A Little History:
Our story begins in Pocatello, Idaho, circa 1972, when the lovely Debby Christensen agreed to a first, though fateful date with admirer, David Croshaw. Long story-short, he bade her follow him, and they went arm-in-arm to the Logan, Utah temple for establishment of an eternal family unit, Generation 1, on May 23 1973.

From their first blissful summer in Salt Lake City, educational pursuits took them to Provo/Orem, Utah, birthplace of Leslie and Rebecca, and to San Francisco/Oakland California, birthplace of Colin and Matt. Then, for establishment of livelihood, expansion of the tribe with Abby and Dana, and for raising/unifying of Generation 2, it was back to the roots in Pocatello for a rewarding sojourn.

In time, driven by a raging, but commonly shared sense of adventure and independence, one-by-one, Generation 2 escaped the homeland to distant regions of the country and the world, each ultimately developing their own tribal expansions by pairing with worthy mates and initiating Generation 3.

Now sensing fulfillment of their purpose in Pocatello, Generation 1 has also left those roots and transplanted to Cascade Idaho, from which base, they anticipate more abundant contact with The Posterity, Generations 2 and 3, in the future. That contact however, awaits fulfillment of a call to LDS missionary service in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, wherein they hope to help the state of the world by sharing the love of Jesus Christ.

So now, including Generation 0 (Grandma and Grandpa Christensen) home base includes Yuma, Arizona, Pocatello, Idaho, Cascade, Idaho, Vancouver, BC, Fort Lauderdale, Florida, Spokane, Washington, Boise, Idaho, Los Angeles, California, back to Boise, Idaho, and on and on (Generation 3+) to infinity.

Our Mission Statement:
This is the blog of our eternal family unit. Initiated years ago, it served well as a journal, but even more so, as an archive of our personal interaction. It was a gathering place, a confabulation instrument, a unifying force for four generations of widely dispersed and progressively prolific posterity, and their valued associates. Though it served these purposes well for many years, it eventually took a back seat to new-kids-on-the-block, Facebook, and Instagram, and was sadly forgotten.

We now move to resurrect this blog with an added functional purpose of archiving the missionary experiences of Generation 1, of their movements and activities as they participate with The Gathering of Israel in the land northward. In so doing, we hope that via their own comments and posts, this blog will again serve to gather and unify the posterity and their friends.

As in the past, that the young and vibrant may know the old and tired, that enduring bonds may be fostered and maintained, that experience and encouragement may be openly shared, that posterity may embrace truth, and that hearts may be knit together, we must resist detachment despite our geographic divergence. We shall do so here.

Monday, December 24, 2012

Christmas Service

I got it done before Christmas!

I have been thinking all week about my favorite Christmas story and I have been coming up with nothing.  Maybe I need to read more Christmas stories.  My favorite story is not really a story but more the example of Mom and Dad.

Christmas is about service and all of us have been shown the example all our lives.  With parents like ours it is hard to not understand this.  The Christmases that are most memorable to me are the ones when we were doing the 12 days of Christmas for someone who really needed it.  When I consider how lucky I am to belong to the family I do, I also consider those who aren't lucky enough to have an enjoyable Christmas.  I think of the joy I felt every year when we did that as a family.  That became the highlight of the entire season.

Between the 12 days of Christmas and volunteering at the soup kitchen in Florida, I know what is important about this time of year and it makes me want to continue that tradition with my own family.  If my kids don't understand the joy of service then they will never understand the true spirit is Christmas and that would be a failure on my part.

Mom and Dad, thank you for your examples.

Christmas Eve - day 12

This Christmas
Mend a quarrel.
Seek out a forgotten friend.
Dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust.
Write a letter.
Give a soft answer.
Encourage youth.
Manifest your loyalty in word and deed.
Keep a promise.
Forgo a grudge.
Forgive an enemy.
Try to understand.
Examine your demands on other.
Think first of someone else.
Be kind.
Be gentle.
Laugh a little more.
Express your gratitude.
Welcome a stranger.
Gladden the heart of a child.
Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth.
Speak your love and then speak it again.
                            -Howard W. Hunter

Sunday, December 23, 2012

On the eleventh day of Christmas

I've been thinking a lot about what story I could share that has personal significance to me.  "Papa Panov's Special Christmas" always reminds me of Matthew 25:40: "...Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."  This scripture has had special meaning to me ever since the year I had a fire in my apartment right before Christmas - we were completely overwhelmed and deeply touched by the way everyone came to our aid.  I have never in my life felt the presence and support of the Savior more tangibly than during those difficult months.  It has been nine years since the fire, but there isn't a Christmas that goes by that I don't stop and think about that season of my life and the lessons I learned.  We can see the Savior in everyone around us.

