The Gift

The Gift

By John W. Vander Velden

 

The greatest you can ever receive, is not wrapped with fancy paper tied with a ribbon of silk. It cannot be found on a glass display in a department store. No, the greatest gift is wrapped in swaddling cloths found in a stable, lying in a manger.  And yet nothing -- absolutely nothing -- can compare with that gift.  No other thing you have ever received.  No other thing you could possibly hope for -- has the value of that special gift.

May the birth of Jesus -- the Savior of the world -- be part of your Christmas -- part of your life!

(106 Words)

Amos

Amos         12-18-2013

By John W. Vander Velden

Some call it a cozy room – others dingy.  The first glimpse of faded wall paper, with its once cheerful patterns now diminished to slight contrasts of brownish grays, or the worn coffee colored rug that shows pathways of frequent footsteps leading to and from closed doors, might fuel a person’s opinion.  The room is simply furnished with two green upholstered chairs that do not match by either color or style, a small round glass topped table that holds a lamp and a single shiny metal framed photograph of a woman, apparently in her thirties.  The space contains little else other than a brown porcelain covered Segler oil heater, burning ferociously, yet unable to completely chase the damp chill beyond the walls.  Behind the Segler, above the space that long ago would have been a fireplace, now filled with concrete painted beige to approximate the walls coverings,  stands a cream painted mantle with  a collection of small photographs,  two teenage boys and three young ladies of varying ages separated by small figurines, a white angel with pleading eyes, a black and white cat, that if one stared at that cat long enough it would seem to grin, and a boxer, the pup crouching down, face forward as if anticipating the toss of a ball for it to fetch.

The space is occupied by a single old man seated in a green chair.  Amos Fenton, dressed in a hand knitted red sweater, the boldest color in the room, over a deep green shirt, wearing olive colored work trousers and heavy grays socks.  The man sits motionless, his newspaper spread across his lap.  The paper does not hold Mr. Fenton’s attention for the man‘s eyes, face the mantle across the room.  Yet his gaze is further, not trapped by walls.  A few moments pass and Amos’ distant eyes begin to return to his surroundings.  Shaking his head ever so slightly the old man slides his fingers through the neatly combed stiff white hair, which may have thinned over the years but still covers his head.

Amos turns to his right and smiles as he views the picture at his elbow.  Gingerly he lifts the framed print and stares into the eyes of the woman’s image.  The old man draws a deep breath and allows it to slip out with a sigh.  He glances up to the pictures upon the mantle, allowing another sigh to slip past tight lips.  The old man whispers as once again he faces the photo he holds in shaky hands.   “I’m well my dear.  They’re fine – all healthy and happy, best I can tell – all five of them.”

Amos embraces the silver framed photograph of his wife Ellen, as a single tear slides down his cheek, and with a trembling smile, allows a few soft words to slip into the room.  “Yes, dear it’s been a good year – Merry Christmas my love.”

(483 Words)

Red and Blue

Red and Blue

By John W. Vander Velden

The night dark, heavy clouds hid the moon and stars.  The sound of the wipers slapping the large drops that fell, pounding the Valiant’s windshield and roof, and the hiss of tires on wet pavement made listening to the AM radio difficult.  Tom turned up the volume which only added to the din.  The two lane seemed more quiet than usual as he made his way home.  The ride, of twenty-five minutes, familiar, even in the dark.  Tired, he stared bleary eyed at the dark roadway, the headlights of a car that followed -- too closely -- did not aid.  Tom shoved the rearview mirror aside to keep the glare from his eyes.  But the light on his side of the windshield only added to the difficulty of driving.  “Pass or back off…”  Tom cursed to himself.  The answer -- red and blue, alternating intense flashes which filled the old Plymouth with color.

After Tom had at last found a space safe enough to pull over.  After the wet officer had tapped upon his window.  After Tom had shared his driver’s license and registration.  After the State Policeman told him it was a mistake…Tom pulled away slowly, his car yet filled with red and blue.  

(202 Words)

We Can Teach

We Can Teach                        

By John W. Vander Velden

What can we teach?  Who would learn?  How have we learned?  Who has nurtured?  Life -- its ups -- its down, the ultimate instructor, so many lessons learned by bruises most invisible. While we continue yearning for a gentle pat, recompense of task well done or achievements noticed.  Have we tools to spare others from the pains and disappointments?  Look into mirror’s reflection; see the truth in lines, wrinkles and hair long lost of color.  Do not life’s scars make us worthy instructors?  Does not our conscious demand, harsh lessons learned shared, that others need not pay penalties avoidable. Surely hands and voice driven by truth -- words spoken -- words scribed -- offer wisdom to the ears willing to hear.  We can not force deaf ears to listen.  We can not expect blind eyes to observe.  Yet surely around us are those open, wise enough to accept life’s lessons paid with our sweat -- our blood.  Therefore it becomes our obligation to teach any willing to learn and by our effort perhaps make the world a grain of sand better.  Yes, it remains with us.  We can teach!!!

 

(189 Words)