Out of love He would let us come down from His royal courts to live in a world where we would be free to choose to come home again to Him. He said that because of temptations and because it would be so hard for us always to choose the right, that we would need a Savior. We would all need power beyond our own to be rescued from death and from sin.

Jehovah, out of His great love for the Father and for us, volunteered to come down from His exalted place as the perfect Firstborn in the spirit world to face the trials we would face and to save us if we loved Him enough to keep the commandments He would give us. At the heart of those commandments, we were to love the Father and His son and all of God’s other children. Hearing that story so filled our hearts with love for the Father and His Son that we shouted for joy and worshipped them.

Many have told since of the glorious time in that story when the Christ child is born to rescue and lead us home. Of the inspired accounts, the ones we treasure most help us feel again the tender love and care of the Father, and of His Beloved Son, for all of us, and especially for the least of us.

That is one of the reasons we love Luke’s story of the birth of Jesus. Each time we hear it we can feel again the love of our Father for us and for all His children. Each detail of the story makes real for us the message of love.

Mary, the mother of Jesus, wraps her firstborn child tenderly and lays Him in a manger. God sends angels in glorious light to announce to humble shepherds that the long-promised Messiah is born. And Luke tells us that choirs of angels were sent to celebrate this greatest of gifts from a loving Heavenly Father to His children. The words of Luke seem almost to bring to our minds and hearts the memory of the sound of angelic music:

“And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.

“And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.

“And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

“For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

“And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

“And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.”

The story of Christmas given to us by Luke creates feelings of peace and goodwill, just as the angel choir promised. Every inspired account of the birth of Jesus has that power.

The great prophet Isaiah wrote of the Christ child hundreds of years before He was born in a stable. He knew that Christ would be born to save us and to become the King of kings:

“For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.”

Handel set Isaiah’s Christmas story to music, and those words sung by choirs have lifted hearts for generations. Some of us have sung them ourselves. Just this week members of my ward were invited to bring their music to sing along with a choir. Each time I have heard or sung Isaiah’s story of Christ, I have felt joy and peace. The promise of peace, which the Lord brought at His birth, come whenever we qualify to experience His love and cleansing power, which comes because of His Atonement. And every inspired story of Christmas brings a feeling of His love for us.

Heavenly Father out of His love sent angels and prophets to tell that story of Christmas even before Jesus was born. Moroni, in the Book of Mormon, tells us why God did that:

“For behold, God knowing all things, being from everlasting to everlasting, behold, he sent angels to minister unto the children of men, to make manifest concerning the coming of Christ; and in Christ there should come every good thing.

“And God also declared unto prophets, by his own mouth, that Christ should come…

“Wherefore, by the ministering of angels, and by every word which proceeded forth out of the mouth of God, men began to exercise faith in Christ; and thus by faith, they did lay hold upon every good thing; and thus it was until the coming of Christ.”

It is still the same after the coming of Christ: we lay hold upon every good thing through our faith in Him. True stories of Christmas always increase that faith in Him and in His mission. And with that faith our determination grows to join with Him to help in His loving mission of mercy and rescue.

It is wonderful to remember Him always but especially as we celebrate His birth. He came to bless children. He healed the sick. He invited all, even those who despised Him, to follow Him and so choose the way home to our Heavenly Father.

We can choose this Christmas and every day to create a small part of the Christmas story in our own lives. We can accept the invitation of living prophets to help those who are lost along the pathway, and have wandered, to come back to it. We can offer the gospel, which is the only way home, to all we meet along the way. We can lift up those who are tired and hungry and lonely, as the Savior did and now invites us to do with Him. As we do, they can feel how much the Savior loves them and wants to lead them on the way to the God He loves.

In the stories of Christ’s birth, we can see and feel who He was and who He is. That lightens our load along the way. And it will lead us to forget ourselves and to lighten the load for others. That can make every day feel like the best of our Christmases past.

We can feel again the Savior’s loving approval and His thanks. And those we help for Him may sense the helping hand the Master holds out to them, if only they will choose to take it.

I testify that the child born of Mary in Bethlehem was the divine and perfect Son of God. He loves us perfectly, as does our Father. Jehovah came as the Christ to open for us all the way to escape from sin and sorrow. I pray that we will choose that way and help all those we can to go home to God with us in love, in the name of Jesus the Christ, amen.

