Stories by Firefly! : 12 Days of Christmas || Christmas Story Snippets 2/3

Happy Friday, dear friends!

(I am seriously running out of unique post intros. Like...like it's getting bad, guys.) So, uh, part two of the snippets posts, anyone? *fingerguns*

|| Christmas Story Snippets {pt. 2 of 3}

Out of nowhere, a handful of icy slush came sailing through the air and smacked the back of David’s head. He yowled as the snow skittered down his shirt.

“That was for keeping your swell gal a secret for so long!” Michael hollered from across the yard, already forming a second round of ammo.

“Sure wasn’t because I feared my baby-faced brother could steal her away,” David called back, grinning at the sight of his fiance, laughing heartily, cheeks pink with cold.

There was no time to take cover before another snowball arrived, smacking into the front of Beth’s overalls.

“And that was for stealing my clothes without permission!”

“Hey, it was your sister’s idea!”

“I’m calling a snowball challenge,” Luke called, tossing Lenore over his shoulder and grabbing Erin by the hand. “All out war!”

“Are you sure y’all are brothers?” Beth asked as David grabbed her by the hand and nearly drug across the yard. “Because he acts nothing like you, sometimes.”

They ducked behind the semi-seclusion of a shade tree, snow grenades already catapulting through the air.

“And what does this all out war stuff mean?”

Snickering over her cluelessness, David leaned closer until his forehead dropped to hers. “It means every man—and woman—for themselves.”

*

As the minute hand rose to a vertical position, the clock on the mantle began to chime. Twelve full strokes, which ended with the family sitting in silence except for the crackle of the fire. Christmas Day.

Doug smiled as his mother approached him with the coffee pot. “More, son?”

“Thanks, Mama.” He held out his mug for her to fill, his other hand occupied by Mary’s.

Every coffee cup in the room had been refilled or topped off before Mama returned to her seat. She sank into the empty rocker by the fire, across from Papa. Doug and Mary sat on the sofa facing them, Ruthie on the ottoman between.

“Papa…” Mama laid her hand on her husband's knee, their eyes meeting in the firelight. “Why don't you lead us in a prayer to thank God for our children’s safe return?”

As they bowed their heads, Doug tightened his arm around Mary’s shoulders, nudging her closer to him. He couldn't help smiling when she pressed a kiss to his cheek and nestled her head into his embrace.

Yes, they loved him for who he was deep inside. He wasn't the same person that left, but he had survived the war. And he’d made it home to the one he loved, home just in time for Christmas.

*

The rest of the family migrates into the living room, claiming spots around the base of the tree. Before saying grace over our breakfast, Mr. Traven pulls out his Bible and reads aloud the never- aging story from Luke two.

As the beloved words fill the room, I rest my head against Ryder’s shoulder and breathe in the wonder. The story of a Savior coming to a sin-sick world in the form of a helpless baby. The story of God in human flesh, masquerading as the Son of a lowly, humble Nazarene carpenter. For us—it was all for us.

Laughter and conversation are enjoyed along with the breakfast. After plates have been set aside and mugs refilled, presents are passed out and exchanged.

With my coffee cup warming my hands, I sit close to Ryder's side and observe the giving and receiving amidst the flurry of paper shreds and glittery ribbons.