Lisa Barry: All this week on Gateway To Joy, Elisabeth Elliot will be reading Christmas stories. Some you may know; others will be new. Yesterday we began a story that walked us through what it might have been like to be Mary, the mother of Jesus. Elisabeth will close the book on that story, and then begin another true story that takes place in a rough-and-tumble neighborhood that we'll hear about today. Settle in now and get ready for this Tuesday edition of Gateway To Joy coming up next. 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, continuing today my Christmas story. We've been meditating about that amazing, wonderful story. We got to where Mary had taken her Son, Jesus, Mary and Joseph had taken Jesus to the temple. Old Simeon, an old prophet, had told Mary that she was going to suffer, that a sword would pierce her heart.

We see nothing of that Mary for twelve years. Days and nights, weeks and months, years and years of caring for the infant, the toddler, the little boy, the adolescent. There isn't any mention of any of that in the Bible. Mary has no witness. No limelight. No special recognition of any kind. She is not the Mother of the Year. Hers is a life lived in the ordinary necessity of their poverty and their humanity, no one paying any attention to her attention of Him.

Whatever the level of her comprehension as to the nature of this boy, she knows that He was given to her. She remembers how. The Holy Spirit overshadowed her and a child was conceived. She treasures all this. She ponders things in the silence of her heart. Did she share any of them with Joseph? Could she? Could he receive them? We know next to nothing of the dynamics between them. Certainly no conversations between them are recorded. She was content to be silent before God.

The apostle Paul tells us that we are hidden with Christ in God. There is mystery here. But when I think of the life of Mary, I see some facets of that mystery that I missed when I read the Apostle. Hers was a hidden life, a faithful one, a holy one. It was holy in the context of a humble home in a small village, where there was not very much diversion. She knew that the ordinary duties were ordained for her, as much as the extraordinary way in which they became her assignment. She struck no poses. She was the mother of a baby, willing to be known simply as His mother for the rest of her life and for the rest of human history.

He was an extraordinary baby, the eternal Word. But His needs were very ordinary, very daily to His mother. Did she see herself as fully qualified to be His mother? I don't think so. Surely not more than any other woman who finds herself endowed with the awesome gift of a child. It's the most humbling experience of a woman's life, the most revealing of her own helplessness. Yet we know that this mother, Mary, the humble virgin from Nazareth, has been known ever since as the most highly exalted of women.

This Christmas I'm thanking God that unto us a child was born. I'm thanking Him also that there was a pure-hearted woman prepared to receive that child with all that motherhood would mean, of daily trust, daily dependence and daily obedience. I thank Him for her silence. That spirit is not in me at all, not naturally.

I want to learn what she had learned so early-the deep guarding in her heart of each event, mulling over its meaning from God, waiting in silence for His Word to her. I want to learn, too, that it is not any extraordinary spirituality that makes one refuse to do ordinary work. It is a wish to prove that one is not ordinary which is a dead giveaway of spiritual conceit. I want to respond in unhesitating obedience, as she did. "Anything You say, Lord." "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God."

Now I have a story of a very different kind of a Christmas. It's written by a rather remarkable girl named Amy Beth Larson. She works with CHILD EVANGELISM FELLOWSHIP in Lakewood, Colorado. She wrote this in her usual letter:

"The first Christmas there was a choir of angels; now the weight of glory has fallen on smaller shoulders. Little voices proclaiming a Savior that came. My kids can yell, cuss and scream with the best of them. They live in a world where it takes a lot of volume to be heard over the chaos of their lives. When they scream, I cringe. But when they sing, I celebrate God's goodness."

Maybe you've guessed by now that Amy Beth Larson works in the inner city. She goes on to say, "Somewhere beyond the noise, if you listen hard enough, you can hear Manuel singing, 'God loves me, God loves me,' as he stands outside his trash-laden yard, wondering why his mom isn't home to let him in. His song pierces the night.

Or maybe you hear Brittany singing, 'God is my refuge and strength,' as she runs up and down the sidewalk with her six cousins. She sings to occupy her mind and to drown out the traffic flying by on the busy corner. It's a weekday afternoon. You might hear 30 neighborhood kids, and a handful of volunteers, in different keys singing, 'My God is so great.' Two thousand years, the angels are still singing.

