Lost and Found, Stories of Christmas Read online



  Lost and

  Found

  Stories of Christmas

  by Reverend Wendell E. Mettey

  Lost and Found: Stories of Christmas

  Copyright © 2013 by Reverend Wendell E. Mettey

  Tickets, Copyright © 1976 all rights reserved

  The Little Candle, Copyright © 1983 all rights reserved

  An Empty Manger, Copyright © 1984 all rights reserved

  Sister Frances, Copyright © 1990 all rights reserved

  The Bethlehem Plot, Copyright © 1990 all rights reserved

  The Greeting, Copyright © 2012 all rights reserved

  by Reverend Wendell E. Mettey

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.

  All direct quotes from the Bible are taken from the Holy Bible, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc. All rights reserved worldwide. Used with permission.

  ISBN-10: 0-9885425-1-X

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9885425-1-8

  Book Website

  www.theleastofthesepublishing.com

  Give feedback on the book at

  [email protected]

  Cover Design by: LK Fogle

  eBook Formatting by: Maureen Cutajar

  Through the Years...

  Down through the years, I have enjoyed writing stories about Christmas for my congregations. At the encouragement of close friends, I have selected for republication six of these stories that I believe best capture the meaning of Christmas.

  These stories contain tears and laughter, happy and sad times, but within each story you will find people who lose something and yet, through the wondrous spirit of Christmas, find something greater than what they lost.

  I hope you enjoy reading Lost and Found: Stories of Christmas as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  Acknowledgements

  I want to thank Joodi Archer who provides me with much assistance in every facet of writing and for being a blessing to my work; Larry Keller, my gifted brother-in-law, for his wonderful art work; Lauren Fogle for her beautiful graphic designs; Tim Mettey for keeping everything on track; my wife, Mickey Mettey, for much help with all of my books - providing editing, valuable suggestions and an eye for detail.

  I dedicate this book to my grandchildren Ethan and Sidney Iery; Olivia, Cora, Noel and Ashlyn Mettey.

  Table of Contents

  The Little Candle

  An Empty Manger

  Sister Frances

  The Greeting

  The Bethlehem Plot

  Tickets

  Author Bio

  The Little Candle

  “And the star they had seen when it rose went ahead of them until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw the star, they were overjoyed.” Matthew 2:9-10

  It was a heavy and wet snow that fell that night on the steps of Old First Church. Still the faithful came as they had for over one hundred years. Their numbers were now greatly diminished and their enthusiasm was waning, but their devotion to Old First was never as strong or as courageous as it was on that Christmas Eve.

  The people received tiny candles as they entered Old First. The candles would be lit in the darkened sanctuary at the conclusion of the service, as all were singing Silent Night, Holy Night.

  Overshadowed by the large gothic sanctuary, with its beautiful stained glass windows and shiny marble floors, the faithful assembled in the first few pews. Some, however, elected to sit alone in the back where their families had sat for as long as memory served.

  The minister greeted the congregation with a warm and cheerful “good evening.” As he invited them to stand and sing the opening hymn, Joy to the World, a stranger quietly entered and sat in the back unnoticed, holding his candle. Looking down as if in prayer, he seemed to be unaware of the others singing, their voices now echoing throughout the nearly empty sanctuary. As quickly as he had entered, he got up and left. Pausing momentarily on the snow-covered steps, he looked at the tiny unlit candle in his hand. He threw it down in the snow and walked on.

  ***

  Jenny would be seven in the spring. Such a wonderful time to be born. Her little brother, Johnny, was born a year ago this Christmas. He came into the world on a cold and snowy day, and his first year had not been kind to him. Perhaps with proper medical care he could get better, but that was expensive and the hospital was far away. But saddest of all, at least to Jenny, was that this Christmas would pass, as would Johnny’s first birthday, without so much as a single present celebrating or acknowledging his arrival into the world.

