<< >>
Happy Christmas
As the lights grow softer and the days grow quieter, Christmas invites us to pause, breathe, and remember what truly matters. God stepped into our world not with noise or power, but with love, humility, and hope.
I wrote two gentle Christmas stories in the hope that they would bring you a touch of the wonder of Christmas, filled with light and the promise of everlasting hope.
May your home be filled with warmth, your heart with peace, and your days with quiet joy.
God bless you, and Merry Christmas.
The Last Walk Home
By J.K. Stenger
Somewhere in the Netherlands, the year approximately 1850
Usually, Fien would never have gone out. The weather was fierce, and on top of it all, it was Christmas Eve. The wind howled around her small cottage far beyond the village. Shutters rattled, doors groaned and even the candle flames trembled in their holders. No, this was a night to stay close to the fire and reflect on the miracle of that first Christmas Eve, so long ago.
But it wasn’t just the weather. Doctor Muller had warned her not to overexert herself. She was far too weak. He had done everything his medical knowledge allowed, but her illness was relentless. Only recently had he told her, gently but plainly, that her days might be numbered.
It did not frighten her. She was weary of this world so full of aches and confusion, and she longed for the better country across the river. No, she did not fear death. A deeper peace than this world could offer had taken root in her heart long ago.
So when she settled into her rocking chair by the hearth, wrapped in her warm shawl, a cup of hot chocolate cradled in her hands and the Good Book nearby, she felt content.
Then there was a knock on the door.
Not loud, but clear enough. When she listened more closely, she heard a child’s voice:
“Please… open the door. Help.”
Startled, Fien spilled her hot chocolate onto the wooden floor. Who could be outside in weather like this? And a child, at such an hour?
No children lived nearby. The closest farm was Gerrit Blom’s, nearly a kilometre away. How could a child have come this far?
The knocking continued.
There was nothing else to do; Fien rose and made her way carefully to the door.
“Hello?” she called, her voice unsteady. “Who’s there?”
“Please, open the door.”
Now she could hear clearly that it was indeed a little girl.
She hesitated. One could never be certain who waited outside. But this was Christmas Eve, the night when heaven’s light was poured out upon the earth, the one night when peace truly reigned.
She pulled the latch aside and opened the door.
Icy wind struck her face and tugged at her long skirt. Her hair came loose from its bun and whipped around her head, sending a shiver through her frail body. But she barely noticed.
A small, shivering girl stood before her, braids peeking out from beneath a woollen hat, her thin jacket dusted with snow.
“Oh, my poor lamb,” Fien said softly. “What are you doing outside on such a cold Christmas night? Come in. Warm yourself by the fire. I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”
She opened the door wider, but the girl did not move.
“No,” the child said firmly. “You must come with me. You must help.”
Help? In this storm?
The thought of stepping out into the blistering cold, leaving the comfort of her warm fire and the Good Book behind, was not a pleasant one. Yet Fien had always been quick to offer a hand when it was asked of her, and the one asking was only a child.
“What is it, my child?” she asked.
“Father was struck on the head by a falling branch. He can’t drive the horse anymore. Mother is in the cart with the baby.”
Fien’s heart tightened. An accident. And on Christmas Eve, of all nights. Cold or weak, she could not turn this poor child away.
“Is it far?” she asked.
The girl shook her head and pointed toward the dark forest. “Just over the hill. By the lake, near the signpost to the village.”
That was not far. She should be able to manage it, even with her stiff legs.
She studied the child again. What a sweet little girl. There was something about her, almost as if a gentle light surrounded her.
“Wait here,” she said. “I must fetch another shawl.”
Inside, doubt crept in. She could not drive a cart. She knew nothing about horses. She could not even carry her heavy quilt far enough to keep these unfortunate strangers halfway warm. Her help would be useless.
No, there had to be a better way.
Gerrit Blom.
The thought came with sudden clarity. She would fetch Gerrit Blom. He had a horse, a wagon, and a heart of gold. She hated to disturb him on Christmas Eve, but this was no ordinary situation. This was an emergency.
She wrapped herself in, pulled on her wooden clogs, and stepped back outside.
The girl waited patiently, calm and warm in spirit despite the cold.
