Lisa Barry: When it comes to holiday stories, they can come in all sorts of packages. Some tales are enclosed in a book that is taken out and read over and over again. Others are told by word of mouth and handed down from generation to generation. Of course, there are those stories that are worth telling, though they have no formal place on a bookshelf. One such story will be read by Elisabeth Elliot today on Gateway To Joy. It's a look back at the Christmas season during a simpler time, a time when the pace of life was slower and a little more caring. Find out more as we embark on this Tuesday edition of Gateway To Joy. Here's Elisabeth.

Elisabeth Elliot: "You are loved with an everlasting love." That's what the Bible says. "And underneath are the everlasting arms." This is your friend Elisabeth Elliot, reading today a letter from an old lady about what her Christmas was like."

"If I live to be 100, I could never forget the wonder of my childhood Christmases," she says. "Years later, a poem written for that season's Christmas card and inspired by our four-year-old Chuckie's radiant little face, began, 'May all the enchantment of Christmas which lies in a little child's eyes, the shining and shimmering wonder, the aura of magic surprise, go and glow in your hearts with a radiance the years cannot dim or erase.'

The shining and shimmering wonder of our Christmases exploded like a crescendo on Christmas morning, when early, early-I'm sure much too early for Mama and Papa, who had labored half the night getting things ready-we assembled on the steps leading into the parlor from upstairs. 'We' included Clara, Ed, Hulda, Charlotte, Martin, John, Honey (whose real name was Joanna), Emmy, Arnold, Fritz, Ruth, Elsie (Elsie is me) and Dorothy."

Now I'll have to count those. How many are these 'we'? One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen children. "Papa, with the littlest one usually in his arms, led the procession. The next youngest followed, and the next, and the next, and the next, until the oldest brought up the rear. But the procession stood stock still, agog with expectancy." Do you know what "agog" means? Well, your eyes and your mouth open, waiting for that wonderful surprise.

"Then we heard Mama begin the lovely 'Ihr Kinderlein Kommet,'" which must be German and I can't translate it for you. "She began that on the old pump organ in the parlor. That was our signal to begin singing in German the lively, 'Come hither, ye children, O come one and all, to Bethlehem hasten.' Down we marched with Papa's fine tenor leading the procession and the song.

Turning at the foot of the stairs and proceeding through the glass-paneled door, we paused in hushed and awed wonder. In the far corner of the living room adjoining the parlor, shimmering with glory, stood a Christmas tree so magnificent to our young eyes that never since has any tree been able to evoke such emotion. 'O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum!' [which I believe means 'O Christmas Tree.']

Part of the ecstasy, I'm sure, was due to the unassailable rule that no child ever saw the tree before Christmas morning. The decorations were probably very simple compared to some of today's costly ornaments, but it was alive and pungently fragrant and ablaze with an out-of-this world splendor created by scores of multi-colored candles held on the branches by ingenious little clips. That the house was not also ablaze during all those years was a miracle of no small proportions.

Then began the traditional ritual. Seated in a circle on the floor, we sang Christmas carols, German and English. 'Stille Nacht,' [and I'm sure that that one is 'Silent Night.'] 'Hark, the Herald Angels Sing,' 'O Come, Let Us Adore Him,' and on and on until our voices and our patience gave out. Then when our curiosity refused to be stifled any longer, the simple gifts were distributed. I often wonder what today's children would think of them. A bottle of cologne. Some homemade candy. A pair of bedroom slippers.

Sometimes the day before Christmas, Mama would walk up to the dry goods store on Dick's Avenue," and I'm sure that very many of my listeners, even the adults, don't know what a dry goods store is. We had a dry goods store in the little town of Moorestown, New Jersey where I lived. It was a place you could walk in and see all kinds of cloth. They sold just cloth. Well, I do think they sold some ready-made clothes, but it was mostly for people who liked to do their own sewing.