One of the most striking things about our chapel was its beautiful stained-glass window depicting the Savior and the visit of our Heavenly Father and His Son to the Prophet Joseph Smith. As a young boy, I often looked up at this window and felt a special spirit. How I loved our quaint meetinghouse!

The special feeling in this building seemed to be enhanced during Christmastime. Somehow the smells were sweeter, the sounds were softer, the lights were more enchanting as they reflected off the stained-glass windows during those dark winter evenings. I will never forget this little villa because of the spirit I felt within its walls.

Years later, I grieved when I learned that this much-loved chapel—the place that had cradled us in its arms during the first years of our Church membership—had been demolished to make room for a high-rise apartment building.

I would think that those who made the decision to take down the building had good intentions and did not know what this villa meant to our small flock. To them it probably looked like just another building. Had they been able to see it as a house of worship, a place of rejoicing and friendship, a sacred chapel—had they only seen the place the way I did as a young child, they might have made a different decision.

I like the novel Le petit prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. It contains this keen observation: “Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is exhausting for children to have to provide explanations over and over again.” Later in the story a wise fox explains another important truth to the little prince: “Here’s my secret. It is very simple: One sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.”

Not being able to see the sacred either with the eyes or with the heart has been a fault of the human condition since the beginning. In the scriptures we read, “For the things which some men esteem to be of great worth . . . others set at naught and trample under their feet.” Sometimes the most precious and sacred things are right in front of us, in plain sight, but we cannot or will not see them.

This may be especially true during the blessed and precious season of Christmas. This is a beautiful time of the year. Trees are draped with sparkling lights, the stores glitter with dazzling decorations, and the streets bustle with crowds of shoppers seeking gifts for those they love.

All of these spectacular displays and decorations that compete for our attention can be beautiful and uplifting, but if that’s all we see, then we’re missing something that’s in plain sight. Sometimes, despite our best intentions, we become so preoccupied with responsibilities, commitments, and the stress of our many tasks that we fail to see with our hearts that which is essential and most sacred.

Even many who lived during the time of the Savior’s mortal ministry could not see Him, though He walked among them in plain sight.

Why Couldn’t They See Him?

Jesus Christ was born in a stable surrounded by lowly animals. He was raised in a disparaged town on the fringes of civilization. He did not go through the pattern of worldly education. He was not trained in worldly schools of philosophy, art, or literature. Some who heard His teachings questioned the origins of His education, saying, “How knoweth this man letters, having never learned?” and they said also, “Whence hath this man (his) wisdom? Is not this the carpenter’s son? Is not his mother called Mary? And his brethren . . . and his sisters, are they not all with us? Whence then hath this man all these things?”

The sophisticated and the proud, those who placed their trust in worldly learning, could not see Him.

Jesus the Christ was not wealthy, nor did he hold a political office. He lived and taught among humble people in a nation that was in bondage to the Romans. Therefore He did not seem worthy of notice by the political leaders of the day. They were, after all, preoccupied with running the world. They were far too busy to pay attention to a humble preacher of righteousness. When Jesus stood before Pilate, the powerful Roman governor could see only a teacher who was the cause of a disturbance in his political jurisdiction.

The wealthy and the influential, those who were caught up in their busy affairs of commerce and government, could not see Him.

The scribes and Pharisees and other religious leaders of the day were looking for the Messiah. They had studied the scriptures and longed for the time of the coming of the One who would deliver Israel. They yearned to see His day. They prayed for His arrival.

But they were so steeped in their own traditions and so blinded by their own narrow interpretation of scripture that they could not see the humble man who walked among them.

Jesus did not come in the way they expected. He had not attended their religious schools. Worse, He did not agree with all of their teachings and, therefore, He could not be the One.

The self-righteous and unteachable, those whose hearts were closed to the Spirit, could not see Him.

But Who Saw Him?

Simeon, an elderly, devout, and just man, saw the Christ. When Mary and Joseph brought the baby Jesus to the temple, Simeon knew through the power of the Holy Ghost that this was indeed the Christ, the Son of the Most High. And he took the baby in his arms and blessed Him.

