The Book of Christmas Virtues by Jack Canfield

perfect.
    Except, maybe their voices.
    â€œSi-i-lent night,” the little ones serenaded.
    â€œHo-o-ly night,” their sweet voices floated and filled the room.
    â€œAll is calm . . .” Sweeping the stage with a glance, I nodded in agreement. All was calm. And perfect.
    Just like them.
    By the end of the performance, I figured the gigantic lump in my throat might disfigure me for life. But, hey, I would learn to deal with it.
    â€œMiss Whitley! Miss Whitley!” Matthew held onto his lopsided crown with one hand and a shoebox with the other. “My mom and dad came to see me! Both of them!”
    â€œBoth of them?” I marveled. I knew a neighbor brought lonely little Matthew to Sunday school each week. His divorced parents didn’t have time.
    â€œMiss Whitley,” he tugged my arm for attention, “can I be in your class again next year?”
    Ahhh, what a cute little fella.
    And I agreed. On the spot.
    â€œAnd, uh . . . Miss Whitley . . . thanks.” He shoved the shoebox toward me. “For you.” He ran to join his parents while I lifted the lid.
    Oops.
    But even as I stared at the ugly gift inside—aren’t all grasshoppers ugly?—I recognized the love in a little boy’s gratitude.
    Someone walked near me and whispered, “God bless you, Miss Whitley, and thank you.”
    I glanced up at Mr. Cute and shot him a foolish smile.
    â€œThank you, ” I said. And meant it.
    Sharon Whitley Larsen

It’s in the Mail
    Spend some quiet time recalling the people who have impacted your life. Consider your first boss, your last roommate, Little League coaches and the high school janitor. Give some thought to religious leaders, best friends, over-the-fence neighbors, reliable garbage collectors, elderly aunts, music instructors, college professors and old classmates. Think outside the holiday box!
    Next, choose four—one person per week—to acknowledge during December.
    Under each of their names, list how they affected your life. Did she alter your course? Did he set a fine example? Did they help you through a crisis?
    Now, send handwritten notes of appreciation—long ones. Be specific. Tell them why they matter and, above all, remember to say,“Thank you.”

By Leaps and Mounds
    You’ve heard it said; we all have. The odds are good that you’ve even said it yourself at one time or another: “Seeing is believing.”
    In the movie, The Santa Clause, Elf Judy put it another way: “Seeing isn’t believing; believing is seeing.”
    And, of course, the Bible repeats the theme in renowned poetic perfection: “Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1).
    The world runs on faith. Wispy, yet tenacious. Universal, but personal. Effortless and, sometimes, arduous. Incorporating this virtue into our lives draws us into a larger, divine order.
    Defined as “believing” and “trusting,” faith is—above all else— an action, of a crystal mountain lake. one we practice nearly every moment of our lives. Our belief or trust is automatic on the most basic human level. In a secular sense, we live by faith every day—from the magnificent to the mundane—by relying on the goodness of mankind, the principle of gravity, the diagnoses of physicians, even the descriptions in an encyclopedia.
    On a more spiritual level, faith means taking chances. And nowhere is that more obvious than watching a child. Any child. Because that’s where faith shines brightest—in a childlike heart.
    Like Diane’s.
    After bouts of friendly water warfare, showing off their underwater handstands and playing shark, the kids were excited that their dad offered to take them to the other end of the swimming pool. The water there was so deep even Daddy couldn’t touch the bottom.
    â€œLet’s try out the diving board,” he urged.
    Eight-year-old Kent