Wishing you all a very happy holiday, full of peaceful moments and good reading, and look forward to meeting you here again on 1st of January 2019.
Merry Christmas - and a Happy & Hopeful New Year!
Hi all. I'm up to my neck in gravy and brandy sauce today. Feeding eighteen people tomorrow, so here's a story to keep you entertained while waiting for the spuds to parboil. It was originally published in the Kingfisher Book of Christmas way back when and I love how it brings a message of hope even when you think there is none. Have a good 'un.
A Gift from the Heart
A Christmas Story from Mexico
Saviour Pirotta
Once there was a Mexican girl whose father was a fisherman. She
was called Maria Flores, after her mother who’d died when Maria was still a
baby.
One night during supper,
Maria’s father said, “My fishing nets have been empty for weeks, little one. We
can’t go on like this, not being able to pay our debts. I’ve found work on a
ship sailing to Europe. You’ll have to spend the winter with your abuela in the village of San Domingo.”
“But that means we won’t be
together for Christmas,” cried Maria. “We always spend Christmas together.”
Papa gave her a big hug.
“Sometimes we have to do things we find hard, little one. “It’s all been
arranged; your grandma’s expecting you. If you leave tomorrow you’ll be in her
village by Christmas.”
“I understand,” said Maria.
“Perhaps we’ll spend Christmas together next year.”
Her father gave her another
hug, then stood up and fetched the money tin from its hiding place behind the
stove. “We’ll have to buy some presents, of course. You can’t go empty-handed.”
Maria agreed. No one she knew
would ever call on a friend or a relative without bearing a gift of some kind.
The next day she helped papa choose suitable presents at the market. They had
very little money but they managed to get a shawl for grandma and cotton
handkerchiefs for all her relatives.
The shopping done, and her
clothes packed in a neat bundle, Maria kissed her father goodbye and set off
for her grandma’s village, a remote hamlet in the mountains. The holidays had
already started and lots of other people were travelling too, hoping to get
home in time for a good Christmas dinner.
Her father had booked her a
seat on a horse-drawn cart, which took her all the way to the foot of the
sierra. Beyond that, the path up the mountain was too steep for the cart. Maria
continued her journey on a mule, with the San Domingo chemist who’d come down
the mountain to buy medicine.
It was late at night, and
Maria had fallen asleep on her mule, when they finally reached grandma’s
village.
“Wake up,” said the chemist.
“We’re almost home.”
Maria rubbed the sleep from
her eyes and saw lights flickering ahead. They reminded her of the lanterns her
papa and the other fishermen put on their boats.
“Your relatives are waiting
for you,” said the chemist.
The mule stopped under a
tree, where several people were huddled together against the cold, the
grown-ups holding lamps. No one spoke until an old woman stepped forward and
said in a very loud voice, “Welcome to our village, Maria Flores. I am your abuela.” She kissed Maria loudly on each
cheek, then all the others crowded round her, hugging her and shaking her hand.
“How was your journey?”
“You must be tired and
hungry.”
“I am your cousin. I went to
school with your mother, God rest her soul.”
Maria felt like a princess in
a fairy tale as she was swept into Grandma’s house where a feast of cakes and
hot chocolate had been laid out on the table. It seemed as if the whole village
had gathered in Grandma’s kitchen, eager to see the visitor.
“Isn’t she a beautiful
child?”
“The spitting image of her
mother.”
“And so tall for her age
too.”
Later, lying in a warm cot by
the stove and feeling sleepy from too much travel and too much hot chocolate,
Maria thought how lucky she was. She’d never met any of her mother’s relatives
before but they had all come to welcome her.
“I’m glad I brought them all
a present,” she said to herself. “It’ll show them that I love them too.”
The next day was Christmas
Eve. After a special Christmas supper during which they exchanged presents, the
people of San Domingo got ready to go to church.
“It’s time for Baby Jesus to
get his presents,” said Grandma.
“What do you mean?” asked
Maria.
“We have a statue of baby
Jesus in the church,” explained Grandma. “Every year we place gifts at its
feet. It’s an old local custom.”
“But I haven’t got anything
to give Jesus,” said Maria.
“It doesn’t matter,” said
Grandma. “You are a visitor. No one will speak ill of you.”
“But I cannot go to church
empty-handed,” said Maria. “It would be rude.”
“I’m taking a basket of
almonds,” said Grandma. “Why don’t we share them? I have a pretty box you could
put them in.”