Papa Panov's Special Christmas

It was Christmas Eve and although it was still afternoon, lights had begun to appear in the shops and houses of the little Russian village, for the short winter day was nearly over. Excited children scurried indoors and now only muffled sounds of chatter and laughter escaped from closed shutters.

Old Papa Panov, the village shoemaker, stepped outside his shop to take one last look around. The sounds of happiness, the bright lights and the faint but delicious smells of Christmas cooking reminded him of past Christmas times when his wife had still been alive and his own children little. Now they had gone. His usually cheerful face, with the little laughter wrinkles behind the round steel spectacles, looked sad now. But he went back indoors with a firm step, put up the shutters and set a pot of coffee to heat on the charcoal stove. Then, with a sigh, he settled in his big armchair.

Papa Panov did not often read, but tonight he pulled down the big old family Bible and, slowly tracing the lines with one forefinger, he read again the Christmas story. He read how Mary and Joseph, tired by their journey to Bethlehem, found no room for them at the inn, so that Mary's little baby was born in the cowshed.

"Oh, dear, oh, dear!" exclaimed Papa Panov, "if only they had come here! I would have given them my bed and I could have covered the baby with my patchwork quilt to keep him warm."

He read on about the wise men who had come to see the baby Jesus, bringing him splendid gifts. Papa Panov's face fell. "I have no gift that I could give him," he thought sadly.

Then his face brightened. He put down the Bible, got up and stretched his long arms to the shelf high up in his little room. He took down a small, dusty box and opened it. Inside was a perfect pair of tiny leather shoes. Papa Panov smiled with satisfaction. Yes, they were as good as he had remembered- the best shoes he had ever made. "I should give him those," he decided, as he gently put them away and sat down again.

He was feeling tired now, and the further he read the sleeper he became. The print began to dance before his eyes so that he closed them, just for a minute. In no time at all Papa Panov was fast asleep.

And as he slept he dreamed. He dreamed that someone was in his room and he knew at once, as one does in dreams, who the person was. It was Jesus.

"You have been wishing that you could see me, Papa Panov." he said kindly, "then look for me tomorrow. It will be Christmas Day and I will visit you. But look carefully, for I shall not tell you who I am."

When at last Papa Panov awoke, the bells were ringing out and a thin light was filtering through the shutters. "Bless my soul!" said Papa Panov. "It's Christmas Day!"

He stood up and stretched himself for he was rather stiff. Then his face filled with happiness as he remembered his dream. This would be a very special Christmas after all, for Jesus was coming to visit him. How would he look? Would he be a little baby, as at that first Christmas? Would he be a grown man, a carpenter- or the great King that he is, God's Son? He must watch carefully the whole day through so that he recognized him however he came.

Papa Panov put on a special pot of coffee for his Christmas breakfast, took down the shutters and looked out of the window. The street was deserted, no one was stirring yet. No one except the road sweeper. He looked as miserable and dirty as ever, and well he might! Whoever wanted to work on Christmas Day - and in the raw cold and bitter freezing mist of such a morning?

Papa Panov opened the shop door, letting in a thin stream of cold air. "Come in!" he shouted across the street cheerily. "Come in and have some hot coffee to keep out the cold!"

The sweeper looked up, scarcely able to believe his ears. He was only too glad to put down his broom and come into the warm room. His old clothes steamed gently in the heat of the stove and he clasped both red hands round the comforting warm mug as he drank.

Papa Panov watched him with satisfaction, but every now and them his eyes strayed to the window. It would never do to miss his special visitor.

"Expecting someone?" the sweeper asked at last. So Papa Panov told him about his dream.

"Well, I hope he comes," the sweeper said, "you've given me a bit of Christmas cheer I never expected to have. I'd say you deserve to have your dream come true." And he actually smiled.

When he had gone, Papa Panov put on cabbage soup for his dinner, then went to the door again, scanning the street. He saw no one. But he was mistaken. Someone was coming.