As my kids sing, I can't help but think, 'What if Jesus had been born on the west side of Lakewood? What if He gave His first cry in the back of a '69 Chevy racing to get to Denver General Hospital?' He might have grown up in the Red projects across the street from the church with his uncles, aunts, grandma and a rag-tag army of brothers, sisters and cousins. He would have played in the city parks among broken glass, and then been careful not to kick the soccer ball where the drunks were slumped over on the ground. He would have become a man in a world where kids watch their backs and worry about the color of their skin. He would have sung on the street corner.

But Jesus was born on the east side of the world nearly 2,000 years ago. Because of that, not a day slips away that you don't see Jesus on the west side every time you hear His children's songs."

Amy Beth goes on to say, "Have I ever told you about Eddie? He has dubbed himself 'the MacDaddy' and simply calls me 'Miss.' He is a wiry little fourth grader who rules his corner of the neighborhood. He is functionally illiterate and was likely born with fetal alcohol syndrome. His skinny body and its angry spirit have caused concern to anybody who ever took the time to care. Eddie is a product of alcohol, poverty and violence. His step-dad, whom he had lived with, was set up and murdered in front of his house last summer. His mom spends herself balancing on the edge of depression, and often doesn't have the energy for Eddie and his brother and his sister.

Eddie has a lot to be angry about. He comes to church two times a week, one afternoon for tutoring and another for Bible club. He never remembers to bring his homework, but he never forgets to bring his anger. In nine years, he has had a lifetime of tragedy. Eddie tests all the limits, but somehow has won all of our hearts.

I've been spending time with Eddie and we get together two to three times a week. Sometimes it's hard to see the benefits, especially when I'm dodging rocks that he is throwing at me. But I love Eddie and can't seem to get him off my mind or out of my prayers. I keep a picture of him on my desk, next to a quote of Pat Conroy's that says, 'Larceny is an easy crime to condone, unless you know that your child was the item stolen.'

Eddie is destitute, a black hole of need. But who knows? Eddie might be the next Peter or Paul in the making. I always asked him if he liked the Bible story, and he doesn't hesitate to say, "No, Miss. It was stupid.' One time I asked him if he liked Jesus. He looked at me with big brown eyes, smiled as only Eddie can, and said, 'Yes, Miss. I do.'

As I stare into a starry Christmas sky, I let my mind wander through the past year. My worries and anxious thoughts for what's to come are silenced by the sweet memories of God's goodness. His faithfulness has far outweighed our hard times and His peace reigned, even in chaos. Hope still shines like a star over Bethlehem."

Amy ends her letter with a verse from Matthew 2:10: "When they saw the star, they were overjoyed." At the very bottom of the page she writes, "Peace and hope to you as we celebrate the baby King."

That was a vivid picture to me of what Christmas must mean, or normally must not mean, to the children of the inner city. Do you know someone like Eddie? Someone who would be just as happy to throw rocks at you, but yet comes to Bible class or comes to Sunday school? Let's never forget the word of Christ Himself: "Inasmuch as you have done it for one of these little ones, you have done it for Me."

Lisa Barry: Don't you just wish you could sweep in and bring happiness to those children? I often lay in bed at night and think about how many little ones are out there laying on a cold floor with no blanket and an empty stomach. I wonder if they fear hearing footsteps in the night. Pray that God will raise up more workers like the one we heard about today, who patiently loved an angry child unconditionally. Maybe you're that person or maybe your sphere of influence only reaches as far as close friends and family members. Can you challenge them to step out in faith?

One way you might be able to do that is by giving them a Christmas gift that will do more than gather dust or end up in the garage sale. Give them a gift packet from Gateway To Joy. We have one for men, another for women, and another one for young adults. You'll find many resources to suit a variety of topics.

To find out more, give us a call. Remember, to insure Christmas delivery, you'll need to call right away. Here's our phone number: 1-800-759-4JOY. That's 1-800-759-4569. Or you can write to Gateway To Joy, Box 82500, Lincoln, Nebraska, 68501. Our Internet ministry address is gatewaytojoy.org. Gateway To Joy has been a production of Back to the Bible.

Tomorrow Elisabeth tells the story of Mr. Gloomy, so I hope you'll be along for the next Gateway To Joy.