Lisa Barry: Have you ever known someone who, by all external appearances, disliked everyone? A person who liked being alone and who complained about everything? Well, today on Gateway To Joy, Elisabeth Elliot is going to read a story with the main character very much like that. How can a person like this be the focal point of a Christmas story? You'll find out as we embark on yet another holiday excursion of the imagination in a story called Mr. Gloomy. 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 you a Christmas story today called MR. GLOOMY.

"The village children called him Mr. Gloomy, but, in fact, his name was Toomy. Mr. Jonathan Toomy. And though it's not kind to call people names, this one fit quite well, for Jonathan Toomy seldom smiled and never laughed. He went about mumbling and grumbling, muttering and sputtering, grumping and griping. He complained that the church bells rang too often, that the birds sang too shrilly and the children played too loudly.

Mr. Toomy was a woodcarver. Some said he was the best woodcarver in the whole valley. He spent his days sitting at a workbench, carving beautiful shapes from blocks of pine and hickory and chestnut wood. After supper, he sat in his straight-backed chair near the fireplace, smoking his pipe and staring into the flames.

Jonathan Toomy wasn't an old man, but if you saw him you might think he was. The way he walked, bent forward with his head down, you wouldn't notice his eyes, the clear blue of an August sky; and you wouldn't see the dimple on his chin, since his face was mostly hidden under a shaggy, untrimmed beard; speckled with sawdust and wood shavings, and depending on what he ate that day, with crumbs of bread or a bit of potato or dried gravy.

The village people didn't know it, but there was a reason for his gloom, a reason for his grumbling, a reason why he walked hunched over, as if carrying a great weight on his shoulders. Some years earlier, when Jonathan Toomy was young and full of life and full of love, his wife and baby had become very sick. Because those were the days before hospitals and medicines and skilled doctors, his wife and baby died, three days apart from each other.

So Jonathan Toomy had packed his belongings into a wagon and traveled till his tears stopped. He settled into a tiny house at the edge of a village to do his woodcarving.

One day in early December, there was a knock at Jonathan's door. Mumbling and grumbling, he went to answer it. There stood a woman and a young boy. 'I'm the widow MacDowell. I'm new in your village. This is my son Thomas,' the woman said. 'I'm seven and I know how to whistle,' said Thomas.

'Whistling is pish-posh,' said the woodcarver gruffly.

'I need something carved,' said the woman. She told Jonathan about a very special set of Christmas figures her grandfather had carved for her when she was a girl. 'After I moved here, I discovered that they were lost,' she explained. 'I had hoped that by some miracle I would find them again, but it hasn't happened.'

'There are no such things as miracles,' the woodcarver told her. 'Now could you describe the figures for me?'

'There were sheep,' she told him. 'Two of them with curly wool,' added Thomas. 'Yes, two,' said the widow. 'And a cow, an angel, Mary, Joseph, the baby Jesus and the wise men.' 'Three of them,' added Thomas. 'Will you take the job?' asked the widow MacDowell.

'I will.'

'I'm grateful. How soon can you have them ready?'

'They will be ready when they are ready,' he said.

'But I must have them by Christmas. They mean very much to me. I can't remember a Christmas without them.'

'Christmas is pish-posh,' said Jonathan gruffly and he shut the door.

The following week, there was a knock at the woodcarver's door. Muttering and sputtering, he went to answer it. There stood the widow MacDowell and Thomas. 'Excuse me,' said the widow, 'but Thomas has been begging to come and watch you work. He says he wants to be a woodcarver when he grows up. He would like to watch you, since you are the best in the valley.' 'I'll be quiet. You won't even know I'm here. Please, please,' piped in Thomas.

With a grumble, the woodcarver stepped aside to let them in. He pointed to a stool near his workbench. 'No talking. No jiggling. No noise,' he ordered Thomas. The widow MacDowell handed Mr. Toomy a warm loaf of cornbread as a token of thanks. Then she took out her knitting and sat down in a rocking chair in the far corner of the cottage.

'Not there,' bellowed the wood carver. 'No one sits in that chair.' So she moved to the straight-backed chair by the fire. Thomas sat very still. Once, when he needed to sneeze, he pressed a finger under his nose to hold it back. Once, when he wanted desperately to scratch his leg, he counted to twenty to keep his mind off the itch.

