Category Archives: Uncategorized

Book Picnic

Uncategorized,

During the lazy days of summer, when the kids were young and I was old wanting to be young, We did something. On the days when the sun was warm but not hot, the sky was a deep blue with a few white puffs, we pulled a red wagon down the sidewalk, between two houses and the and over the bride to the library. How light and easily the wagon moved. Even over the bumps. Goldie skipped. Her brother ran. We were there in 5 minutes. It was the nicest thing in the world to walk to the library.

I parked the wagon inside the entryway. I knew the wagon wheel hobble would interrupt library quiet. As soon as we found ourselves in the children’s section, the three feasted our eyes all around us. Then, we were busy. Goldie went one way , took off one book and flipped through the pages. “Hmph” she said sounding a bit like Goldielocks after trying Papa Bear’s porridge. She pulled off three more books and finally found one to start her stack. Her brother had found every book with a train, car, truck, or animal and had nearly 10 books in a neat stack.

I picked up every unwanted book and put them in the “to be shelved” box. Then, I carefully slid by fingers down the spine of some picture books. “You must not judge a book by its cover” whispered nearby. Maybe once a twice it was the book itself saying so.

It surely was true for Goldie and her brother. Or was it? Goldie had flipped through pages of her choices. She must have known. Her brother, at least looked at the first two pages. I was in a hurry. The kids had already built a mountain of books. I needed to yank a few off the shelf and be done.

I pulled the wagon home with all my might. A few bumps scooted books off the wagon and onto the sidewalk.

“That’s mine!” Goldie cried. “And mine!” said her brother.

“Hold onto them. Home is just 20 steps away.”

I parked our load under the one shady tree in our front yard. Then I spread out a blanket. Goldie and her brother made their pile of books on each aide of the blanket. I brought out popcorn and lollypops.

For the next 30 minutes under the shady tree, we were in three different worlds. I had found a book about a girl who planted a tree. My eyes left the pages for a minute and looked up at the one that shaded us. Goldie was crunching on popcorn and floating her fingers around the bright colored illustrations of Jack and the Beanstalk. Goldie’s brother with lollipop red tongue and lips, had made it through half his stack already. Probably had the words memorized with one read.

Soon, they both had a stack of books at their side again. Tall and straight with no wobbling books at the top. Goldie stood up stretched and began to twirl around. “Fee Fi Fo Fun!” She cried. How did she know? I wondered. “Vroom!” cried her brother as he began chasing after a robin. He actually outran him. Perhaps foreshadowing of future days for him. I had only took in a few pages of my story. But I could dream on those for awhile. We took our books inside for an inside book picnic. Maybe the next book picnic would happen on a rainy day. But I had hoped that I was teaching both Goldie and her brother, that any day is a perfect day for a Book picnic.

A review: Autism what does it mean to me? by Catherine Faherty

Uncategorized, , ,

Once I asked Goldie, “What is autism?” To this day, I haven’t had a real answer from her. She’s lived with autism for nearly 18 years now, and today the word is still a mystery. Some of her friends have shared that it is their superpower. Some of them remember their diagnosis day and celebrate it like a wedding anniversary or a birthday. This only makes the mystery of autism seem more mysterious.

Before Goldi started high school, this big thick book was set in front of me.

“Have you ever read this book?” her teacher asked me.

“I’ve never seen it before. Is it good?” I said predicting that the answer would be a nod or a it’s pretty good.

“It’s a must read.” the teacher said.

I had read other must reads. But was skeptical that this workbook like book was a must. I preferred a testimony, a nice feel good story, or a book that was turned into a movie it was so good.

The book has twelve chapters and 479 pages. It is a textbook. It has workbook like features including blanks for various responses about autism, friendships, routines, communication, people, and other life topics. There are social stories, strategies, examples, and a wealth of information.

In the introduction, Goldi immediately circled among the list of other questions:

What does autism mean? She recorded a few facts about her, validating what was absolutely true about herself BESIDES having autism. The concept of identify first at the start is presented sensitively. The words a simple, descriptive, and invite the autistic person to freely choose how they would describe themselves knowing they have autism. Goldie started with “I am Goldie”.

Throughout the book, Goldie discovered more of who she was. What was especially surprising, is not that she is now able to define autism but instead she was able to understand who she was and how to better walk with courage on this journey being Goldie.

