by Valorie Quesenberry | Dec 19, 2017 | books, Christmas, Christmas Carol, December, library, short story, words
The library had a different kind of quiet today. Emma could feel the holiday spirit just under the surface in the youngsters who jostled past her desk on their way to the children’s department. Christmas was only 3 weeks away, and the town was bursting with holiday...
by Valorie Quesenberry | Dec 18, 2017 | Christmas, December, farms., mason jar. teachers, Midwest, missions, short story, traditions
(an old-fashioned tale of the season)It started quite simply, as many times these things do. A quart of soup in a Mason canning jar seems such an insignificant thing but don’t try to say that to a little farming community in the Midwest. They won’t hear you. They...
by Valorie Quesenberry | Dec 16, 2017 | angel, Christmas, December, Jesus, Mary, short story
My name is Mary. When I was born, there were many girls with this name. And just like my name was common, so was everything else about me. I had the same dark eyes and hair of my people, olive skin, and a nose just the least bit prominent. As I grew up, my stature was...
by Valorie Quesenberry | Dec 15, 2017 | barns, Christmas, cookie cutter, cookies, December, farmhouse, grandmothers, short story
As Catherine took the cheap, tin cookie cutters from their jar, she remembered the story. She always did when she made Christmas cookies with Grandma Kitty’s cutters. It was a story passed down for 2 generations — from mother to daughter while they shaped stars...
by Valorie Quesenberry | Dec 13, 2017 | angels, Christmas, December, lodge, short story, trees, widow, Yellowstone National Park
I never dreamed I would spend Christmas Eve away from my native Midwestern roots, without the comfort of family and familiar foods. But, then I never dreamed I would be a widow at age 29 either. But both are true. And now, by the generosity of a fellow teacher, I am...
by Valorie Quesenberry | Dec 11, 2017 | Christmas, Minnesota, Santa Lucia, short story, snow, Sweden
The wind on the lake flung ice crystals against the glass window pane of the cabin. Britta could barely see the fir trees in front. Such a storm! The cabin was warm enough; the rocking chair made by her husband’s skilled hands sat in front of the fireplace, a cheery...