Humble fishermen and laborers saw Him. The ailing, the humble, and the distraught saw Him and recognized Him as the Salvation of Israel. But there were those among the rich and powerful who were teachable and therefore could see the Christ. Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews, saw Him, as did the wealthy Joseph of Arimathea and Zacchaeus the publican.

Now, Can We See the Christ?

Sometimes when we read about people who could not see the Savior for who He was, we marvel at their blindness. But do we also let distractions obstruct our view of the Savior—during this Christmas season and throughout the year? Some are external distractions—the gifts we worry about, the decorations, or the clamorous advertising—but often it is what is inside us that blinds us from seeing the Christ.

Some may feel a certain level of intellectual aloofness that distances them from Christ. In an age when vast amounts of knowledge are at our fingertips, the familiar story of Jesus the Christ can get lost amid the flood of scientific advances, pressing news, or the latest popular movies or books.

Some are so caught up in the details of running their lives that they don’t make time for much else. They might pay lip service to the things of the Spirit, but their hearts are so focused on the world that they cannot see the Christ.

Some, like the Pharisees, seek for the Christ, but their hearts are so set upon their own theories, spiritual hobbies, and opinions that they fail to recognize Him. In spite of their good intentions, they miss the transforming revelations of the Holy Spirit and thereby miss the only way to receive a certain testimony of Jesus Christ.

Let Us See the Christ in Christmas

This is a season of rejoicing! A season of celebration! A wonderful time when we acknowledge that our Almighty God sent His Only Begotten Son, Jesus Christ, to redeem the world! To redeem us!

It is a season of charitable acts of kindness and brotherly love. It is a season of being more reflective about our own lives and about the many blessings that are ours. It is a season of forgiving and being forgiven.

But perhaps most of all, let it be a season of seeking the Lamb of God, the King of Glory, the Everlasting Light of the World, the Great Hope of Mankind, the Savior and Redeemer of our souls.

I promise that if we unclutter our lives a little bit and in sincerity and humility seek the pure and gentle Christ with our hearts, we will see Him, we will find Him—on Christmas and throughout the year.

Of this I testify in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Truth is found in a phrase we sing in one of our hymns: “Time flies on wings of lightning.” Another year has flown by, bringing us once again to the Christmas season.

Recently, as I’ve reminisced concerning past Christmases, I’ve realized that probably no other time of the year yields as many poignant memories as does Christmas. The Christmases we remember best generally have little to do with worldly goods, but a lot to do with families, with love, and with compassion and caring. This thought provides hope for those of us who fear that the simple meaning of the holiday is diluted by commercialism, or by opposition from those with differing religious views, or just by getting so caught up in the pressures of the season that we lose that special spirit we could otherwise experience.

For many people, “overdoing it” is especially common at this time of the year. We may take on too much for the time and energy we have. Perhaps we don’t have enough money to spend for those things we feel we must purchase. Often our efforts at Christmastime result in feeling stressed out, wrung out, and worn out during a time when instead we should feel the simple joys of commemorating the birth of the Babe in Bethlehem.

Usually, however, the special spirit of the season somehow finds its way into our hearts and into our lives despite the difficulties and distractions which may occupy our time and energy.

Many years ago I read of an experience at Christmastime which took place when thousands of weary travelers were stranded in the congested Atlanta, Georgia, airport. An ice storm had seriously delayed air travel as these people were trying to get wherever they most wanted to be for Christmas—most likely home.

It happened in December of 1970. As the midnight hour tolled, unhappy passengers clustered around ticket counters, conferring anxiously with agents whose cheerfulness had long since evaporated. They, too, wanted to be home. A few people managed to doze in uncomfortable seats. Others gathered at the newsstands to thumb silently through paperback books.

If there was a common bond among this diverse throng, it was loneliness—pervasive, inescapable, suffocating loneliness. But airport decorum required that each traveler maintain his invisible barrier against all the others. Better to be lonely than to be involved, which inevitably meant listening to the complaints of gloomy and disheartened fellow travelers.

The fact of the matter was that there were more passengers than there were available seats on any of the planes. When an occasional plane managed to break out, more travelers stayed behind than made it aboard. The words “Standby,” “Reservation confirmed,” and “First-class passenger” settled priorities and bespoke money, power, influence, foresight—or the lack thereof.

