Christmas Shorts

Asleep on the Hay

Meg Stoltzfus tenderly hung her homemade pinecone wreath on her humble door. She took a step back and sighed with mixed emotions. The holidays brought both joy and sadness for her and her husband Paul. She had much to be thankful for, with a cherished Amish heritage, two adult children that kept in contact with her, and a successful farm complete with livestock. However, her third child, a son named Jonah, had been estranged for years. It was certainly not by her and her husband's choice, but rather solely from Jonah's and his wife's decisions.

They had raised Jonah the best they could, with a healthy dose of love and discipline, and taught him responsibility and the value of hard work. However, when he came of age, Jonah left the Amish community, wanting nothing to do with his parents or their beliefs. He somehow had got it into his head; the Amish community kept people from reaching their full potential, and his parents had kept him naïve about the "real" world.

Meg and Paul of course saw things differently. They believed whole-heartedly in their way of life: Simple living with little to no electricity, a heavy focus on family, community and faith, and hard yet satisfying work.

Their other two children remained within the Amish way of life, but moved away to find work that suited them. Their children returned to visit when they could, but it wasn't every Christmas they could come home.

Meg looked at the ornate wooden clock on her wall, and headed to the kitchen. She was greeted with the delectable aroma of apples and cinnamon as she picked up a well-worn hot pad. She opened the oven as even stronger smells wafted over her, and gingerly took out her piping hot apple pie. She admired the perfectly browned crust, and the apple mixture slightly oozing out of the top cuts. She placed it on the counter to cool, and sighed satisfactorily to herself.

"Well, that was the last one. Best get ready for bed." She did some final clean-up in the kitchen, and made ready to retire to her room. Before she did, however, she stopped to listen to the wind outside. The melodic sound of the evening breeze always fascinated her. She stood by the kitchen window, and marveled as it whistled through the trees. It almost sounded like the first few notes of the classic Christmas song, "Away in the Manger."

It was then Meg heard their horse Brisa give a loud whinny. Their gentle mare never made noise in the evening unless she was sick or in trouble, so Meg hurriedly put on a shawl, and went outside to investigate. Fortunately for her, despite the late hour, it was still light enough to see, so she didn't have to use a candle or lantern.

She came into the stable and spoke softly to Brisa. The horse was in its pen, seemingly safe and sound and in no apparent danger. Meg gave her several comforting strokes, and stood for a few moments to make sure she was okay.

When she turned to leave, she stood frozen for a moment, unsure if what she saw was really there. Over in the corner, blanketed in shadows, was a pile of hay and a pitchfork. Atop the hay, it appeared there was a young child sound asleep.

Meg gave a muffled gasp, and took a few steps toward the figure. It was a little boy who seemed no more than seven, wearing "English" clothes. The Amish referred to anyone in America outside their culture as "English."

She walked softly over to the young one, and knelt beside the pile of hay. She put her hand gently on the child's shoulder, and softly rubbed it to wake him up. His eyes popped open, and he sat up in alarm.

"I didn't mean nothin' by it!" he blurted out. " 'm sorry...!"

"It's okay," she soothed. "I am not upset you slept in my barn – I'm just worried for your health and safety! It's cold, and your family must be worried about you."