After a very long time, Thomas cleared his throat and whispered, 'Mr. Toomy, may I ask you a question?' The woodcarver glared at Thomas, then shrugged his shoulders and grunted. Thomas decided that that meant yes, so he went on. 'Is that my sheep you're carving?' The woodcarver nodded and grunted again.

After another very long time, Thomas whispered, 'Mr. Toomy, excuse me, but you're carving my sheep wrong.' The widow MacDowell's knitting needles stopped clicking. Jonathan Toomy's knife stopped carving. Thomas went on. 'It's a beautiful sheep, nice and curly. But my sheep looked happy.'

'That's pish-posh,' said Mr. Toomy. 'Sheep are sheep. They cannot look happy.'

'Mine did,' answered Thomas. 'They knew they were with the baby Jesus, so they were happy.'

After that, Thomas was quiet for the rest of the afternoon. When the church bells chimed at six o'clock, Mr. Toomy grumbled under his breath about the awful noise. The widow MacDowell said it was time to leave. Thomas sneezed three times, then thanked the woodcarver for allowing him to watch.

That evening, after a supper of cornbread and boiled potatoes, the woodcarver sat down at his bench. He picked up his knife. He picked up the sheep. He worked until his eyelids drooped shut.

A few days later, there was a knock at the woodcarver's door. Griping and grumbling, he went to answer it. There stood the widow and her son. 'May I watch again? I will be quiet,' said Thomas. He settled himself on the stool very quietly, while his mother laid a basket of sweet-smelling raisin buns on the table.

'The teapot is warm,' Mr. Toomy said gruffly, his head bent over his work. While Mr. Toomy carved, the widow MacDowell poured tea. She touched the woodcarver gently on the shoulder and placed a cup of tea and a bun next to him. He pretended not to notice, but soon both the plate and the cup were empty.

Thomas tried to eat the bun his mother had given him as quietly as he could, but it is almost impossible to be seven and eat a warm, sticky raisin bun without making various smacking, licking, satisfying noises. When Thomas had finished, he tried to sit quietly. Once again, he almost hiccuped, but he took a deep breath and held it till his face turned red. Once, without thinking, he began to swing his legs, but a glare from the woodcarver stopped them and he kept them so still they fell asleep.

After a very long time, Thomas whispered, 'Mr. Toomy, excuse me. May I ask a question?' Grunt. 'Is that my cow you're carving?' Nod and grunt.

Another very long time went by. Then Thomas cleared his throat and said, 'Mr. Toomy, excuse me, but I must tell you something. That is a beautiful cow, the most beautiful cow I have ever seen. But it's not right. My cow looked proud.'

'That's pish-posh,' growled the woodcarver. 'Cows are cows. They cannot look proud.'

'My cow did. It knew that Jesus chose to be born in its barn, so it was proud.' Thomas was quiet for the rest of the afternoon. The only sounds that could be heard were the scraping of the carving knife, the humming of the widow MacDowell and the click, click of her knitting needles. When the church bells chimed at six o'clock, Mr. Toomy muttered under his breath about the noise. The widow MacDowell said it was time to leave. Thomas shook first one leg and then the other. He thanked the woodcarver for allowing him to watch.

That evening, after a supper of boiled potatoes and raisin buns, the wood carver sat down at his bench. He picked up his carving knife. He picked up the cow. He worked until his eyelids drooped shut."

You're going to hear the rest of the story tomorrow.

Lisa Barry: I can't even imagine how this one comes out, can you? We'll both have to tune in tomorrow to find out. Or if you won't be able to join us, here's a way you can hear part two. Just purchase a copy of the series. The only problem is that once your friends find out you have it, they'll probably be asking to borrow it all the time. The title of the two-tape series is STORIES FOR CHRISTMAS. The cost is $13.

We've also got a great calendar for 1998 that's hot off the press available for you to purchase. Give us a call for information either on the series or the calendar. If you like what you're hearing on this program, would you write and tell us that? We value your feedback and appreciate the time you take to offer your opinion. If you're able to help us out financially at this busy time, we would be very grateful for that as well.

Here's our phone number: 1-800-759-4JOY. That's 1-800-759-4569. Or 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 we'll hear part two of Mr. Gloomy, so be sure and join us then for another Gateway To Joy.