“That’s very kind of you, abuela,”
said Maria, “but my gift has to come from
me.”
She racked her brains, trying
to think what she could give Jesus.
“Perhaps I can pick some
flowers,” she said. “Jesus would like some flowers.”
“Yes,” said Grandma, “a lot
people bring him flowers.”
There was a piece of land
behind grandma’s house where the soil was too stony for farming. Maria was sure
she’d find some flowers there, wild daisies perhaps, or mountain roses. Alas,
she could find none. The field had been picked clean by people wanting to
decorate their Christmas table. Maria could see nothing but weeds. What a
stingy gift for the king of heaven and earth, she thought sadly. But there
wasn't time to try and find something else. The church bells were summoning
everyone to the midnight celebration; Grandma was calling from the kitchen
window. Maria picked a handful of the weeds, choosing the tallest, and carried
them inside. Grandma wrapped them up carefully in a silk shawl, as if they were
a bouquet of fragrant blooms.
In church, a choir started to
sing carols as people approached the altar where the statue of baby Jesus lay
in a manger, a small crown on his head.
One by one they placed gifts at his feet. A few
who were rich gave items of jewellery or pots of expensive perfume. But
most had brought humbler gifts: eggs
laid by their own hens; nuts and fruits gathered in the harvest; little fruit cakes
baked in outside ovens. The people in the village did not have much money
to spare.
Soon it was
Maria’s turn to give Jesus her gift.
Grandma nudged her gently and they stood up together. All eyes where on them as they slowly advanced
down the aisle. Maria heard people
whispering.
‘What’s the old
woman’s gift?’
‘Almonds in a
basket.’
‘And what has the
girl got under that silk shawl? ’
‘Flowers by the
looks of it. They must be very fragile
to be covered like that.’
Just wait until
they realise I’ve only got weeds, thought Maria. They’ll think I want to insult Jesus not
give him a present.
She had a sudden
urge to turn and run away. She could
keep on running till she’d left the church and the village behind. Then she
remembered what her papa had said to her only a few days before. ‘Sometimes we have to do things we find hard,
little one.’
Well, it was very
hard for Maria to keep on walking down that aisle with a bunch of weeds in her
hands. But, she firmly told herself, her
gift was for Jesus, not the people of San Domingo to admire As long as Jesus liked it she didn’t care
what other people said….
Before she knew
it, Maria was at the altar. She saw
Grandma kneel and place her basket of almonds in front of the statue. She knelt to put her flowers among the other gifts.
Just then one of the men in the front
seats leaned forward. ‘Take off the shawl, dear,’ he whispered. ‘Show the people what lovely flowers you’re
giving Jesus.’
‘I can’t,’ whispered
back Maria.
The man smiled,
thinking Maria couldn’t undo the silk shawl.
He took the flowers from her, saying.
‘Here, I’ll do it for you.’
Gently, he pulled away the cloth. The people in the church gasped.
‘What wonderful
flowers.’
‘Beautiful.’
‘I’ve never seen
anything like them in all my life.’
Maria stared. The weeds weren’t weeds anymore. They had changed into flowers, shaped like
Christmas stars. The green leaves at the
top had grown bigger and turned into red velvety petals.
Speechless, Maria
realised that Jesus had worked a miracle.
He’d seen the beauty of her gift, which came from the heart, and decided
to share it with everyone in the church.
No one in the
congregation guessed what had just happened. Everyone assumed that Maria had
bought the gorgeous flowers on her way to the village.
The little girl
did not tell anyone about the miracle either.
She knew no one would believe her anyway. Only her grandma, who’d seen what happened,
shared her secret. After Christmas the
old woman planted the flowers in the bit of land where Maria had picked the
weeds. They grew into a large bush,
which flowered every year in December.
Today the poinsietta as the flower is called, grows in many countries
around the world. People take huge
bunches of it to church every Christmas, to show Jesus how much they love
him.
Just like Maria
Flores did all those years ago in Mexico!
Saviour Pirotta's latest picture book, The Unicorn Prince is illustrated by Jane Ray. It's been an editor's choice in The Guardian and The Bookseller. His middle grade novel Mark of the Cyclops won the North Somerset Teachers' Book Award 2018 for quality fiction. Follow him on twitter @spirotta. Visit his website at www.spirotta.com
2 comments:
Lovely!
That story's new to me, and lovely. Thank you!
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