Gate 67 in Atlanta was a microcosm of the whole cavernous airport. Scarcely more than a glassed-in cubicle, it was jammed with travelers hoping to fly to New Orleans, Dallas, and points west. Except for the fortunate few traveling in pairs, there was little conversation at Gate 67. A salesman stared absently into space, as if resigned. A young mother cradled an infant in her arms, gently rocking in a vain effort to soothe the soft whimpering.

Then there was a man in a finely tailored grey flannel suit who somehow seemed impervious to the collective suffering. There was a certain indifference about his manner. He was absorbed in paperwork—figuring the year-end corporate profits, perhaps. A nerve-frayed traveler sitting nearby, observing this busy man, might have identified him as an Ebenezer Scrooge.

Suddenly, the relative silence was broken by a commotion. A young man in military uniform, no more than 19 years old, was in animated conversation with the desk agent. The boy held a low-priority ticket. He pleaded with the agent to help him get to New Orleans so that he could take the bus to the obscure Louisiana village he called home.

The agent wearily told him the prospects were poor for the next 24 hours, maybe longer. The boy grew frantic. Immediately after Christmas his unit was to be sent to Vietnam—where at that time war was raging—and if he didn’t make this flight, he might never again spend Christmas at home. Even the businessman looked up from his cryptic computations to show a guarded interest. The agent clearly was moved, even a bit embarrassed. But he could only offer sympathy—not hope. The boy stood at the departure desk, casting anxious looks around the crowded room as if seeking just one friendly face.

Finally the agent announced that the flight was ready for boarding. The travelers, who had been waiting long hours, heaved themselves up, gathered their belongings, and shuffled down the small corridor to the waiting aircraft: twenty, thirty, a hundred—until there were no more seats. The agent turned to the frantic young soldier and shrugged.

Inexplicably, the businessman had lingered behind. Now he stepped forward. “I have a confirmed ticket,” he quietly told the agent. “I’d like to give my seat to this young man.” The agent stared incredulously; then he motioned to the soldier. Unable to speak, tears streaming down his face, the boy in olive drab shook hands with the man in the gray flannel suit, who simply murmured, “Good luck. Have a fine Christmas. Good luck.”

As the plane door closed and the engines began their rising whine, the businessman turned away, clutching his briefcase, and trudged toward the all-night restaurant.

No more than a few among the thousands stranded there at the Atlanta airport witnessed the drama at Gate 67. But for those who did, the sullenness, the frustration, the hostility—all dissolved into a glow. That act of love and kindness between strangers had brought the spirit of Christmas into their hearts.

The lights of the departing plane blinked, starlike, as the craft moved off into the darkness. The infant slept silently now in the lap of the young mother. Perhaps another flight would be leaving before many more hours. But those who witnessed the interchange were less impatient. The glow lingered, gently and pervasively, in that small glass and plastic stable at Gate 67.

My brothers and sisters, finding the real joy of the season comes not in the hurrying and the scurrying to get more done or in the purchasing of obligatory gifts. Real joy comes as we show the love and compassion inspired by the Savior of the World, who said, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these … ye have done it unto me.”

At this joyous season, may personal discords be forgotten and animosities healed. May enjoyment of the season include remembrance of the needy and afflicted. May our forgiveness reach out to those who have wronged us, even as we hope to be forgiven. May goodness abound in our hearts and love prevail in our homes.

As we contemplate how we’re going to spend our money to buy gifts this holiday season, let us plan also for how we will spend our time in order to help bring the true spirit of Christmas into the lives of others.

The Savior gave freely to all, and His gifts were of value beyond measure. Throughout His ministry, He blessed the sick, restored sight to the blind, made the deaf to hear, and the halt and lame to walk. He gave cleanliness to the unclean. He restored breath to the lifeless. He gave hope to the despairing and bestowed light in the darkness.

He gave us His love, His service, and His life.

What is the spirit we feel at Christmastime? It is His spirit—the Spirit of Christ.

How silently, how silently the wondrous gift is giv’n!

So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of his heav’n.

No ear may hear his coming; but in this world of sin,

Where meek souls will receive him, still the dear Christ enters in.