The girl walked so slowly and quietly, hugging the walls of shops and houses, that it was a while before he noticed her. She looked very tired and she was carrying something. As she drew nearer he could see that it was a baby, wrapped in a thin shawl. There was such sadness in her face and in the pinched little face of the baby, that Papa Panov's heart went out to them.

"Won't you come in," he called, stepping outside to meet them. "You both need a warm by the fire and a rest."

The young mother let him shepherd her indoors and to the comfort of the armchair. She gave a big sigh of relief.

"I'll warm some milk for the baby," Papa Panov said, "I've had children of my own- I can feed her for you." He took the milk from the stove and carefully fed the baby from a spoon, warming her tiny feet by the stove at the same time.

"She needs shoes," the cobbler said.

But the girl replied, "I can't afford shoes, I've got no husband to bring home money. I'm on my way to the next village to get work."

Sudden thought flashed through Papa Panov's mind. He remembered the little shoes he had looked at last night. But he had been keeping those for Jesus. He looked again at the cold little feet and made up his mind.

"Try these on her," he said, handing the baby and the shoes to the mother. The beautiful little shoes were a perfect fit. The girl smiled happily and the baby gurgled with pleasure.

"You have been so kind to us," the girl said, when she got up with her baby to go. "May all your Christmas wishes come true!"

But Papa Panov was beginning to wonder if his very special Christmas wish would come true. Perhaps he had missed his visitor? He looked anxiously up and down the street. There were plenty of people about but they were all faces that he recognized. There were neighbors going to call on their families. They nodded and smiled and wished him Happy Christmas! Or beggars - and Papa Panov hurried indoors to fetch them hot soup and a generous hunk of bread, hurrying out again in case he missed the Important Stranger.

All too soon the winter dusk fell. When Papa Panov next went to the door and strained his eyes, he could no longer make out the passers-by. Most were home and indoors by now anyway. He walked slowly back into his room at last, put up the shutters, and sat down wearily in his armchair.

So it had been just a dream after all. Jesus had not come.

Then all at once he knew that he was no longer alone in the room.

This was not dream for he was wide awake. At first he seemed to see before his eyes the long stream of people who had come to him that day. He saw again the old road sweeper, the young mother and her baby and the beggars he had fed. As they passed, each whispered, "Didn't you see me, Papa Panov?"

"Who are you?" he called out, bewildered.

Then another voice answered him. It was the voice from his dream- the voice of Jesus.

"I was hungry and you fed me," he said. "I was naked and you clothed me. I was cold and you warmed me. I came to you today in everyone of those you helped and welcomed."

Then all was quiet and still. Only the sound of the big clock ticking. A great peace and happiness seemed to fill the room, overflowing Papa Panov's heart until he wanted to burst out singing and laughing and dancing with joy.

"So he did come after all!" was all that he said.

Saturday, December 22, 2012

On the Tenth Day of Christmas

This is a little late, but I will turn back the time published so it syncs with Abby's later today.  Matt and I are in Pocatello with Asher this year, and Christmas with extended family is certainly a blessing we have not ever had since our marriage.  In fact, I have had Christmas with just Valerie... then with Valerie and Matt... then Valerie Matt and Asher, since 2003.  Every Christmas from then, until now, has been a bit lonely. In the last couple years, I have learned some things to do to help with those feelings (involving service and making dinner for missionaries or other familes who are alone in our area).  Spending this year with family is a blessing for sure.

Also, Valerie is not here with us, and Asher is sick with the flu, so I can tell you for sure, what I want most, is for my little family to be healthy and well, and happy- above all else.  This cements what I have learned over the last several years.

My thoughts on what we could share on the tenth day of Christmas, is a little of what speaks to my heart the most about christmas, and that is the birth of Christ, lowly as it was.  The most powerful way I can express my feelings is through music, and I will spare you my voice, and leave you instead with these.  Please, please take the time to listen to each. 

On behalf of those with no family around, I ask you to invite them over for a bit Christmas Eve.  Trust me, it will do so much good to the hearts of those who feel a bit lonely. 

I recognize the little drummer boy in my children, they have both demonstrated to me, such a desire to be kind and love- giving what they can, in such sweet innocence.  May we all have faith, and love, like a child.

