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The children sat up eagerly, their eyes bright in anticipation, while their father read on: вІ

And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling clothes, and laid Him in a manger . . . вІ

ItвІЂЂЂs our custom to read the story from St. Luke on Christmas Eve,вІ he said, and without another word he began:

The bridge on Caney Creek is out. You are welcome to spend the night with us,вІ the man said. And though we told them we thought it was an imposition, especially on Christmas Eve, they insisted. After we had visited a while longer, the man got up and took the Bible from the mantle. вІ

A woman with a lamp in her hand stood in the doorway of an old house; a boy of about twelve and a little girl stood beside her. We went in soaked and dripping, and the family moved aside in order that we might have the warmth of the fire. With the volubility of city people, my husband and I began to talk, explaining our plans. And with the quietness of people who live in the silence of the woods, they listened.

As we waited I sensed we would not get to the farm that night to celebrate Christmas with our family. We were sitting there, miserable and dejected, when I heard a knocking on my window. A man with a lantern stood there beckoning us to follow him. My husband and I splashed after him up the path to his house.

We were well over half way to our farm in East Texas when the storm broke. Lightning flashed, thunder crashed and a tree fell with a great ripping noise. When the rain poured in such a flood that we could not see the road, my husband drove on to what seemed to be a bit of clearing deep in the piney woods.

A Collection of Christmas Stories : The Lightsome Life | Tamarah Bartmess | SimplyHealed | doTERRA Essential Oils | Holistic Weight Loss | Emotional Healing | Mind Body Spirit | Mindset