The Book of Christmas Virtues Read Free

Drive,” Briana responded like an All-Star point guard. The nine-year-old dished out assists like a mini–Magic Johnson. In notes attached to her generous gifts for other kids, she wrote, in neat printing that would make her teacher proud, a message that should make her parents even prouder:
    I saw your wish list in the paper and I wanted to help. I know how important it is to help others. So this year I saved money by collecting recycables (sic). So here I give to you: 5 basketballs, 2 footballs, 2 soccer balls, 1 volleyball, 1 bag of baseballs, 1 bag of softballs. I hope this helps.
    Happy holidays,
Briana Aoki
    Her generosity kicked off a heartwarming campaign of kids helping kids in need.
    As a result, ten-year-old Sarah and eight-year-old Mitch emptied “The Jar.” Kept on the family’s fireplace hearth, it collected pocket change, some chore money and even coins found in the laundry. Sarah chose a soccer ball and Mitch selected a football to buy and share.
    Professional tennis players Mike and Bob Bryan, identical twins, served up a donation of twenty-five footballs and one hundred top-of-the-line basketballs. Others stepped forward, too.
    The life lesson here is this: A lot of great kids find joy in giving and joy in sharing—loose change in a jar, wages for chores, allowance money, coins from recycling—just to make a difference. A big difference. A difference of . . .
    397 basketballs
218 footballs
178 playground balls
161 soccer balls
104 baseballs
29 softballs
26 cans of tennis balls
14 volleyballs
    GRAND TOTAL: 1,127 balls—and smiles
—for kids in need this
Christmas morning.
    Woody Woodburn

The Debut
    â€œMom, where’s the roll of butcher paper?” JoAnn asked as she rummaged in the kitchen drawer for scissors and tape. Off she trotted down the hall, clasping the items.
    Gathered for our family Christmas party, all three generations had finished eating. Now, the little cousins eagerly left parents and grandparents behind to begin preparations for the annual nativity pageant. Sequestered in the far recesses of the house, the youngsters plotted behind closed doors.
    Grateful for peace and quiet, we adults basked in the festive glow of the fire, nibbled remnants of our delicious dinner and continued chatting. We felt no need to hurry our budding geniuses, tickled that they found delight in planning this project together.
    An occasional burst of dialogue erupted through the open door as first one then another child was dispatched on a crucial errand. A jar of craft paint, then a wide paintbrush disappeared into their inner sanctum. Intense forays commenced throughout the house as armloads of towels, bathrobes, scarves, bed sheets, belts and jewelry joined their stash. Giggles and whispers intensified as their conspiracy continued.
    We knew the project must be coming together when they mounted an intense search for bobby pins, large safety pins, paper clips, even clothespins—anything to hold costumes and props in place. Everyone’s anticipation heightened as the cast and crew finished their preparations.
    When the designated spokesperson called for our attention, a hush fell over the room.
    Two stagehands wrestled a long, butcher-paper poster and, with copious lengths of tape, secured it to the wall. Emblazoned in bright paint it read:
    Bethlehem Memorial Hospital
    The makeshift stage became a busy reception area of the hospital. One bossy cousin greeted newcomers, summoned aides and kept employees scurrying. Instead of halos, “nurse-angels” wore folded-paper caps with red painted crosses. They assessed each case, wielding their make-believe stethoscopes and thermometers before sending patients off to imaginary treatments.
    Mary, endowed with a plump throw pillow, entered, leaning on Joseph’s sturdy arm for support. Rejected by the insensitive innkeeper, they found a warm welcome at Bethlehem Memorial where one escort whisked Mary off to delivery