  Jenny asked her father about Santa Claus. Not knowing what to tell her, he said that for Santa Claus to come, they would have to have a Christmas tree. “Well, it really isn’t the tree,” he stammered, “but the lights upon the tree, that’s it! A lighted Christmas tree is how Santa sees to come to the houses of little children.”

  He hurried away from Jenny into the kitchen and sat down. Burying his head in his hands, he agonized, “What a terrible thing to say to a child!”

  He just couldn’t tell her the truth... that he couldn’t find work and there was no money... no money for the rent, for Johnny, for Christmas presents... not the littlest toy. Jenny’s mother walked into the kitchen from the hallway. She leaned down and put her arms around him.

  “Don’t worry, we have each other,” she whispered. “God has always provided for us.”

  That night before going to sleep, Jenny knelt beside her bed to pray. Her prayers were innocent and pure, never praying for herself but always for little Johnny, Mommy and Daddy. Lost in her prayers, she laid her head down on the bed and looked out the window of their first floor apartment at the snow falling from the darkened sky. Large flakes of snow floated into the alley that separated the apartment building where Jenny lived from Old First. Jenny’s eyes followed the snowflakes to the ground. The peacefulness of their descent caused Jenny to smile and her eyes to sparkle.

  Jenny lifted her head and looked intently out the window. She saw something red and green lying in the snow. Curious, Jenny rubbed a circle on the frosted windowpane. After looking back at the bedroom door, she slid the window open, scampered out into the snow, grabbed the object and then scrambled back into her room. Brushing the snow from her pajamas, she examined the object in her hand.

  “It’s a candle!” she exclaimed. “The kind they use in church on Christmas Eve.” The candle still had the colorful red and green wax shield on it. It had never been lit.

  Jenny opened her bedroom door and quietly went to the kitchen. She lit her candle by the pilot light on the stove. She grabbed a small dish as she left the kitchen. Walking ever so slowly back to her room, making sure the flame on the candle did not go out, she placed it on the window ledge, securing the candle firmly onto the dish with wax drippings. Then she knelt by the window to finished her prayers.

  “Thank you, dear God, for this little candle. Please make it shine as bright as a Christmas tree filled with a thousand lights ... so Santa Claus can see it and bring Johnny a present for Christmas. Amen.”

  Jenny hurried into her bed next to her sleeping brother’s crib, never doubting for a moment that God would hear and answer her prayers. However, Jenny didn’t know that God was not the only one who heard her prayers. Mr. Ellis, the man who had thrown the candle down as he left the church, overheard Jenny’s prayer through her cracked bedroom window. Standing motionless, he stared at the little candle flickering in her dark and gloomy window, his mind filled
with memories of the past.

  ***

  This was not his first Christmas Eve at Old First. He was there the year before. But then he was not alone. The person who brought him was the woman he was to marry. It was her church. It was her excitement about Old First and its ministry to the neighborhood that fascinated him so. Why would anyone so young, alive and talented find such a place appealing, he often wondered. But he never questioned her about it. She was too special to him.

  To him she was a fair, delicate flower, possessing a rare beauty. He was so captivated by her; anything she did he adored, anything she asked of him he did devotedly. He came that first Christmas Eve and pretended that the church, the people and the neighborhood were as special as she thought them to be. It was a wonderful Christmas Eve. He remembered how they walked from Old First holding hands and still holding those little candles - she feeling ever so close to God, he feeling ever so close to her.

  He now stood alone, one Christmas Eve later. She was no longer with him. They would never share another Christmas Eve again. She had died that spring and something of him had died with her. He had become cynical and bitter. In desperation he had returned to Old First hoping to relive the few precious moments he had with her that night. But the memories were painful and the little candle that he threw into the snow was something which filled him with contempt and anger. And yet he came back, looking for it! Why?