It has become a book on hand for relearning, equipping, and most of all celebrating what Goldie has known all along… “I am Goldie. ”

Stories for life on the Spectrum

Uncategorized, ,

The first sign of Saturday morning was the whisper of pages that came from Goldie’s bedroom. The whooshing page turning sounded a story’s beginning, middle, and end that captivated Goldie long enough for me to drink my morning cup of tea. Stories for Goldie were visits to the house of the five little monkeys, a picnic with Little Bear and friend, or a night on the phoroscaent sea. Storying for Goldie was life learning on the spectrum.

After an hour, I heard the door pop open. Goldie hopped out ready for the day.

“Hungry for breakfast?” I asked.

Goldie didn’t answer. She went on downstairs and began to play with her brother.

I peeked into her room. There was a mountain of books on her bed. The sagging mattress surely lost its spring . Nearly every book had been pulled off the middle shelf and arranged just so on the top of her bed. I loved children’s stories so, it didn’t take long for a whole bookshelf to be full and then overflow. I had hoped that Goldi was story girl just like I was. The stack of books on a sagging mattress, proved my wish came true.

I eyed each book spine and learned more about where Goldie had been in the wee hours of the morning.

Five Little Monkeys by Ellen Christelow. The perfect reminder of bed time routine. Bathe, get pajamas on, brush teeth, and … then jump on the bed! Routines were like a promise for Goldie. They should never be broken. They provided security and developed a sense of independence. Mundane as some are they must be done each day. Cute little monkeys taught her to smile, laugh, and pepper a routine with joy.

The Big Red Barn and Good Night Moon by Margaret Wise Brown. Goldie knew that the world was big but hidden inside were small but important discoveries just like finding a little pig learning to squeal in a Barn or a picture of a cow jumping over the moon.

Goodnight Gorilla by Peggy Ratham. Goldie always kept a watchful eye on that Gorilla. Just like she does when she sees someone who is doing something that stirs up a question inside. She learned to be observant and notice things that some overlook.

Pancakes for Breakfast by Tommie DePaulo. Goldie spoke gibberish. It was a foreign language no one could understand. But wordless book helped Goldie develop language she held inside for some time. And one day, she could say things, things that should be said, with feeling. Things said during a climatic moment that demanded attention. After the dog and cat spoil the old woman’s pancakes, Goldie learned what to say in such climatic moments: “Oh No! What a mess!” She did and it was always appropriate for her to say so.

Make Way for the Ducklings by Robert Mckloskey had a bright yellow cover. The pages were filled with life like illustrations that moved. I knew Goldie’s favorite part was not when the ducks crossed the street. But when officer Mike went to make a phone call to tell another officer to be careful the ducks were on their way. It was also when Mrs. Mallard waddled with an extra little wiggle. Goldie smiled and rested on both pages. Her look told me that she felt like all was well and right with the world. Sometimes she needed to know that and still does.

Officer Buckle was Goldie’s hero. She knew his rule making talent was useful. She knew it before anyone in the entire Napville School. Perhaps she knew she had talent. The world might be slow to recognize it. But it was there. It still is.

I wondered if Goldie would ever have some really truly friends. Amos and Boris gave me hope. All along the phosphorescent sea, underneath the sky glittered with stars, there was an unexpected friendship. A whale and a mouse would be the best of friends. Even if they would only be present for a very short time, it would be a forever friendship. Goldie patiently waited through the sophisticated vocabulary just because the words sounded so important. But also because they helped speak of a longing she had – a true friendship.

It was Little Bear that taught Goldie how to play. She didn’t know anything past putting dolls to sleep. But then, she was jumping in puddles, fishing with a tree stick, and stirring up cupcakes. All because of a fun, curious, little bear, whose friends knew to play because playing was living life at that age. Little Bear helped Goldie rest in times of play. She had not known the world of play for so long. Reading this story, finally helped her realize she was born to do it. after much ignorance of the fact that she was born to do it.

Stories for life on the Spectrum are not just any stories for Goldie. Just like for any reader, we pick up or put down a book for reasons only we know. But for Goldie, these are some that changed her. They are now a part of her life and always will be.

As she’s lived life on the spectrum, Goldie holds these stories dear. They taught her, shaped her, and helped her become who she is and who she will be later after more book mountains, more storying, and more living.

Wonderings about Autism

Uncategorized, , , ,

I have asked a lot of questions about autism. Some, in my learning, I have answered. Not in a “that’s a fact” way, but in a way that helps me stop asking that particular questions. Some, reside in wondering. Because when it comes to autism, it is a mystery. There is no real answer sometimes to the why, what, and how. Sometimes, that will always be the case with autism.

