By Norma Singley

When I entered the first grade I encountered lots of new children.  Some of which proceeded to tell we uninitiated that there was no Santa Claus-it was our parents.  That didn't go well with me and it upset my wonderful fanciful world.  So as Christmas approached I asked my parents if that was true and got a convoluted answer that involved my younger sister-which made no sense to me.  My only way to get an answer was to watch for Santa on Christmas Eve. 

By Jeremy Grossman
Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19

The path of destruction was clear.  It was as though a great malevolent hurricane had descended upon the little town of Bethlehem, but this hurricane had four paws and a shaggy tail.  The destruction was almost too much to behold. Joseph’s head was a distorted, chewed mass.  A shepherd’s arm was mangled, and never again would he hold his crook to gather in the little lambs.  Even one of the wise Magi, perhaps Melchior, looked anything but wise as he lay prostrate on the floor.  But worst of all, horrible beyond horrible, the Christ Child Himself—Baby Jesus, manger and all—was missing and presumed devoured.