Stories from the Manger

By David Micheal Smith

Experience the magic, mystery and magnificence of the greatest holiday of the year, Christmas! No matter the season, these seven colorful short stories, three true tales and four fictional, will surely touch the spirit and tug at heartstrings for both child and adult alike.
Visit with an old homeless and hopeless man in New York City on Christmas Eve; can a miracle restore his will to live?
Share a poignant and tender evening around the Christmas tree with a dying father and his intriguing, uninvited guest.
Take a ride with a very special donkey, one present on the very first Christmas inside a simple, barren stable near Bethlehem.
And live the heartache and temptation of a struggling alcoholic who battles his liquid demons on the holiest of nights.
Each story will warm your being, and bring back precious memories of your own Christmases past. Stories From The Manger captures the festive flavor, the joyous atmosphere, and the sheer bliss and good will of the season. Youll yearn for snow and sleigh bells after spending time with Stories From The Manger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 26, 2001
• ISBN: 9781469721675

David Micheal Smith

David Michael Smith published his first novel, “The Invitation” (ISBN: 0-595-141-951), in December 2000, and continues to market the spooky, supernatural and religious thriller with book signings and Internet promotion. He is a graduate of the University of Delaware and works at Bank of America in Dover, Delaware as an Instructional Designer. David, 41, resides in Georgetown, Delaware with his wife Geralynn and their dog, Brandy. For more information, visit David at his web site: www.davidmichaelsmith.net

Book preview

Contents

FOREWORD

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

INTRODUCTION

CHRISTMAS EVE

AN UNLIKELY ANGEL

BALSAM FIR

TWO TREES

THE COLT

CHRISTMAS SPIRIT

CHRISTMAS WITH BILL W. AND DR. BOB

About the Author

NOTES

REFERENCES

To everyone who loves the sights, sounds and scents of

Christmas half as much as I do.

FOREWORD  

It has taken 15 years to complete the project you hold within your hands. It was a long journey with a myriad of pit stops, but I am quite proud of the end product, Stories From The Manger.

The trek began on a cold Christmas Eve night at the beach in the early 1980s as I sat alone in a destitute pizza parlor on an abandoned, planked boardwalk. I noticed a pitiful, freezing cat outside the door trying to gain access to the warmth of the restaurant. My heart sank at the image, and I immediately recalled Mary and Joseph, 2,000 years prior, seeking admission to the inn, only to be denied. Two decades later, I can still see the cat’s desperate face, and I’m haunted by the image.

When I searched for the animal later, it had vanished; I can only hope it found its ‘stable’ on Christmas Eve, and lived a good, full life. But that cat gave me an unexpected present that evening, the beginning of a story, one that I quickly outlined by morning, and later titled, Christmas Eve, the first of the seven stories contained within this book.

Out of the seven holiday tales included, three are true, one a miracle. The other four are total figments of my insane imagination. Several center on animals, some of God’s greatest creations and companions to the human race, while others examine family and race relationships, and the unexpected yet powerful impact strangers (angels?) have on our lives. My prayer is that as you read these magical, touching tales, you are blessed and inspired. But be warned; you may need a tissue or two on several narratives!

May the spirit of the Christmas season, with its precious message of peace on earth and goodwill to all mankind, reign within your heart always!

David Michael Smith

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS  

I would like to thank and credit the Microsoft Corporation for their kindness regarding the inclusion of the holiday clip art images contained within these pages. They are definitely the ‘bows’ on the ‘gifts’. All clip art is property of Microsoft Corporation and may not be reproduced or copied without their consent and permission.

I would also like to acknowledge the continual love and support of my family and friends, my church family at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, and my friends in Christ at the Delmarva Christian Writer’s Group in Georgetown, Delaware. And a special thank you to my wife, Geri, who remains my favorite gift from heaven. God bless you all!

And finally, thanks to the infant Jesus, and Mary and Joseph and the wise men and the angels, Santa and the elves, Rudolph and Frosty, Charlie Brown and the gang, the Grinch and Max, Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed and Clarence the angel, and Burl Ives and Edmund Gwenn, and Scrooge and Tiny Tim, and the guy who rings the bell next to the Salvation Army kettle at the shopping mall each December, and the kids in the Christmas pageant each year, and to Bing Crosby and everyone who merrily sings about snow, warm fireplaces and roasting chestnuts. Thanks for all of your memorable, awe-inspiring contributions to the Christmas holiday.

Isn’t Christmas truly the ‘most wonderful time of the year’?

INTRODUCTION  

I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the city of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger. Luke 2: 10-12

CHRISTMAS EVE  

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And the snow continued.

