Amy Newmark - Chicken Soup for the Soul: Its Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas: 101 Tales of Holiday Love and Wonder

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Its Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

101 Tales of Holiday Love & Wonder

Amy Newmark

Published by Chicken Soup for the Soul, LLC www.chickensoup.com

Copyright 2019 by Chicken Soup for the Soul, LLC. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

CSS, Chicken Soup for the Soul, and its Logo and Marks are trademarks of Chicken Soup for the Soul, LLC.

The publisher gratefully acknowledges the many publishers and individuals who granted Chicken Soup for the Soul permission to reprint the cited material.

Front cover illustration courtesy of Shutterstock.com/MarinaMarkizova (MarinaMarkizova)

Back cover and Interior photo courtesy of iStockphoto.com/catinsyrup (catinsyrup) Photo of Amy Newmark courtesy of Susan Morrow at SwickPix

Cover and Interior by Daniel Zaccari

Distributed to the booktrade by Simon & Schuster. SAN: 200-2442

Publishers Cataloging-In-Publication Data

(Prepared by The Donohue Group, Inc.)

Names: Newmark, Amy, compiler.

Title: Chicken soup for the soul : its beginning to look a lot like Christmas : 101 tales of holiday love & wonder / [compiled by] Amy Newmark.

Other Titles: Its beginning to look a lot like Christmas : 101 tales of holiday love & wonder

Description: [Cos Cob, Connecticut] : Chicken Soup for the Soul, LLC, [2019]

Identifiers: ISBN 9781611599916 | ISBN 9781611592917 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Christmas--Literary collections. | Christmas--Anecdotes. | Gratitude--Literary collections. | Gratitude--Anecdotes. | LCGFT: Anecdotes.

Classification: LCC GT4985 .C455 2019 (print) | LCC GT4985 (ebook) | DDC 394.2663/02--dc23

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019939672

Changing your world one story at a time

www.chickensoup.com

Its Time to Count Our Blessings

Christmas Oranges

In every conceivable manner, the family is link to our past, bridge to our future.

~Alex Haley

E very Christmas, my mom would fill our stockings with little treats so my siblings and I could get up at the crack of dawn and my parents could sleep for a few extra hours. We were allowed to play with anything in our stockings as soon as we got up, but we had to wait for my parents to open our gifts from Santa and the family.

Our stockings were always overflowing with small toys and candies. At the very tip of the stocking, the very last thing that we would pull out was an orange. For years, I hated the tradition. It was disappointing to pull an orange out of my stocking after uncovering so many fun and delicious treats. An orange wasnt special. I could eat one any time of year, and it was just taking up room that could have been filled with more candy.

When I was thirteen, I finally asked my mother why she put oranges in our stockings. She sat down with me at the kitchen table and explained that my grandfather had grown up very poor. His father had a brain tumor that left him blind and unable to work, so his mother relied on welfare and donations from the church to take care of her seven children. Every Christmas, a local church donated a basket of fruit to their family. This was my grandfathers favorite day of the year because it was the only day he could eat fresh fruit. The oranges were his favorite because they tasted like sunshine. When he grew up, he always made sure to have a bowl of oranges around at Christmastime so he could share his favorite Christmas memory with his children.

When my mom finished telling the story, I felt ashamed. In my rush to collect as much candy as possible, I had forgotten to be grateful. Now the orange at the bottom of my stocking is a reminder to be grateful for the beautiful Christmases that my parents gave me and for the hard work they did that ensured I could have an orange any day of the year.

Erinn C.

The Coat Off My Back

Christmas is the season for kindling the fire of hospitality in the hall, the genial flame of charity in the heart.

~Washington Irving

I t was Christmas Eve, and wed just begun the drive home from my parents house in Pennsylvania. Our two children were bundled under coats and blankets in the back seat, singing along to Christmas carols on the radio, entertaining their daddy while he drove.

Visions of lasagna danced through my head. Tomorrow, my parents would make the one-hour journey to join us for lunch. I reviewed everything I needed to do before I could lay down my head for a much-needed rest. Homemade sauce had to go into the Crock-Pot. Wine had to go in the refrigerator. The kids would cuddle in front of holiday movies until they couldnt keep their eyes open or until the Santa Tracker said he was close. Once they were tucked into bed, Id spring into action: sweeping the main floors, scrubbing the bathroom, and setting out the good china all before Santa arrived. I had a lot to do to make it a perfect Christmas.

Barely five minutes into our ride, it began to snow. The heat in our truck was never quite enough, so I reminded the kids to snuggle under the extra blanket between them.

I zippered my heavy-duty outdoors vest. I slipped my hands into my pocket to get my mittens and hat. My fingers wrapped around something papery, and I mentally scolded myself as I slipped on my gloves. I never left cash in my pockets for fear of forgetting it.

Weve just got to take it slow, Dan remarked, carefully watching the road.

It was one more obstacle on our way to a perfect holiday. Why couldnt it wait until we got home? I asked myself silently.

As we came up to a turn, out of the corner of my eye I saw a man standing next to a gas station alongside the road and holding a large piece of cardboard.

Its not the kind of night to be stuck outside, my husband remarked.

The snow was falling heavily now, and the man was barely visible as we drove past.

Somewhere deep inside me, something instinctive and hurting rose up. I was doing the holiday all wrong; my priorities were completely out of whack.

Turn around! I shouted suddenly. The children went quiet. Right now, turn around.

My husband, having never heard me speak so firmly, carefully pulled into an empty parking lot and drove back.

I didnt know what I was going to do or say, but all my worries seemed insignificant as I got out of the car.