With the pure love of Christ, let us walk in His footsteps as we approach the season celebrating His birth. As we do so, let us remember that He still lives and continues to be the Light of the World, who promised, “He that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.”

To each of you, my brothers and sisters, I extend my love and blessing. May you have a wonderful Christmas. May there be love and kindness and peace within your hearts and homes. May even those whose hearts are heavy rise with the healing which comes alone from Him who comforts and assures.

With the Spirit of Christ in our lives, we will have goodwill and love toward all mankind, not only during this season, but throughout the year as well.

May this be our experience and our blessing, I pray, in the name of Jesus Christ, our Savior and Redeemer, amen.

There are so many lessons to be learned from the sacred account of Christ’s birth that we always hesitate to emphasize one without considering all the others. Forgive me while I do just that.

One impression which has persisted with me is that this is a story of intense poverty. I wonder if Luke did not have some special meaning when he wrote not “there was no room in the inn” but specifically that “there was no room for them in the inn” (Luke 2:7; emphasis added). We cannot be certain, but it is my guess that money could buy influence in those days as well as in our own. I think if Joseph and Mary had been people of importance or wealth, they would have found lodging even at that busy time of year.

I have wondered if the Joseph Smith Translation also was suggesting they did not know any influential people when it says there was no one to give them room in the inns (see JST, Luke 2:7).

We cannot be certain what the historian intended, but we do know these two were desperately poor. At the purification offering which the parents made after the child’s birth, a turtledove was substituted for the required lamb, a substitution the Lord had allowed in the law of Moses to ease the burden of the truly impoverished (see Lev. 12:8).

The Wise Men did come later bearing gifts, adding some splendor and wealth to this occasion. But it is important to note that they came from a distance, probably Persia, a trip of several hundred kilometers at the very least. Unless they started long before the star appeared, it is highly unlikely that they arrived on the night of the babe’s birth. Indeed, Matthew records that when they came, Jesus was a “young child” and the family was living in a “house” (Matt. 2:11).

Perhaps this provides an important distinction we should remember in our own holiday season. Maybe the purchasing and the making and the wrapping and the decorating should be separated, if only slightly, from the more quiet, personal moments when we consider the meaning of the Baby (and his birth) who prompts the giving of such gifts.

The gold, frankincense, and myrrh were humbly given and appreciatively received. And so our gifts should be, every year and always. As my wife and children can testify, no one gets more giddy about the giving and receiving of presents than I do. But for that very reason, I, like you, need to remember the very plain scene, even the poverty, of a night devoid of tinsel or wrapping or goods of this world. Only when we see that single, sacred, unadorned object of our devotion—the Babe of Bethlehem—will we know why the giving of gifts is so appropriate.

As a father, I have thought often of Joseph—that strong, silent, almost unknown man who must have been more worthy than any other mortal man to be the guiding foster father of the living Son of God. It was Joseph selected from among all men who would teach Jesus to work. It was Joseph who taught him the books of the Law. It was Joseph who, in the seclusion of the shop, helped him begin to understand who he was and ultimately what he was to become.

I was a student at Brigham Young University just finishing my first year of graduate work when our first child, a son, was born. We were very poor, though not so poor as Joseph and Mary. My wife and I were both going to school, both working, and in addition we worked as head residents in an off-campus apartment complex to help pay our rent. We drove a little Volkswagen which had a half-dead battery because we couldn’t afford a new one (Volkswagen or battery).

Nevertheless, when I realized that our own special night was coming, I believe I would have done any honorable thing in this world, and mortgaged any future, to make sure my wife had the clean sheets, the sterile utensils, the attentive nurses, and the skilled doctors who brought forth our firstborn son. If she or that child had needed special care at the finest private medical center, ! believe I would have ransomed my very life to get it.

I compare those feelings (which I have had with each succeeding child) with what Joseph must have felt as he moved through the streets of a city not his own, with not a friend or kinsman in sight, nor anyone willing to extend a helping hand. In these very last and most painful hours of her “confinement,” Mary had ridden or walked approximately 160 kilometers from Nazareth in Galilee to Bethlehem in Judea. Surely Joseph must have wept at her silent courage. Now, alone and unnoticed, they had to descend from human company to a stable, a grotto full of animals, there to bring forth the Son of God.