My testimony of Christ was born, in a tangible way, as a barely-five-year old.  I never doubted what I had learned of Jesus Christ as a little bitty girl.  The first emotional memory I have of that knowlege, is with this song.  My kindergarten class was practicing it at school (yay, Kansas!) for a Christmas program, and as I sang the words, I began to cry and cry.  The music teacher asked me what was wrong, and I told her "nothing." That is true, it was such a sweet testimony to my heart then, and still the memory is one of my most-precious.  I don't share it often.

Later, on Christmas day, I got a platic loom with elastic loops, and my brothers got identical blue cars, that you pulled back, then let go- and they would race away.  I wanted to play with my brother, David's and he refused me, and at first, I got mad, then I the exact same spirit that came into my heart the day I was practicing in school.  I try to remember that feeling, even now, and remember to view people as Christ does.  It has done wonders to dissipate my frustration and annoyance with people. 

This is my favorite, ever rendition of this song.  I listen to the Devotional every year, excited about this song at the end.  This version is just sublime, with the scene it sets.

Is that not, just sublime? It is ok if you need to wipe away tears now, that just means we match.

I also do want to share with you, my Testimony of Christ.  I know, beyond all things i know, that He was born to Mary, the Son of God.  I know that he lived fewer years than I have lived, and served, loved, and led by example every day of His life, and that He died for our sins.  I do not know much else with this certainty, but I do try to not add to the suffering He felt on the cross.  I challenge everyone who reads this to try to refrain from unkindness, selfishness, impatience, and frustration through Christmas Day.  It is hard, but that is a gift we can all give to each other. 

Finally, I hope Santa brings a new computer to 299 S 20th :-)

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

On the seventh day of Christmas...

