I was tagged to write a Christmas story. This was first started my Marvin Wilson over at http://inspiritandtruths.blogspot.com/ and he passed it onto Ron Berry over at http://unwriter1.wordpress.com/ who passed it onto me. I decided to write of the one Christmas that will forever stand out in my mind. I hope you enjoy it--and feel the joy that was felt that Christmas. May your most heartfelt wishes become reality this year!
She had taken them in one by one. First came the boy that was passed from one person to the next. He found a home with her, a home of love and caring. Next came a brother and sister. They had lost their mother to death and their father to anger and pain. She went to the children's home and brought them into her own--giving them love and nourishment of both body and spirit.
Last came the little one, not yet a year old. "Merry Christmas, she's yours." The words came from the bay's father--not wanting the baby. She was in her fifties, but took the girl under her wings and raised her--giving her a home, love, a chance. Only this one called her "Mom", but there was always the slight nagging that she would be lost before she grew up. After all, her dad lived les than twenty miles away.
They all grew and had families of their own. Aunt Rheuie they called her and she accepted this. She was unable to bear a child from her own body-but she loved each one as though she had carried them herself.
The snow fell that December. It had been thirty years since that last wee one was left with her. As she watched the snow grow deeper her heart sank-would she be alone this Christmas? Surely nobody would travel in such a storm. Rheuie barely heard the knock on the door, but there it was again. Her heart sang with joy, seeing the woman and three children on the other side. Her "bay" had made it.
With shaking hands, grown frail with age, she opened the litle package slowly. Inside was a small box of dark blue velvet, holding a ring of gold, with four tiny stones. Tears fell when she read the single word engraved on the band, the one word that made all those years worth it:
I will let everyone know later this weekend who I pas the New Year's story onto.