I wonder what emotions Joseph might have had as he cleared away the dung and debris. I wonder if he felt the sting of tears as he hurriedly tried to find the cleanest straw and hold the animals back. I wonder if he wondered: “Could there be a more unhealthy, a more disease-ridden, a more despicable circumstance in which a child could be born? Is this a place fit for a king? Should the mother of the Son of God be asked to enter the “valley of the shadow of death” (Ps. 23:4) in such a foul and unfamiliar place as this? Is it wrong to wish her some comfort? Is it right He should be born here?”

But I am certain Joseph did not mutter and Mary did not wail. They knew a great deal and did the best they could.

Perhaps these parents knew even then that in the beginning of his mortal life, as well as in the end, this baby son born to them would have to descend beneath every human pain and disappointment. He would do so to help those who also felt they had been born without advantage.

I’ve thought of Mary, too, this most favored mortal woman in the history of the world, who as a mere child received an angel who uttered to her those words that would change the course not only of her own life but also that of all human history: “Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women” (Luke 1:28). The nature of her spirit and the depth of her preparation were revealed in a response that shows both innocence and maturity: “Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word” (Luke 1:38).

It is here I stumble, here that I grasp for the feelings a mother has when she knows she has conceived a living soul, feels life begin and grow within her womb, and carries a child to delivery. At such times fathers stand aside and watch, but mothers feel and never forget. Again, I’ve thought of Luke’s careful phrasing about that holy night in Bethlehem:

“The days were accomplished that she should be delivered.

“And she brought forth her firstborn son, and [she] wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and [she] laid him in a manger” (Luke 2:6–7; emphasis added).

Those brief pronouns trumpet in our ears that, second only to the child himself, Mary is the chiefest figure, the regal queen, mother of mothers—holding center stage in this grandest of all dramatic moments. And those same pronouns also trumpet that, save for her beloved husband, she was very much alone.

I have wondered if this young woman, something of a child herself, here bearing her first baby, might have wished her mother, or an aunt, or her sister, or a friend, to be near her through the labor. Surely the birth of such a son as this should command the aid and attention of every midwife in Judea! We all might wish that someone could have held her hand, cooled her brow, and when the ordeal was over, given her rest in crisp, cool linen.

But it was not to be so. With only Joseph’s inexperienced assistance, she herself brought forth her firstborn son, wrapped him in the little clothes she had knowingly brought on her journey, and perhaps laid him on a pillow of hay.

Then on both sides of the veil a heavenly host broke into song. “Glory to God in the highest,” they sang, “and on earth peace, good will toward men” (Luke 2:14). But except for heavenly witnesses, these three were alone: Joseph, Mary, and the baby to be named Jesus.

At this focal point of all human history, a point illuminated by a new star in the heavens revealed for just such a purpose, probably no other mortal watched—none but a poor young carpenter, a beautiful virgin mother, and silent stabled animals who had not the power to utter the sacredness they had seen.

Shepherds would soon arrive and, later, wise men would follow from the East. But first and forever there was just a little family, without toys or trees or tinsel. With a baby—that’s how Christmas began.

It is for this baby that we should shout in chorus: “Hark! the herald angels sing Glory to the newborn King! … Mild he lays his glory by, born that man no more may die; born to raise the sons of earth, born to give them second birth” (Hymns, 1985, number 209).

Perhaps recalling the circumstances of that gift, of his birth, of his own childhood, perhaps remembering that purity and faith and genuine humility will be required of every celestial soul, Jesus must have said many times as he looked into the eyes of children that loved him (eyes that always best saw what and who he really was), “Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven” (Matt. 18:3).

Christmas, then, is for children—of all ages. I suppose that is why my favorite Christmas carol is a child’s song. I sing it with more emotion than any other:

Away in a manger, no crib for his bed,

The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head . …

I love thee, Lord Jesus; look down from the sky

And stay by my cradle till morning is nigh . …

Be near me, Lord Jesus; I ask thee to stay

Close by me forever, and love me, I pray.

Bless all the dear children in thy tender care,

And fit us for heaven to live with thee there.

(Hymns, 1985, number 206)