I always loved the church Christmas videos, and one in particular. I never knew it was based on a short story by Pearl S. Buck. (I probably didn't know who she was at the time.) Many of you will probably recognize it. Christmas Day in the Morning, by Pearl S. Buck He woke suddenly and completely. It was four o’clock, the hour at which his father had always called him to get up and help with the milking. Strange how the habits of his youth clung to him still! Fifty years ago, and his father had been dead for thirty years, and yet he waked at four o’clock in the morning. He had trained himself to turn over and go to sleep, but this morning it was Christmas, he did not try to sleep. Why did he feel so awake tonight? He slipped back in time, as he did so easily nowadays. He was fifteen years old and still on his father’s farm. He loved his father. He had not known it until one day a few days before Christmas, when he had overheard what his father was saying to his mother. “Mary, I hate to call Rob in the mornings. He’s growing so fast and he needs his sleep. If you could see how he sleeps when I go in to wake him up! I wish I could manage alone.” “Well, you can’t Adam.” His mother’s voice was brisk, “Besides, he isn’t a child anymore. It’s time he took his turn.” “Yes,” his father said slowly. “But I sure do hate to wake him.” When he heard these words, something in him spoke: his father loved him! He had never thought of that before, taking for granted the tie of their blood. Neither his father nor his mother talked about loving their children–they had no time for such things. There was always so much to do on the farm. Now that he knew his father loved him, there would be no loitering in the mornings and having to be called again. He got up after that, stumbling blindly in his sleep, and pulled on his clothes, his eyes shut, but he got up. And then on the night before Christmas, that year when he was fifteen, he lay for a few minutes thinking about the next day. They were poor, and most of the excitement was in the turkey they had raised themselves and mince pies his mother made. His sisters sewed presents and his mother and father always bought something he needed, not only a warm jacket, maybe, but something more, such as a book. And he saved and bought them each something, too. He wished, that Christmas when he was fifteen, he had a better present for his father. As usual he had gone to the ten-cent store and bought a tie. It had seemed nice enough until he lay thinking the night before Christmas. He looked out of his attic window, the stars were bright. “Dad,” he had once asked when he was a little boy, “What is a stable?” “It’s just a barn,” his father had replied, “like ours.” Then Jesus had been born in a barn, and to a barn the shepherds had come… The thought struck him like a silver dagger. Why should he not give his father a special gift too, out there in the barn? He could get up early, earlier than four o’clock, and he could creep into the barn and get all the milking done. He’d do it alone, milk and clean up, and then when his father went in to start the milking he’d see it all done. And he would know who had done it. He laughed to himself as he gazed at the stars. It was what he would do, and he mustn’t sleep too sound. He must have waked twenty times, scratching a match each time to look at his old watch-midnight, and half past one, and then two o’clock. At a quarter to three he got up and put on his clothes. He crept downstairs, careful of the creaky boards, and let himself out. The cows looked at him, sleepy and surprised. It was early for them too. He had never milked all alone before, but it seemed almost easy. He kept thinking about his father’s surprise. His father would come in and get him, saying that he would get things started while Rob was getting dressed. He’d go to the barn, open the door, and then he’d go get the two big empty milk cans. But they wouldn’t be waiting or empty, they’d be standing in the milk-house, filled. “What the–,” he could hear his father exclaiming. He smiled and milked steadily, two strong streams rushing into the pail, frothing and fragrant. The task went more easily than he had ever known it to go before. Milking for once was not a chore. It was something else, a gift to his father who loved him. He finished, the two milk cans were full, and he covered them and closed the milk-house door carefully, making sure of the latch. Back in his room he had only a minute to pull off his clothes in the darkness and jump into bed, for he heard his father up. He put the covers over his head to silence his quick breathing. The door opened. “Rob!” His father called. “We have to get up, son, even if it is Christmas.” “Aw-right,” he said sleepily. The door closed and he lay still, laughing to himself. In just a few minutes his father would know. His dancing heart was ready to jump from his body. The minutes were endless–ten, fifteen, he did not know how many–and he heard his father’s footsteps again. The door opened and he lay still. “Rob!” “Yes, Dad–” His father was laughing, a queer sobbing sort of laugh. “Thought you’d fool me, did you?” His father was standing by his bed, feeling for him, pulling away the cover. “It’s for Christmas, Dad!” He found his father and clutched him in a great hug. He felt his father’s arms go around him. It was dark and they could not see each other’s faces. “Son, I thank you. Nobody ever did a nicer thing–” “Oh, Dad, I want you to know–I do want to be good!” The words broke from him of their own will. He did not know what to say. His heart was bursting with love. He got up and pulled on his clothes again and they went down to the Christmas tree. Oh what a Christmas, and how his heart had nearly burst again with shyness and pride as his father told his mother and made the younger children listen about how he, Rob, had got up all by himself. “The best Christmas gift I ever had, and I’ll remember it, son every year on Christmas morning, so long as I live.” They had both remembered it, and now that his father was dead, he remembered it alone: that blessed Christmas dawn when, alone with the cows in the barn, he had made his first gift of true love. This Christmas he wanted to write a card to his wife and tell her how much he loved her, it had been a long time since he had really told her, although he loved her in a very special way, much more than he ever had when they were young. He had been fortunate that she had loved him. Ah, that was the true joy of life, the ability to love. Love was still alive in him, it still was. It occurred to him suddenly that it was alive because long ago it had been born in him when he knew his father loved him. That was it: Love alone could awaken love. And he could give the gift again and again. This morning, this blessed Christmas morning, he would give it to his beloved wife. He I could write it down in a letter for her to read and keep forever. He went to his desk and began his love letter to his wife: My dearest love… Such a happy, happy, Christmas.

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Six Geese a-laying

In the wake of what happened this past weekend, I was so incredibly touched, brought to tears, by this story in the current issue of the Liahona.  I couldn't wait for my turn to share.