Is having autism a sin? Is it because I am a sinner who gave birth to a sinner? Did God purposely drop a stitch when He knit Goldie together in my womb because He had a purpose?

Does Goldie’s brain look different than mine? Aren’t all brains uniquely designed even though we all have the same parts but God uniquely put us together. Each brain is crafted wonderfully. So is Goldie’s brain all that different than mine?  

Do any nonverbal autistic people learn to talk without a computer or tablet? Are their voice boxes only capable of grunts and groans? Or is it like selective mutism where they are choosing not to talk because of fear, stress, or worry? I told a story to some nonverbal autistic kids. After telling it only two times, they were saying some of the words. Was that some sort of miracle?

Why do some autistic people say that autism is their superpower? What do they mean? Is it a self-esteem boost? Or is it a word that really describes who they are? Is there really something “super” about them like having an excellent memory, able to draw a detailed blueprint of the Smithsonian having seen it only once, or like having an enormous file cabinet of facts inside of their brain. Goldie has never said her autism is her superpower. I wonder why? 

How do you convince people that if you have meant one autistic person who have met one autistic person. That’s all.  “I just know that they are autistic” is something I heard a lot. Especially as a teacher. But this label is not the one for all! Right? If you have bitten into one apple, there are hundreds of other apples to bite into as well.  They all have a different color- not just red. They all have a taste and a texture- not just crunchy. And not all apples are made for apple pie either! 

Like cancer, is autism doomed to have no cure and only treatment? It is a life long condition. So it is a life long journey. But if we can send a guy all the way to the moon, why can’t we find a cure for either one? Would those with autism want to be cured? 

I wonder what people who live and love someone with autism would say to a person who does not know anyone with autism? It seems like if you live with someone with autism, it becomes so real, so natural, you almost can’t imagine it any other way.  People who live, love, and care for someone with autism, are so used to this way of life, they might not even see the word “autism” tattooed on their forehead. They just know them. They have a name not a label. This is our daughter “Goldie,” not this is our autistic daughter, Goldie. 

I wonder what people with autism are thinking or imagining when they see other people without autism doing they don’t do? Goldie doesn’t drive yet. She doesn’t take AP classes to earn college credit. She may not every marry. Do those who have autism look at all the neurotypical kids without autism and wish, dream, and hope, they can do the same things one day even if not now? 

Scaredy Cats

Uncategorized, , ,

Goldie stepped through the front door and into the kitchen. The floor creaked.

“Who is there?” said a cracked voice.

“Momma J ! It’s me!” Goldie stretches her arms out wide with an ear to ear smile.

Momma J hobbles in the kitchen and inches towards Godie until she could touch the tip of her nose.

Goldie eyes looked at though they would pop out of her face.

“Oh! There you are!” said Grandma.

“Where is the cat?” Goldie’s eyes became search lights. Momma J was the only one that liked Benny. Momma J was the only one that Benny liked. Goldie was never going to like him.

He creeped along and pounced. His mean yellow eyes made her heart race. So every time she came to Grandma’s House.

Momma J didn’t answer Goldie. She went back into the living room and sat down in a soft rocker. Goldie peered from behind the kitchen wall. Benny sat on Momma J’s lap twirling his tail until it finally stilled and tucked under his back legs. His mean yellow eyes blinked and blinked until they disappeared.Momma J slid her hand from the top of Benny’s head all the way down his back. Soon, her own blue eyes disappeared too.

“There, there,”Momma J said.

Goldie watched her pet Benny up and down his back. She rocked him back and forth and wore a closed smile.

“Are you going to read your story to Momma J?” I asked wishing Goldie’s grip on my arm would loosen so that the blood circulation would flow freely.

“No, I am scared.” Goldie whispered. “Benny doesn’t like stories.”

Momma J rocked and rocked then she sighed and said,

“I remember when I was a little girl. I would bundle up my little kitty cat and put her in a baby stroller. Then we would go of a walk down the sidewalk.”Momma J looked out the big window and seemed to really see herself walking the cat down the street in a baby carriage.”

Goldie’s grip on me loosened Goldie looked far away. Perhaps she could see the girl walking her cat down the sidewalk.

“Goldie has a good story to read to you.” I told Momma J, “Goldie why don’t you sit in a chair right next to Momma J and read it.”

