Call Me Mrs Miracle

Falling for ChristmasTitle: Call Me Mrs Miracle
Author: Debbie Macomber
Source: Amazon as part of Falling for Christmas
Length: Novella

This Christmas, Emily Merkle (call her Mrs. Miracle!) is working in the toy department at Finley’s, the last family-owned department store in New York City. And her boss is none other than…Jake Finley, the owner’s son.

For Jake, holiday memories of brightly wrapped gifts, decorated trees and family were destroyed in a Christmas Eve tragedy years before. Now Christmas means just one thing to him—and to his father. Profit. Because they need a Christmas miracle to keep the business afloat.

Holly Larson needs a miracle, too. She wants to give her eight-year-old nephew, Gabe, the holiday he deserves. Holly’s widowed brother is in the army and won’t be home for Christmas, but at least she can get Gabe that toy robot from Finley’s, the one gift he desperately wants. If she can figure out how to afford it…

Fortunately, it’s Mrs. Miracle to the rescue. Next to making children happy, she likes nothing better than helping others—and that includes doing a bit of matchmaking!

This Christmas will be different. For all of them.

 

Jake Finley takes a risk when he orders five hundred SuperRobot toys for the New York department store his father owns. Then he discovers he has a new employee called Mrs Miracle – who may or may not be the solution to shifting the stock of SuperRobots. Throw single woman (and struggling aunt!) Holly Larson and her nephew Gabe into the mix, and one’s set for a charming romance with a twist of the miraculous.

I really enjoyed this story. I attribute it to being a Christmas tale that the romance isn’t the typical format, but instead is nice and relaxing, allowing one to get the feel-good factor in spades. All the characters are well crafted, as is the setting, enabling one to become immersed in the story for a time.

Extract from “A Christmas Carol” by Charles Dickens

I’m ashamed to say that I only plucked up the courage to read this classic some time in the last year or two. And what a surprise it was. A really beautiful Christmas story. So here I give you the closing passages.

In the afternoon he turned his steps towards his nephew’s house.

He passed the door a dozen times, before he had the courage to go up and knock. But he made a dash, and did it:
“Is your master at home, my dear?” said Scrooge to the girl. Nice girl! Very.

“Yes, sir.”

“Where is he, my love?” said Scrooge.

“He’s in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress. I’ll show you up-stairs, if you please.”

“Thank’ee. He knows me,” said Scrooge, with his hand already on the dining-room lock. “I’ll go in here, my dear.”
He turned it gently, and sidled his face in, round the door.

They were looking at the table (which was spread out in great array); for these young housekeepers are always nervous on such points, and like to see that everything is right.

“Fred!” said Scrooge.

Dear heart alive, how his niece by marriage started! Scrooge had forgotten, for the moment, about her sitting in the corner with the footstool, or he wouldn’t have done it, on any account.

“Why bless my soul!” cried Fred, “who’s that?”

“It’s I. Your uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner.

Will you let me in, Fred?”

Let him in! It is a mercy he didn’t shake his arm off.

He was at home in five minutes. Nothing could be heartier.

His niece looked just the same. So did Topper when he came. So did the plump sister when she came. So did every one when they came. Wonderful party, wonderful games, wonderful unanimity, won-der-ful happiness!

But he was early at the office next morning. Oh, he was early there. If he could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late! That was the thing he had set his heart upon.

And he did it; yes, he did! The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter past. No Bob. He was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time. Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come into the Tank.

His hat was off, before he opened the door; his comforter too. He was on his stool in a jiffy; driving away with his pen, as if he were trying to overtake nine o’clock.

“Hallo!” growled Scrooge, in his accustomed voice, as near as he could feign it. “What do you mean by coming here at this time of day?”

“I am very sorry, sir,” said Bob. “I am behind my time.”

“You are?” repeated Scrooge. “Yes. I think you are. Step this way, sir, if you please.”

“It’s only once a year, sir,” pleaded Bob, appearing from the Tank. “It shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, sir.”

“Now, I’ll tell you what, my friend,” said Scrooge, “I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore,” he continued, leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the waistcoat that he staggered back into the Tank again; “and therefore I am about to raise your salary!”

Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. He had a momentary idea of knocking Scrooge down with it, holding him, and calling to the people in the court for help and a strait-waistcoat.

“A merry Christmas, Bob!” said Scrooge, with an earnestness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. “A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you, for many a year! I’ll raise your salary, and endeavour to assist your struggling family, and we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop, Bob! Make up the fires, and buy another coal-scuttle before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit!”

Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did NOT die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him.

He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total Abstinence Principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!

Oh, Holy Night

Oh, holy night! Oh, glorious light,
That shines on Bethlehem town!
Oh, music sweet, that from the skies
Comes floating softly down!
The echo of the angels’ song
Falls on our ears again:
“All glory be to God on high,
And peace, good will to men.”

The shepherds heard, like note of bird,
That midnight carol clear,
And to the manger and the babe
In awe and love drew near
And, as they gazed, the heavenly strain
Rang in their hearts again:
“All glory be to God on high,
And peace, good will to men”

‘Twas service sweet, ’twas homage meet
For lowly men to pay;
And we our hearts’ obeisance make
Upon this Christmas day.
We join ye, angel choristers,
As ye repeat again:
“All glory be to God on high,
And peace, good will to men.”

Oh, holy night! Oh, glorious light,
That shines on Bethlehem town!
Oh, music sweet, that from the skies
Comes softly floating down!
We catch the golden cadences
And fling them back again –
“All glory be to God on high,
And peace, good will to men.”

Thos. C. Roney

A Dog Gone Christmas

A Dog Gone ChristmasTitle: A Dog Gone Christmas
Author: Lindsay Downs
Source: Amazon
Length: Novella

When a call for paws goes out, five friends bring their collies without question to a friend’s house. They learn the collies are needed to help seven children with the grief of losing a parent in Iraq or Afghanistan. Now, with seven friends, four collie yearlings and their mother, they set out to help the children

Not far away a mother hopefully leads her seven puppies to safety from a man intent on selling them for illicit purposes.

By a miracle of fate the two mother collies find each other right before the man sells the puppies.

That Christmas morning will be one the children will remember all their lives and they are united with the puppies.

 

A group of humans bring their collies together to assist seven children adjusting to the loss of a parent in Iraq or Afghanistan. Meanwhile, a mother collie leads her brood of seven puppies away from a bad man. When the two groups of collies meet, possibilities open up for the therapy program. Will everyone get a collie this Christmas?

This is a warm-hearted tale about the love between man (or child) and dog that sets one up perfectly for a fur-ball Christmas.

Hark the Herald Angels Sing

Back when I was about four, I attended a ‘Carols by Candlelight’ dressed as an angel. This carol had clearly made an impression on me, even at that age. And yes. It still gives me the tingles.

Hark the herald angels sing
“Glory to the newborn King!
Peace on earth and mercy mild
God and sinners reconciled”
Joyful, all ye nations rise
Join the triumph of the skies
With the angelic host proclaim:
“Christ is born in Bethlehem”
Hark! The herald angels sing
“Glory to the newborn King!”

Christ by highest heav’n adored
Christ the everlasting Lord!
Late in time behold Him come
Offspring of a Virgin’s womb
Veiled in flesh the Godhead see
Hail the incarnate Deity
Pleased as man with man to dwell
Jesus, our Emmanuel
Hark! The herald angels sing
“Glory to the newborn King!”

Hail the heav’n-born Prince of Peace!
Hail the Son of Righteousness!
Light and life to all He brings
Ris’n with healing in His wings
Mild He lays His glory by
Born that man no more may die
Born to raise the sons of earth
Born to give them second birth
Hark! The herald angels sing
“Glory to the newborn King!”

And They Laid Him in a Manger

Happy crib, that wert, alone,
To my God, bed, cradle, throne!
Whilst thy glorious vileness I
View with divine fancy’s eye,
Sordid filth seems all the cost,
State, and splendour, crowns do boast.

See heaven’s sacred majesty
Humbled beneath poverty;
Swaddled up in homely rags,
On a bed of straw and flags!
He whose hands the heavens displayed,
And the world’s foundations laid,
From the world’s almost exiled,
Of all ornaments despoiled.
Perfumes bathe him not, new-born;
Persian mantles not adorn;
Nor do the rich roofs look bright
With the jasper’s orient light.

Where, O royal infant, be
The ensigns of thy majesty;
Thy Sire’s equalizing state;
And thy sceptre that rules fate?
Where’s thy angel-guarded throne,
Whence thy laws thou didst make known–
Laws which heaven, earth, hell obeyed?
These, ah! these aside he laid;
Would the emblem be–of pride
By humility outvied?

Sir Edward Sherburne