold rings and necklaces.
On this winter’s afternoon a week before Christmas, a child was standing there, her forehead against the windowpane, studying each treasure. Finally, she straightened up and entered the store.
Pete was graying, stooped, and old beyond his years. When the little girl approached him, she said, “Mister, would you please let me look at the string of blue beads in the window?” Pete parted the draperies, lifted out the lovely necklace, and spread the turquoise stones before her. “They’re perfect,” said the smiling child. Then she added, “Will you please wrap them up real pretty for me?”
Pete studied her with a stony air. “Are you buying these for someone?” he asked. “They’re for my sister,” she said, “She’s the one I stay with, and I’ve been looking for a great Christmas present for her.”
“How much money do you have?” Pete asked impatiently. She had been busy untying the knot in her handkerchief, and now she poured out a handful of pennies on the counter. “I emptied my bank,” she explained simply. Pete looked at her. The trusting look in her blue eyes strangely touched him. “Just a minute,” he said, and turned toward the back of the store. Over his shoulder he called, “What’s your name?” as he quietly removed the price tag. The little girl answered, “Mary Grace.” When Pete returned, he placed the package in her hand and said, “There, don’t lose it on the way home.”
The week passed quickly. On Christmas Eve, the door to Pete’s shop opened, and a young woman came in. She drew from her purse an object loosely wrapped in scarlet paper. Presently, the string of blue beads lay gleaming again before him.
“Did this come from your shop?” she asked. “Yes, it did,” he said. “Are the stones real?” she wanted to know. “Yes,” he said, “not the finest quality, but very real.”
“Can you remember to whom you sold them?” she insisted. He responded, “She was a small girl. Her name was Mary Grace.”
“How much are they worth?” she wanted to know. “The price,” he told her directly, “is always a confidential matter between the seller and the customer.”
“But Mary Grace has never had more than a few pennies of spending money. How could she possible pay for them?” her sister asked.
Pete was folding the colorful paper back into its creases, rewrapping the little package as neatly as before. “She paid the biggest price anyone can pay,” he said. “She gave all she had.”
“But why did you do it?” she pleaded. “It’s Christmas,” he said, “and it was my misfortune that I had no one to whom I could give a gift.”
The Christmas season brings us an opportunity to rediscover the joy of giving. May this be a part of your Christmas blessing!
Devotedly yours,
Pastor Ron
A man named Pete was in his shop the day a little girl came to his door. The small front window was strewn with a disarray of old-fashioned things: bracelets, gold rings and necklaces.
On this winter’s afternoon a week before Christmas, a child was standing there, her forehead against the windowpane, studying each treasure. Finally, she straightened up and entered the store.
Pete was graying, stooped, and old beyond his years. When the little girl approached him, she said, “Mister, would you please let me look at the string of blue beads in the window?” Pete parted the draperies, lifted out the lovely necklace, and spread the turquoise stones before her. “They’re perfect,” said the smiling child. Then she added, “Will you please wrap them up real pretty for me?”
Pete studied her with a stony air. “Are you buying these for someone?” he asked. “They’re for my sister,” she said, “She’s the one I stay with, and I’ve been looking for a great Christmas present for her.”
“How much money do you have?” Pete asked impatiently. She had been busy untying the knot in her handkerchief, and now she poured out a handful of pennies on the counter. “I emptied my bank,” she explained simply. Pete looked at her. The trusting look in her blue eyes strangely touched him. “Just a minute,” he said, and turned toward the back of the store. Over his shoulder he called, “What’s your name?” as he quietly removed the price tag. The little girl answered, “Mary Grace.” When Pete returned, he placed the package in her hand and said, “There, don’t lose it on the way home.”
The week passed quickly. On Christmas Eve, the door to Pete’s shop opened, and a young woman came in. She drew from her purse an object loosely wrapped in scarlet paper. Presently, the string of blue beads lay gleaming again before him.
“Did this come from your shop?” she asked. “Yes, it did,” he said. “Are the stones real?” she wanted to know. “Yes,” he said, “not the finest quality, but very real.”
“Can you remember to whom you sold them?” she insisted. He responded, “She was a small girl. Her name was Mary Grace.”
“How much are they worth?” she wanted to know. “The price,” he told her directly, “is always a confidential matter between the seller and the customer.”
“But Mary Grace has never had more than a few pennies of spending money. How could she possible pay for them?” her sister asked.
Pete was folding the colorful paper back into its creases, rewrapping the little package as neatly as before. “She paid the biggest price anyone can pay,” he said. “She gave all she had.”
“But why did you do it?” she pleaded. “It’s Christmas,” he said, “and it was my misfortune that I had no one to whom I could give a gift.”
The Christmas season brings us an opportunity to rediscover the joy of giving. May this be a part of your Christmas blessing!
Devotedly yours,
Pastor Ron
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