  These things had been important to her and he would not do to her in death what he did not do while she lived. For her, he came back. For her, he searched the snow for the little candle. He found the candle, not in the snow, but burning in a little girl’s bedroom window. And he heard the prayers of that little girl, prayers said to a God he had concluded was as dead as the person he had loved more than life.

  A light crept into Jenny’s room. Mr. Ellis stepped back into the shadows, away from the window. A figure walked over to Jenny... it was Jenny’s mother. As she leaned down to kiss her children good-night, she noticed the flickering candle. She remembered her husband’s words that she had overheard. She put her hands to her face. The light of the candle glistened in the tears streaming down her cheeks. She too prayed aloud, a mother’s prayer, asking nothing for herself but only for her children. She was a mother who knew well the harsh realities of life but still hoped and believed in miracles.

  Wiping away the tears she leaned down to blow out the candle. She paused. She looked upward and out the window. “Just foolishness!” she whispered as she secured the window and walked out of the room, leaving the candle burning.

  Mr. Ellis stood silently in the snow. Something told him to go home. Better the little girl learn about life, about how cruel it can be and dismiss this foolishness about Santa Claus, God and miracles, he thought to himself. Yet something within him, still clinging to the belief that life was more than what was seen, held him there. He remembered how his Pauline talked about a God who works through people and how His greatest miracles were those He accomplished using His people.

  “Christmas!” she had proclaimed, standing not far from the spot he now stood, “is such a miracle. Unless there were people willing to work with Him, that first Christmas would never have happened.”

  He was surprised at how much of what she said he still remembered. It was as if she was standing there with him. Once again he looked at the flickering candle and the shadows of the children huddled in their beds. He said to himself softly, “I’ll do it! I’ll do it!”

  ***

  Gus was a favorite among the other workers. His willingness to work on holidays allowed his fellow workers to be at home with their families. While everyone wondered why Gus was willing to work holidays, no one ever asked. Confronted with such a question, he just might up and decide that he didn’t want to work holidays anymore. So the others just smiled and wished Gus a Merry Christmas, as they rushed home to be with their families.

  Once, Gus had a family to go home to, but that was long ago. His dear wife, Mary, had been gone for ten years. His children were all grown now with children of their own. Scattered throughout the country, they wrote occasionally and sent the usual assortment of baby pictures, graduation and wedding announcements. Gus didn’t encourage them. He maintained that the cost of transportation kept them apart. Besides, young people do not want someone old around them, someone who would just get in their way.

  He still missed them, especially at Christmas. Christmas! What excitement there had always been... the laughter, the little arms around his neck, the hugs and kisses. What memories. But Gus didn’t want to think of those Christmases past. He worked Christmas so he wouldn’t have time to think. Especially Christmas Eve... that was the worst time of all!

  As Gus made his way from one part of the plant to the other, trying to blot out Christmases past by keeping busy, a pounding noise filled the empty factory. Gus paid little attention to it. “Just the wind,” Gus mumbled under his breath as he continued his rounds.

  The noise became louder and louder. It was someone knocking at the rear door. “I had better see who’s making all that racket,” he said to himself. Opening the door, its safety chain still secure, Gus asked the stranger to identify himself. It was Mr. Ellis. “I saw your lights and someone moving about. You’re the first sign of life I’ve seen in four hours,” Mr. Ellis said, shivering and snow covered.

  “Four hours!” replied Gus. “You mean to say you’ve been out in that stuff for four hours? Are you crazy?”

  “Yes. Yes, you may say that I am,” Mr. Ellis said dejectedly.

  Gus could tell by Mr. Ellis’ speech and dress that he was not the type to rob old men on Christmas Eve.

  “Come on in, man, before you catch pneumonia!” Gus said as he unchained the door.

  “Pull up a crate,” said Gus, “and warm your hands.” Gus pushed the small heater closer to Mr. Ellis. “It ain’t much but it’s better than being outdoors.” Mr. Ellis nodded his head in agreement.

  “What brings a man such as yourself out at this time of night and in such a neighborhood?” Gus inquired.