I pried Goldie’s fingers off of my arm and slid a chair right next to the rocker. Then I nudged her forward. Goldie hovered over the chair and then sat down with a thump.

Benny popped open his eyes and flew off Grandma’s lap. Goldie grabbed onto my arm again this time her nails dug into my skin feeling very much like cat claws.

“Oh dear! Oh dear!” Momma J stood up and shuffled around looking in every direction.

“I guess Benny is scared too.” I told Goldie

“What is HE scared of?” Goldie crunched up her eyebrows.

“He’s of us. We are strangers to him.” I prodded Goldie’s fingers off my arm again.

“He likes Momma J!” Goldie insisted still standing as though her shoulder was glued to mine.

“Of course he does!” I nodded.

Goldie didn’t say anything but her eyes told me she understood. Goldie wasn’t the only scaredy cat.

“Oh dear!” Momma J was walking in circles all around the house.

Goldie looked at her and pressed her lips together. Then she left my side and followed her. She used her own searchlight eyes to look in every nook and cranny for Benny.

Benny couldn’t been seen in any room of the house.Momma J was in tears. Goldie went back to each room twice, then stopped in her tracks in the den. With her head resting on her shoulder, she said, “There he is!”

Goldie pointed to a place in between the cushions on the couch. Benny sat there in the dark couch like cave looking at us with his yellow eyes. Goldie didn’t grab my arm or dig her nails in it. Her bright blue eyes met his bright yellow eyes and they both smiled.

“There, there, Benny,” Goldie said. “Come on, It’s ok.”

Papa J came in and put his arm around Goldie.

“My, My, looks like our little scaredy cat has found a good hiding place.” He bent down on his knees, scooped up Benny, and placed him Grandma’s arms.

Momma J carried him to the rocker and began to stroke his fur from his head all the way down his back. Benny made curls in the air with his tail, then stopped as he closed his eyes.

Goldie sat down in a chair next to Grandma. and opened up her book.

But she didn’t read the words, she read her own story.

“Once upon a time there was a girl named Goldie. One day she bundled up her kitty and put her in a doll carriage. Then she went for a walk down the sidewalk. “

“Yes!” said Grandma smiling with her eyes closed. “I remember.”.

“There, there Benny. There, there. ” said Goldie as she reached out two fingers to stroke Benny’s back too.

Momma J smiled. Benny’s eyes were closed and he smiled. No one was scared.

The Most Important thing about Autism

Uncategorized

The most important thing about autism is that it is a mystery. No matter who says what, no one really knows a real answer to why someone is born with autism. There are all kinds of “guesses”: It’s in the genes, It’s environmental, It is because of vaccinations. The most important thing about autism is it is a mystery!

The most important thing about therapy is that “one size” does not fit all. There is speech therapy, occupational therapy, social work therapy, ABA therapy. floor time therapy, and even eating therapy! But not everyone needs ALL that therapy. So that most important thing about therapy is that “one size” does not fit all.

The most important thing about school, is that you need to have another cheerleader. Everyone needs a cheerleader. Be on the lookout for at least one. If there is one there surely another. They can be a teacher, a classmate, or the custodian. School is hard enough when you have autism. So the most important thing about school, is that you need a cheerleader.

The most important thing about a peer to peer is that it is a blessing to both! Sure, the peer without autism thinks they have a lot to teach the person that has autism. They think they can help them in a a lot of ways. And they can … BUT little do they know, that their autistic peer, is a teacher too. They can help them grow and change too. So, the most important thing about peer to peer, is that it is a blessing to both!

The most important thing about someone who is nonverbal, is that they do communicate. They just have a unique way of communicating. It is up to the talking person to find out how they communicate. It could be with smiling eyes. It would be by pointing, It could be a kind of scream. But the most important thing about someone who is nonverbal, is they DO communicate.

The most important thing about the senses, is that there are five. We may not use all five because we can’t. We may have preferences too. But one person who uses all five senses, and another person uses only 2, can still live in this world and maybe even be friends. The most important thing about the senses, is that there are five.

The most important thing about parenting a child with autism, is that you love them. Right? You love them. They are yours to raise. They are in fact a gift. Sometime you have to just enjoy your autistic child for who they are. And know , that they are changing you for the better. The most important thing about parenting a child with autism, is that you love them. And .. maybe they don’t say it, or show it. But one day, you will know, that they really do… love you too!