Millions of frosty flakes continued to fall gracefully upon the city of New York from the cloudy heavens above, generated from an Arctic storm moving south from the provinces of Canada. It was Christmas Eve night, a favorite season of many, when men and women call a collective truce with their fellow kind and make their yearly attempt at good will. It is a time when the world preaches the virtues of peace and kindness—a season when people claim no foes and a time when folks search their hearts, no, their very souls, for some sense of magic. For some, that magic is obtained in giving gifts, often spending far more than they can reasonably afford. The credit cards will be over extended until the following summer months, perhaps even longer. But for them, it is worth it. For them, it has to be. And for the merchants, sending out sale flyer after sale flyer, it is the time when the year’s highest earnings are achieved, a time when society is manipulated by clever marketing campaigns and advertisements. And a gullible public plays along, paying the price, over and over.

Christmas Eve, a night for peace and love, and a night to give and receive, but for others, well, for these people it is just another night.

***

The old man walked slowly from the dim shadows of a filthy alleyway, frozen precipitation silently touching down upon his tattered gray cap. He is small, short and balding, long overdue for a good, hot meal. His face owns many deep wrinkles, each with a different story to tell. His sea blue eyes seem to sparkle in the spotlight of a nearby street lamp, his pupils concealing a lifetime of memories.

He glances uncaringly at the passing vehicles as they slowly cut and slide their way through Manhattan’s slush filled streets. Hundreds of bundled up shoppers brush by the old man on their missions to purchase last minute holiday gifts. None seem to notice the silent, old man. None of them, in fact, even seem to be conscious of each other. The ‘hustle’ and ‘bustle’ of Christmas one might suppose. In the distance, sirens wail a woeful shrill marking the fact that crime has not vacationed, even on this precious night of nights.

Then, a speeding yellow cab rolled up and stopped by the old man. The cabby leaned out.

You looking for a ride, old man? the cab driver asked.

The old man shook his head.

Well, Merry Christmas anyway.

And then the driver left, his car quickly disappearing into an ocean of yellow and white. The old man watched the car, even after it was gone, then turned and began walking down the long, slick sidewalk. Around him were countless numbers of hurried members of humanity, all seeking a premeditated destination.

***

For a while the old man walked the snow-covered streets of New York’s most popular borough, eventually arriving at a large, crowded department store. The storefront was decorated in silver and gold ornaments, and thousands of flashing, blinking colored bulbs. A mechanical Santa Claus and a posse of robotic elves stood in the store’s wide display window, their heads and arms moving from battery powered stamina, their feet motionless. A large crowd stood transfixed in the reflection of the window’s pane, gazing upon the friendly scene with happy eyes. A bogus Saint Nick paced in front of the popular business ringing a noisy bell and encouraging shoppers to come inside to take advantage of a late holiday sale. The old man paused, then decided to enter the store.

Inside, people were moving about with rapid steps. Check out lines were long and disorganized, and frustration seemed painted on the faces of each participant. A young man in the back had been arrested for shoplifting, unable to afford gifts for his family. Suddenly, frightened and desperate, he escaped the clutches of his captors, exiting through the entrance and into the chilly night. His lucky moment arrived thanks to a small scuffle between shoppers fighting over a video game in the Electronics Department. Security officers were summoned to break the dispute up, thereby restoring order on this night of goodwill and harmony.

The Santa Claus inside was tired, utter exhaustion etched into his chubby face. He even snapped at a small, but annoying kid for taking too long during the revelation of his Christmas wish list. No matter how quickly the counterfeit Santa worked at the line, the children seemed to reproduce on the spot, with the line growing longer by the moment. The scene inside, the old man thought, was not a festive or joyous one, but one of unhappiness and grief. He looked about and studied their faces. Not one smile did he see. Not one voice of laughter. Only heavy sighs, a few profane words from tired people, and a general mood of disgust. The old man turned toward the exit and left.

Not long afterward, the old man happened upon a small, diner styled restaurant, located on a busy, hectic corner. A group of carolers from the local Episcopal Church stood close by and merrily sang Joy To The World. A neon sign hung in the café’s window advertising a complete turkey dinner special for only $5.95. The old man was hungry and cold. His last taste of food had been more than 24 hours ago. So, without further hesitance, he entered the place as the snow continued to accumulate outside.

The café, restored to capture the emotion of a 1950s aluminum encased diner, was quaint and warm. The waitress, however, was quite the opposite.

What do you want? she uncaringly blurted.

I’d like the special, the one in the window, he answered.

Alright, there’s a booth over there, she said, pointing. Grab a seat and I’ll be right with you. Oh, anything to drink?

Water, warm water please, the old man politely responded.

And with that she turned and walked away. The old man moved to his assigned booth and settled in. It felt so good to sit after his long walk in the