A chill wind blew, whipping the ends of Grandmother’s bright red and yellow head scarf. She absentmindedly put her hand up to touch the scarf as she shuffled silently down the street, but she didn’t really think about the cold. What was large in her mind was Christmas.
In the war-torn, sad country of Hungary, how would they provide Christmas for the children? Every year, the adults would plan and prepare, scheme and create. They would close the parlor door to hide the secrets and decorate an evergreen tree with beautiful candies and bright candles. They would carefully choose gifts for each child—a fun toy, a colorful book, and maybe a new sweater or jacket. On Christmas Eve, they would ring the bell to call the excited children to the parlor door, announcing that “Jézuska” (the Christ Child) had visited. Then they would open the door, revealing the sparkling tree and all the lovely surprises. How they loved to see the children’s faces, full of wonder and awe! How they enjoyed the children’s delight, as the children would rush forward and then stop short of the tree, gazing in amazement and eagerness. After that, they would have a short Scriptural devotion, and after that the children would play and enjoy the Christmas treats. Grandmother smiled at the memories of her sweet children and grandchildren over the years. The happiness of the children had often brought tears of joy to her eyes.
But today, the gray sky and cold buildings mirrored how Grandmother felt inside—dreary, cold, and discouraged. There appeared no way to get a Christmas tree or anything to put under the tree.
Air raids had punctuated the little family’s Advent season. Howling sirens would announce the dreaded bombings and send everyone fleeing to the basement. No one dared come in from the surrounding countryside because of the fierce air raids. So the stores were nearly empty, regular groceries unavailable. Mere survival was a daunting challenge. It seemed impossible to show the children in tangible ways how much they were loved.
Grandmother stood in the street for a second, thinking. She looked over Budapest, and far in the distance she could just see the boats on the Blue Danube. Normally from here, she could see the sparkle of the river, too, but today no sunshine could break through the thick clouds to cause any sparkle. She turned back to the street and continued walking. A few minutes later, she paused at a side-street and decided to walk down it.
What was this? A woodcarver? She had not seen this shop before! And, oh, could it be?—a set of brightly-painted blocks in the window!
She rushed into the store and approached the owner.
“Excuse me sir,” she began a bit breathlessly, “those blocks—are they for sale?”
The old man looked up and smiled.
“Certainly, Ma’am.” He set down the tool he was using to carve a piece of oak and brushed sawdust from his lap. “Would you like to see them?"
“Oh, yes!”
“I’ll get a box here….” The woodcarver stood, walked to the back of the shop and came back with a wooden box. “Let me just put all these in….There!” He held the box, now full of blue, green, red, and yellow blocks, toward Grandmother. Grandmother picked up one of the blocks. Its surface felt as smooth as satin, ready for a child’s hands.
“I’ll take them!” Suddenly the gray day brightened.
Five days later, the children lay in their beds for naps, and the adults had gathered in the parlor. They worked busily arranging presents, lighting candles, and hanging decorations and homemade treats wrapped in foil saved from cigarette packages. Grandfather held the Christmas tree steady while Father lit the highest candles.
“I cannot imagine where those soldiers found those Christmas trees!” marveled Mother. “And how did they happen to come by exactly at the time when you were standing there on the street?!”
Three days prior, Grandmother had been amazed to see two soldiers coming down the street, each carrying a Christmas tree. She had approached the soldiers and asked: “Would you consider selling one of those trees to me? My husband is a Colonel in the army, and our grandsons are with us. We have no tree.” They had insisted she take a tree as a gift.
Grandmother finished hanging a decoration on the tree and said, “Our God can answer prayers any way He wants!” A warm feeling passed through all their hearts as they thought of how God had bestowed on them this little gift, this little reminder that they were known and loved by God despite the difficult years they had been through.
Father stepped back to admire the tree.
“Are we ready?” asked Grandfather. They all nodded and smiled. Mother stepped out to wake the children.
As she opened the bedroom door, suddenly they all heard a faint, “Ding-aling, Ding-aling, Ding!”
“It’s the bell!” shrieked Miklosh. “Come on, Yehno!” He slid out of bed and ran to his brother’s side, and his little four-year-old hand grasped Yehno’s even smaller hand. Mother picked up baby Eva, and they headed to the parlor together. Two-year old Yehno didn’t remember last Christmas, but Miklosh had told him all about it. Nearly bursting with excitement, the boys pattered down the long hallway with Mother and baby Eva following behind.
Father heard them coming and stood outside the parlor door, his blue eyes sparkling. They reached the parlor, and Mother smiled at Father. He waited just a moment and then flung wide the parlor doors. The boys rushed forward with wide eyes and glowing faces. Little Eva sucked on her fingers and stared, entranced, at the bright room. The miracle had happened—they were able to give the children a lovely Christmas.
Yehno saw the new blocks right away. He looked up at Mother and said, “Those belong to Mikloshka. The old ones are just fine for me.” He was only two years old but already so unselfish. Giving to others and showing love came so naturally to this little one.
But no one knew that this would be little Yehno’s last Christmas on earth.
A few short months after Christmas, many children in the city came down with the dreaded pneumonia. In those days, no antibiotics were available. Miklosh’s body fought the illness, and slowly he grew well. But gradually Yehno became weaker and weaker, and finally his body succumbed to the disease.
Many friends and family gathered as Yehno’s body was lowered into the grave. Sweet, gentle Mother felt that her heart was breaking. Her little boy, her darling, had been ushered to his eternal Home, and she already missed him. She held precious baby Eva tightly and hugged dear little Mikloshka even harder to her side, as if to make sure they would stay on earth with her forever. Miklosh looked up at her with tears and questions in his blue eyes, and Mother wept.
For some time, Miklosh would look for Yehno with a broken heart, not fully understanding death. But he grew to know that Yehno is safe with the same Jesus who visited them in the winter of 1944.
“For unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given,” they had read in Isaiah. What is Christmas but the birth of the One Who had conquered death forever?! The Christ Child, a Savior, had come to earth. His death on the cross and His resurrection had secured a place in Heaven for all who would receive Him. One day they would see Yehno again. One day, they would all be in that beautiful, happy place in the presence of Almighty God.
One day they would all be Home.
based on a true story