PROM

Uncategorized, , , ,

The fanciest dress she had ever seen was hers. It was pink and covered with jewels. Goldie immediately spread her arms out and did a small twirl when she found herself inside the dress. Her smile looked bigger and brighter than the Queen of England’s. We combed her hair, added a few rosy touches to her face, and added some extra jewels. 

“Here, are you glass slippers,” I said handing her some sparkling flip flops I had bought for her last summer. She had never worn them before. 

“Mom! They are not glass slippers,” Goldie declares.

“I know but they might as well be.” I said placing them in front of her feet.

Goldie lifted her dress slightly and slipped the flip flops on one by one. She hadn’t worn them once. But they fit perfectly. Just like the ones the fairy godmother had magically appear on Cinderella’s feet. Goldie lifted her dress again and glided over to a chair in front of the window and looked out. Her dress skirt draped perfectly all around her. 

Goldie didn’t look sad. She didn’t look scared or nervous. Her hands rested on her lap. She just looked out into the day that would soon turn into evening. She was still for many silent minutes. 

Goldi had once been so bouncy. She would run through the kitchen, living room, dining room and hallway with some bright green flip flops on and a hot pink tutu.  She would sit on a swing for hours and fly to the sky with bare feet. She would twirl around in her pretend dress up Cinderella dress and then crash to the ground with a belly laugh. Now, she was still. Her head looking out and her eyes looking so intently at a dream.

I stood in the doorway and tried to be as still as Goldie. My heart was keeping me from feeling relaxed as Goldie seemed to be. Seeing Goldie so still was so beautiful. I have seen brides look the same right before they walk down the aisle. My mind wandered out into the day too.

This was the first real Cinderella moment in her life. The first prom that she would attend looking more and more like Cinderella than she had ever before. As a young woman, we have dreams of wearing our Cinderella dresses especially the one that we wear when we are the bride walking down the aisle to our groom. But for Goldie, that moment doesn’t seem possible.

Yet, it does seem possible. Because as she sat there, I did see a bride! Through all of her high school years, her concerts, her classes, her dances, …all those times when things were fancy, something ever so magical was happening – more magic than fairy godmother could do. A miracle was in the works. This Cinderella of mine was getting ready as a bride waiting for her Groom.  One day, He will come, and she will be ready. 

“For the wedding of the Lamb has come, and his bride has made herself ready. Fine linen, bright and clean, was given her to wear.”  Revelation 19:7

The biggest 100

Uncategorized, , , ,

Last year, during Christmas, Goldie met a girl named Wanda. She so poor she only had one dress. But Wanda said she had 100 dresses. The girls laughed at her as they stared at her plain blue dress that she wore everyday to school. One girl had a nice red velvet one. Another girl had a silky green one. Day after day, Wanda would tell them she had 100 dresses. The girls would laugh at her.

“I do too!” Wanda declared.

“I don’t even have 100 dresses!” said a rich girl.

Then one day at school, Wanda’s desk chair was empty. The teacher found a large envelope with a note attached.

“She’s moved away. ” the teacher shared, “Wanda, has moved to the city. Her mother says she won’t be teased there.”

All the girls watched as the teacher opened up the envelope and passed out a picture to each girl.

“It’s my silky green dress!” cried one and I am wearing it!”

“I am wearing my red velvet one! It looks just like me!”

The girls realize, Wanda really did have 100 dresses. She really did line them all up in the closet. She thought not only of the dress but of the girl who wore it. She noticed them all and took care to remember.She had called them friend.

Goldie remembers Wanda. She feels sorry that Wanda was laughed at. She feels even more sorry that she only had one dress and not 100. Then she goes into her room and closes the door. All is quiet for hours. I know that she is in there because I can see a little bit of her shadow in the space between the door and the floor.

Why does Wanda touch Goldie’s heart and mine? This storybook character has lived in many girls’ lives but maybe only for a short time. They have lots of friends. They don’t have to WORK to get friends. They just win them over naturally. They come and they go and then they make new friends. Wanda and Goldie think the same when it comes to friends.

When Goldie is away, I sneak into her room. There are stacks of sketch books underneath her drawing table. I pick up the one on the top. Goldie will know I was here if I put the book back in the wrong place. I carefully turn the pages-

The first girl smiles at me:

Ada. Goldie has written at the top. Some girls wear too short of a dress in my opinion. But Goldie knows Ada and she sees “pretty”.