Strangely, Fien no longer felt the ache in her bones. Imagination, she told herself.
“We’re going to Gerrit Blom,” she said. “He can help your family.”
The girl nodded and walked ahead, leading the way.
That was odd. How did she know where Gerrit lived? Fien pushed the thought aside. The walk itself demanded all her strength.
The wind howled across the snow-covered path, cutting through her clothes as if she wore none at all. Snow stung her face, and she prayed she would soon see the lights of Gerrit Blom’s farm.
They were nearly halfway there when Fien turned to speak again. “What’s your name, gir—” She stopped midsentence, her words still hanging in the air.
The girl was gone.
Panic seized her. Had the child wandered off and gotten lost in the storm?
The road ran across wide, open fields. There was nothing to hide behind, nothing to block the way. Any sensible child could have followed it.
By the moon’s faint light peeking through the clouds, Fien studied the snow. Only her own footprints marked the road. There were no signs of the child at all. She had simply vanished.
A sound caught her attention. Wheels creaked in the snow behind her, and the steady clip of horse hooves followed.
She turned. To her joy and relief, she saw Gerrit Blom approaching, driving his wagon home from the village.
“Fien!” he cried, hauling the horse to a stop. “What are you doing out here on Christmas Eve? You’ll freeze to death!”
“There’s a family in trouble,” she said urgently. “By the lake, near the village signpost. A man injured, a mother with a baby. They’ll die if you don’t help.”
Gerrit frowned. “How do you know this?”
“A girl came to my door. She went for help.”
“A girl?” His eyes searched the road. “Where is she now?”
Fien lifted her hands helplessly. “I don’t know. She was here… and then she wasn’t. She must have gone back to her parents.”
Gerrit hesitated.
“The girl was real,” Fien insisted. “Please, you must believe me.”
After a moment, he nodded. “Fine. Climb up. We’ll go at once.”
“No,” Fien said decidedly. “I’ll walk home. It’s warmer there. You go. You help and save them.”
Gerrit did not like it one bit. He groaned, casting Fien a doubtful look. But time was precious, and at last he consented. “Alright,” he said, “But hurry. It’s too cold for you out here.”
As Gerrit drove off, a deep peace settled over Fien’s heart. She turned towards her home.
It was only after a few steps that she realized something had changed. That was strange… The cold no longer touched her.
Warmth spread through her chest, as if a small fire had been lit within her. It had been a strange Christmas Eve, but she had helped and the unfortunate family would be saved. She had done little, yet it was enough.
Joy filled her heart as she stepped on. Home was not much farther now, and soon she would be able to sit again in her chair by the open fire.
Something at the edge of the road caught her eye. An old oak stood there, a tree she knew well, where she had often rested in summer, gazing over flowered fields.
But now the tree glowed.
Light shimmered from every branch, every twig, as if each were adorned with living crystals.
It seemed to beckon her. “Come, dear… let me show you something even more beautiful.”
How strange. Should she go closer? She was so very tired, and home was so near. But how could she resist coming closer, to behold this wonder right before her eyes? Maybe she could rest there for just a moment. It looked so peaceful, so beautiful.
She stepped toward the tree, and with each step, the world around her seemed to grow quieter. The wind fell silent. The pain left her limbs. Peace washed over her like a gentle tide.
She reached out.
And there, just as she was about to touch the glowing bark, the little girl appeared from behind the tree, smiling.
“This is the end of your journey,” she said softly. “Your time has come. I may lead you home.”
“H-Home?” Fien whispered.
The girl nodded.
“Greater love has no one than this: to give one’s life for others. Come, rest here.”
Fien sank beneath the shining branches, feeling their gentle warmth surround her, and closed her eyes. Peace, deeper than any she had known in this world, filled her heart.
***
At dawn, she was found sitting beneath an icy oak tree, a radiant smile upon her lips.
Gerrit Blom had saved the stranded family that night, yet he could not forgive himself for not bringing Fien home first.
Still, the quiet radiance on her face told him that something sacred had occurred. She had seen something none of them had ever seen.
And all who heard the story knew this much to be true: On that stormy, dark Christmas night, Fien had gone where the light had been waiting for her.
____