  “Oh,” replied Mr. Ellis, “a tiny candle and a little girl’s prayers.” Mr. Ellis then told Gus about Jenny and the prayers he had overheard. Gus pulled out his large red handkerchief and wiped his eyes and nose.

  “This is the draftiest place,” he said.

  “Where can I find any toys on Christmas Eve - no, Christmas day, it’s one o’clock in the morning,” Mr. Ellis said, shaking his head in despair.

  “You’ve come to the right place,” replied Gus. “I think I can help you out.”

  “You can?” said Mr. Ellis.

  “Yes, I can,” said Gus confidently. “My bag full of memories will do quite nicely.”

  Mr. Ellis asked Gus if he really understood what he was looking for and Gus assured him he did. Gus put on his scarf and coat. Pulling his hat down over his ears, he secured the building and turned off the lights.

  As he and Mr. Ellis walked into the snow, Gus said that his boss owed him some time off and had encouraged him to take his vacation time over the Christmas holidays, so this seemed like a perfect opportunity.

  Gus led Mr. Ellis up and down the city’s streets and alleys until they came to an apartment building. They walked down to the basement apartment where Gus unlocked the door. He turned on a lamp and told Mr. Ellis to be seated. Gus took off his hat, loosened his scarf and pulled a kitchen chair over to a closet. Reaching up high into the closet he pulled out a large, lumpy bag, tied neatly at the top with a red velvet ribbon.

  Gus placed it at his feet as he sat on the sofa. He looked down at it. Tears came to his eyes as he untied the ribbon. He said that for thirty years the ribbon had never been untied. He pulled the bag down around the contents inside. There, cushioned by the bag, was an assortment of toys.

  One by one, when his children outgrew them, he repaired their favorite toys and put them into the bag. He had intended to display them somewhere in the house when all hi
s children were grown. They would be wonderful memories for him and his wife. But then she died and, deprived of sharing the autumn years with her, he kept the toys bundled up, not wanting to have such memories alone.

  He had been tempted on several occasions to send them to his grandchildren but something inside of him urged him to keep them. “Here is the answer to a little girl’s prayer,” he said confidently.

  Mr. Ellis asked Gus if he really wanted to part with something as precious and irreplaceable as these toys. Gus assured him it was the right thing to do. The two stood up and began preparing themselves to go back out into the snow. Mr. Ellis looked at his watch and expressed concern about getting back in time. It was now 3:00 a.m. Soon it would be light. Gus said, as he swung the bag over his shoulder, “Don’t worry. I have a friend who will drive us.”

  “At 3:00 a.m.! He must be a good friend,” responded

  Mr. Ellis.

  “Yes, a very good friend, a good friend to many,” replied Gus. “Don’t worry, he’s up most nights anyway.”

  ***

  They left Gus’s apartment, traveling a number of blocks through the blinding snow. At last they came to a little storefront mission. Mr. Ellis doubtfully inquired as to whether Gus’s friend, or indeed anyone, lived there.

  “Yes,” replied Gus, “He lives here. This is his life.”

  Opening the door, they entered. There before them was a room full of people sleeping everywhere; on cots, on the floor, huddled in the corner, poorly dressed, unshaven and unclean. Walking past these poor souls, the two came into another room. It resembled a chapel. Finally, they walked into a kitchen where the aroma of coffee and vegetable soup filled the air. A few people were sitting at a table. They didn’t look up. One person turned to look at the visitors. He wore an apron and was serving those seated.

  When he spotted Gus, his face lit up. “Gus, my old friend,” he exclaimed. He walked directly to Gus and gave him a big hug. Gus introduced Mr. Ellis, saying that they had known each other only a short while. The reason they were at the mission had to do with a tiny candle and a little girl’s prayers.

  Bob was intrigued. He called over his assistant and motioned for him to serve the tables. He invited the two men into a little room. It was the room in which he lived.