Then I see another: Eva

Eva is wearing her party ballet dress. Goldie has seen her doing ballet many times. Goldie can’t fly across the stage without falling over. But Eva can and Goldie watches with wonder.

And another: Maralisa. She is all smiles all the time. She has her own fun and funny dress to wear each day depending on her heart beat.

The book pages are wrinkled, worn, and full of dresses and friends who wore them.

There are more than a 100. The next book in the pile are full of still more. Surely if I spent the day counting there would be more than a 1000 dresses and the girls who wore them. These girls have been seen by Goldie and remembered. Friends with them or not.

Goldie has at least 100 dresses, all in a book. She will always have them and remember the girls who wore them. Just like Wanda. Only Goldie is still drawing dresses and the girls who wore them. Friend or not.

When it snows….

Uncategorized, , ,

When it snows, I remember the winter I felt swallowed up. After a long night of the wind roaring, and singing, Snow had buried our house. My bedroom window showed a white nothing outside world. It looked that way through every window of the house. No street lamp. No house across the street. No driveway. No mailbox. No trees. Only white. It was the realest, wildest winter I can remember.

Outside in the cold white, everything was hidden- including me up to my neck. There I was in my. own front yard, and yet I really I didn’t know where I was. The bushes, the place where the grass ended and the driveway started, and the steps to my front door, were all erased. Playtime that winter was all about discovering and exploring. We could do things that we had never done before and never did again. We made forts big enough to fit three people inside. We sled off the roof of our house. We didn’t look before we crossed the street. We made a whole family of snow people. We could look out for miles from the tops of snow piles taller than Abraham Lincoln.

For two long weeks, I wondered. I wondered if I would ever see the green grass again. I wondered if the tree in my front window would stretch taller toward a sunny sky, wake up, and get dressed in green. I wondered if I would ever see the robin again singing just outside my window, or bobbing around in the green grass. I wondered if the tulips that grew along the sidewalk would poke up.

We had a state of emergency for the first time in my life. At age 10, that meant my dad and three other neighbor dads had to walk a few miles to the grocery store in a sled because there was no food in the house. There was were no cars on the road. Who knew if there was food for sale at the grocery store?. When they turned the corner, I wondered if we would see them again.

The blizzard happened in January. But it took until late April for the trees to dress up in green. The grass was all sloshy. But the green got deeper with the sunshine. The blades were thick. The tulips had tripled. And the robin did come back and build a nest right in the tree outside my front window, laid three eggs, and one spring morning, I heard singing again and I didn’t think a wink about what had happened just a short time ago. Everything had been swallowed up by spring.

Naughty , Nice, and a Newborn

Uncategorized, ,

Right at the toe of my Christmas Stocking, something round bulged out. It couldn’t be! I thought. I haven’t been that bad. There were several sweaty moments of waiting for my parents to wake up and join us extreme early birds that Christmas morning. Was I so naughty that Santa left me a lump of coal?

I began to recount all my naughtiness of days passed. I had screamed at my brothers for messing up my room. I had told a lie to my teacher that I didn’t write Bruce loves Holly true love always on Holly’s math paper. But I really did write that. I told one friend I wouldn’t play with her just because and another friend that she was my new best friend. I had taken a neighbor’s brand new bike for a ride without even asking. Yes, I had been very naughty. I was going to get what I deserved.

But, I had done some very nice things to show I was really a good girl. I had set the dinner table every time my mother asked me to without complaint. I had kept my room clean. I had taken the dog out into cold night while others were asleep. I didn’t watch too much television and instead read a book. I had practiced my piano piece many times before the Christmas Eve Service. Surely all of those good things made up for the bad things.

At the toe of my stocking, I found. something round, sweet smelling and orange. I pressed that glorious ball of fruit against my nose and could taste its juice. Inside a long rectangular box, I found the doll of my dreams. Her hair smelled of cinnamon and grew longer with one button and shorter with the turn of a knob. I’d been a nice girl after all.

It’s a mystery how that Christmas was still merry and most of the Christmases after that. Well over half a century of Christmases, and I’ve yet to receive a lump of coal. Yet, a lump of hard, dirty, black coal is what I deserve, but have never received. How can this be?

Because in a dirty place where perhaps lumps of coal might have made a small fire. That fire was made to warm a newborn baby. That baby was absolutely perfect. He born to save us from being so naughty and help us to be nice, even one day absolutely perfect just like Him.

That gift alone made should have makes a Christmas merry just as it makes it now.