 The Light of the World

“For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive” (1 Corinthians 15:22).
Erin stood on Temple Square in Salt Lake City looking at life-sized statues of the nativity scene and waiting for the music and story to begin. Christmas lights twinkled all around her. But it didn’t feel like Christmastime.
“Are you all right?” Mom asked her.
Erin nodded, but she wasn’t so sure.
Only a few days ago, a boy from Erin’s class at school had died in a car accident. She had seen a lot of people crying at the funeral, and she had cried a lot herself. She hadn’t known the boy that well, but Erin knew hisfamily loved him as much as her family loved her. She felt scared to know that something like that could happen to someone her age.
Now she didn’t feel excited for Christmas. She felt worried all the time—scared to get in a car, scared to be apart from her parents, scared to leave her house in case something bad happened to her while she was away. All the Christmas lights on Temple Square couldn’t erase the worried feeling inside her. How could she be happy in a world where she wasn’t always safe?
“It’s about to start,” Dad said. He pointed to the nativity scene.
The loudspeakers crackled to life, and a voice began speaking. Music played, and spotlights shone down on statues of shepherds, Wise Men, Mary, and Joseph. Erin listened to the familiar story. The baby Jesus was born and laid in a manger. Angels sang. Shepherds worshipped. Wise Men rejoiced.
Erin looked at the faces of her parents and the crowd gathered around the nativity scene. They all seemed happy. But why was everyone so happy about the baby Jesus if His birth didn’t stop bad things from happening? Erin didn’t like the question circling through her head. All she wanted was to stop feeling afraid.
The story ended, and a recording of the prophet’s voice came over the loudspeaker. He bore his testimony and read a scripture from the Bible: “For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive” (1 Corinthians 15:22).
Erin’s heart beat faster. She said the words again in her mind, trying to remember them. For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.
The scripture said that everyone would die—young people, old people—everyone. Erin knew that, of course, but she hadn’t thought about it much before. She thought she was too young to think about such things. But she wasn’t too young to have a testimony of the truth: because of Jesus Christeveryone would live again. That’s why the shepherds and Wise Men rejoiced. They understood what Jesus had come to earth to do.
Erin looked from the little stable to a window in the visitors’ center behind the nativity scene. Inside the building a light shone on a large statue of Jesus stretching out His scarred hands. Erin thought about the little baby in the manger and how He grew into someone who had all power. And yet He chose to sacrifice His life for her. He had been born so she could live again. No matter what happened, Erin could feel safe in Jesus’s love.
Peace washed over her. She couldn’t quite explain how, but her worry disappeared. When she looked at the statue of Jesus Christ, shining brighter than twinkling Christmas lights, she barely noticed the dark night sky. She was too busy feeling the warmth of hope flickering inside her.

Monday, December 17, 2012

Timothy Thomas

This is a little story David's family reads together every year before Christmas. (If I remember right, there are actually TWO stories - I'll let David add the other if he so desires.)

Timothy Thomas is mending his ways;
He hasn't been sassy or naughty for days.
He hangs up his clothes without being told,
And he picks up his toys before mother can scold.

He wipes off his shoes when he comes in the door;
His neck and ears never were so clean before.
He doesn't act rough, and you won't hear him yell,
Folks wonder if Timothy Thomas is well.

He ASKS to run errands;
Eats the crust on his bread,
And promptly at eight
He goes straight up to bed!

His behavior is strange, but it's only because
Young Timmy has written to old Santa Claus
With a P.S. inscribed at the foot of his note:
Quote, "I'm a good boy, dear Santa," unquote.

This brief spell of goodness is lovely, it's true,
If it only could last all the long winter through.
But (sigh) Christmas morning, around about ten,
Young Timothy Thomas turns normal again.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

The Real Reason for Christmas.

I am a very lucky person.  The biggest reason I feel so lucky is because of Crystal.  She's beautiful, bright, funny and knows how to make holiday's truly special.  Her thoughtfulness and generosity help me to see what the real reason for Christmas is. Last year there was one particular experience that reminded of one of the things I love about Christmas and it wasn't because she is an amazing cook.

I was at home one day when she sent me a link to an article about what some people were doing in honor of the Christmas season.  What the people were doing was going to a K-Mart because they had a lay-away program and telling the employee who worked at the lay-away counter that they would like to pay off some random person's bill.  It was a very touching thing to think about someone doing an anonymous act of kindness.  She then talked to me about whether or not we should do something like that.  We agreed that it  was a good thing to do.  So I went down to the K-Mart in Harrisonburg and paid a portion of someone's lay-away.  The person working at the lay-away counter was surprised and touched.

I am grateful that Crystal is such an angel and is such a generous soul.  This experience is one of many where she has reminded me not only of what Christmas is all about but about what life is really about.  Christmas is a wonderful time because people are more willing to go out of their way to help others. I am very thankful to have Crystal in my life because she is always looking for ways to help other people.  Thank you Crystal for helping me to recognize the real reason for Christmas.

Thursday, December 13, 2012

On the 1st Day of Christmas

Mom and Dad, The kids (us) were emailing back and forth about drawing names, and we decided that it would be much more special if we did something that would help us remember the "reason for the season". So, we're taking turns posting some of our favorite Christmas stories on the blog. We've committed to getting together with our families to read over them every night, and we hope you'll do the same. Love you all! I'm picking this one before someone else does. ;-) One of my all time favorites: The Gift of the Magi