So sometimes, this lady says, "The day before Christmas, Mama would walk up to the dry goods store on Dick's Avenue and choose a linen handkerchief for each of us. When the gift giving was over, a special Christmas breakfast followed. Mama's wonderful Streuselkuchen was standard fare, as every Saturday the house was filled with the tantalizing aroma." Do you know what the word "aroma" means? What does it mean? A delicious smell, a fragrance. "Of twelve freshly baked cakes. But now, her spicy Pfeffernussen and artistically lovely Springerle"-I need to have a German interpreter here-"baked weeks ahead. They were brought out, and eggs and bacon and oranges cut into quarters, and coffee and milk.

After breakfast and a quick clean-up, we dressed for the Christmas morning service at church, the Stein clan walking the short block to Bethlehem Lutheran Church (how meaningful that morning), must have been a sight to behold. But the real sight to behold was revealed by word and song in the quiet sanctuary. 'Behold, a virgin shall conceive and bear a son and shall call His name Immanuel, which means God with us.'" I think that's the most wonderful name of our Savior, "God with us."

"'And His name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, the mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace. Of the increase of His government and peace there shall be no end. Upon the throne of David and upon His kingdom, to order it and to establish it with judgment and with justice from henceforth forever. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will perform this."

That's the end of this lady's description of her childhood Christmases. She says, "It was still a sight to behold after 70 years." She was 85 when she wrote this. At the top she writes out in her own handwriting-very neat handwriting, much neater than mine, and I'm only 70 and my handwriting has deteriorated greatly-but hers is beautiful. She says, "Warm and heartfelt greetings to all of you dear ones on my Christmas card list. I wish it were possible to deliver them in person and tell you that you've contributed much to my increasingly rich treasure chest of memories.

My greeting this year consists of odds and ends from my packrat collection of long ago, and I need to explain that the little poem was never intended as a Christmas greeting. It was submitted to a Christian magazine for consideration and I called it 'Confessions of an Iconoclast.' The editor replied with two words, 'Dare we?' Love and God's best."

Now I have just a couple of minutes left on today's program. I thought there might be somebody listening who has to be in bed because you're sick at Christmas time. What a time to be sick in bed!

Well, maybe you'll enjoy this little poem, also written by A. A. Milne in the little book called NOW WE ARE SIX. You remember that Mr. A. A. Milne wrote many poems and stories for his son, whose name was Christopher Robin. So here's the one about when Christopher had wheezles.

"Christopher Robin had wheezles and sneezles. They bundled him into his bed. They gave him what goes with a cold in the nose, and some more for a cold in the head. They wondered if wheezles could turn in measles, if sneezles would turn into mumps. They examined his chest for a rash, and the rest of his body for swellings and lumps. They sent for some doctors in sneezles and wheezles to tell them what ought to be done. All sorts and conditions of famous physicians came hurrying round at a run. They all made a note of the state of his throat. They asked if he suffered from thirst. They asked if the sneezles came after the wheezles, or if the first sneezle came first.

They said, 'If you teazle a sneezle or wheezle, a measle may easily grow. But humor or pleazle the wheezle and sneezle, the measle will certainly go.' They expounded the reazles for sneezles and wheezles, the manner of measles when new. They said, 'If he freezles in drafts or in breezles, then phtheezles may even ensue." Don't you love that word? "Phtheezles."

"Christopher Robin got up in the morning. The sneezles had vanished away. The look in his eye seemed to say to the sky, 'Now, how to amuse them today?'"

Lisa Barry: Well, if you're laid up in bed, I hope your sneezles will vanish as quickly as Christopher Robin's did. Maybe you can talk a family member into reading a few other good stories to you. It sure is a great use of time. Or some of you might like a copy of this series to share with your family.

Well, then here's what you need to do. The cost is $13 for the two cassettes. Just send that along with a note specifying the series, entitled STORIES FOR CHRISTMAS, and we'll send it right out to you.

And if your gift-giving budget isn't entirely gone and you'd like to offer your encouragement in a tangible way to this ministry, you would add luster to our celebrating as well. Here's where to write: Gateway To Joy, Box 82500, Lincoln, Nebraska, 68501. Or you can call toll-free: 1-800-759-4JOY. That's 1-800-759-4569. Our Internet ministry address is gatewaytojoy.org. Gateway To Joy has been a production of Back to the Bible.

Tomorrow Elisabeth reads the classic story of THE TAILOR OF GLOUCESTER, so make it a point to join us next time for another Gateway To Joy.