In song and story, the meaning of Christmas inspires us with joy and reverence.

It is a time to cherish the many blessings we all enjoy…. Friends, family, health and happiness … and to renew our faith in His words.

May your joy be boundless throughout this special season.

The cobbler and his guest

There lived in the city of Marseilles long, long ago an old shoemaker, loved and honored by his neighbors, who affectionately called him "Father Martin." One Christmas Eve as he sat alone in his little shop, reading of the visit of the wise men to the infant Jesus, and of the gifts they brought, he said to himself:

"If tomorrow were the first Christmas, and if Jesus were to be born in Marseilles this night, I know what I would give Him!" He rose and took from a shelf two tiny shoes of softest snow-white leather, with bright silver buckles, "I would give Him these, my finest work … How pleased His mother would be!" … "But I'm a foolish old man," he thought smiling. "The Master has no need of my poor gifts."

Replacing the shoes he blew out the candle and retired to rest. Hardly had he closed his eyes it seemed when he heard a voice call his name, "Martin!" Intuitively he felt aware of the identity of the speaker: "Martin, you have longed to see me. Tomorrow I shall pass by your window. If you see me and bid me enter, I shall be your guest and set at your table."

He did not sleep that night for joy. Before it was yet dawn he rose and swept and tidied up his little shop. Fresh sand he spread upon the floor and green boughs of fir he wreathed along the rafters. On the spotless, linen-covered table he placed a loaf of white bread, a jar of honey, a pitcher of milk, and over the fire he hung a pot of coffee. When all was in readiness he took up his vigil at the window.

Presently he saw an old street sweeper pass by, blowing upon his thin, gnarled hands to warm them. "Poor fellow, he must be half frozen," thought Martin. Opening the door, he called out to him, "Come in, my friend, and warm, and drink a cup of coffee." The man gratefully accepted the invitation.

An hour passed, and Martin saw a young, miserably clothed woman carrying a baby. She paused wearily to rest in the shelter of his doorway. The heart of the old cobbler was touched. Quickly he flung open the door. "come in and warm while you rest," he said to her. "You do not look well," he remarked.

"I am going to the hospital. I hope they will take me in, and my baby boy," she explained. "My husband is at sea, and I am ill, without a soul."

"Poor child!" cried the old man. "You must eat something while you are getting warm. No? Then let me give a cup of milk to the little one…Ah! What a bright, pretty little fellow he is! … Why, you have put no shoes on him!"

"I have no shoes for him," sighed the mother.

"Then he shall have this lovely pair I finished yesterday." And Martin took down from the shelf the soft, little, snow-white shoes he had looked at the evening before, and slipped them on the child's feet. They fitted perfectly. And shortly the poor young mother went on her way, tearful with gratitude, and Martin resumed his post at the window.

Hour after hour went by. And although many people passed his window, and many needy souls shared the hospitality of the old cobbler, the expected guest did not appear.

"It was only a dream," he sighed, with a heavy heart. "I did hope and believe, but He has not come."

Suddenly, so it seemed to his weary eyes, the room was flooded with a glorious light. And to the cobbler's astonished vision there appeared before him, one-by-one, the poor street sweeper, the sick mother and her baby, and all the people whom he had aided during the day. And each smiled at him and said, "Have you not seen me? Did I not sit at your table?" …and vanished.

Then softly out of the silence he heard again the gentle voice, repeating old, familiar words:

"Whosoever shall receive one such little child in my name, receiveth me."

"For I was hungered and you gave me meat; I was thirsty and ye gave me drink; I was a stranger and ye took me in."

"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."

— The Scrapbook, Twentieth Edition - 1949