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From 1558 until 1829, Roman Catholics in England were not permitted to practice their faith openly.  Someone during that era wrote this carol as a catechism song for young Catholics.

It has two levels of meaning: the surface meaning plus a hidden meaning known only to members of their church. Each element in the carol has a code word for a religious reality which the children could remember.

• The partridge in a pear tree was Jesus Christ.
• Two turtle doves were the Old and New Testaments.
• Three French hens stood for faith, hope and love.
• The four calling birds were the four gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke & John.
• The five golden rings recalled the Torah or Law, the first five books of the Old Testament.
• The six geese a-laying stood for the six days of creation.
• Seven swans a-swimming represented the sevenfold gifts of the Holy Spirit–Prophesy, Serving, Teaching, Exhortation, Contribution, Leadership, and Mercy.
• The eight maids a-milking were the eight beatitudes.
• Nine ladies dancing were the nine fruits of the Holy Spirit–Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness, and Self Control.
• The ten lords a-leaping were the ten commandments.
• The eleven pipers piping stood for the eleven faithful disciples.
• The twelve drummers drumming symbolized the twelve points of belief in the Apostles’ Creed.

So that is your history lesson for today. Merry (Twelve Days of) Christmas Everyone – and, remember, the Twelve Days of Christmas are the 12 days starting December 25th and the Christmas Season runs until Epiphany, January 6.

The phrase “Merry Christmas” is traditionally used in the United States while “Happy Christmas” is more prevalent in the United Kingdom, both the expressions have altered and developed with time. Ever wonder why?

Happy and merry are synonyms, but they actually have different very different connotations. Merry implies more of a verb type action while happy, leans more toward quiet contentment.

According to grammarist.com Merry Christmas and Happy Christmas are both greetings used during the last part of December, around Christmas time. The first word of each is only capitalized when used as a greeting. When one is speaking of a happy or merry Christmas, the adjectives are lowercase.

Merry Christmas began as a saying in the 1500s. It was recorded in a letter as a wish that God would send the recipient a “mery Christmas”. It was solidified as a capitalized greeting by Charles Dickens in his great work A Christmas Carol.

Queen Elizabeth II, for whatever reason, did not use Dickens’ phrase. Instead, she used the phrase Happy Christmas in her broadcasts to her subjects. After her use, the term gained popularity and is still the most common form in Great Britain and Ireland.

There is debate whether or not the greeting has religious meaning and whether a more generic Happy Holidays should be used instead to respect non-Christian views. Be aware of your audience when choosing the correct phrase.

Obviously there are many theories. Country Living.com has yet another view.

Ever wondered where the phrase “Merry Christmas” comes from? It’s a relative question since we live in a country where “Happy Easter” and “Happy Birthday” are the norm, making “merry” part of “Merry Christmas” pretty unique. No one is entirely certain where the “merry” originated, but there are several interesting theories.

Wait. Does anyone say “Happy Christmas”? Yes! For starters, it’s important to note that “Happy Christmas” hasn’t faded completely—it’s still widely used in England. This is believed to be because “happy” took on a higher class connotation than “merry,” which was associated with the rowdiness of the lower classes. The royal family adopted “Happy Christmas” as their preferred greeting, and others took note. (In fact, each year, Queen Elizabeth wished her citizens a “Happy Christmas,” rather than a merry one.)

A dated letter from bishop John Fisher to Henry VIII’s chief minister Thomas Cromwell revealed that “Merry Christmas” has been used since at least 1534. The English carol, “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” which was introduced in the 1500s, also uses the popular phrase.

So when did “Happy Christmas” become “Merry Christmas” in the U.S.?

Historians believe it might boil down to a simple grammatical lesson. “Happy” is a word that describes an inner emotional condition, while “merry” is more of a behavior descriptor—something active and maybe even raucous.

As both words evolved and changed meanings over time, people slowly stopped using “merry” as its own individual word during the 18th and 19th centuries. It stuck around in common phrases like “the more, the merrier,” as well as in things like Christmas songs and stories, largely due to the influence of Charles Dickens. The Victorian Christmas went on to define many of today’s Christmas traditions.

It’s no wonder that now when we hear “Merry Christmas” we hear something sentimental. Even the word “merry” on its own now makes us think of December 25.

Christmas is the most important holiday to me and not because Santa comes, though that is pretty important to the kiddos, but more importantly, it’s a caring spirit, a sharing feeling, an attitude that I try to practice all year long.  I truly feel good about giving – whether it’s the Angel trees I select gifts for or the smile from the Salvation Army bell ringer as you put your money in their red bucket and wish them Merry Christmas. 

Every year I think about the world and all that is going on around us looking for way to make Christmas better for others. This year has been different than others in this post pandemic era, but the need is still great so it has also been rewarding to be able to help others.

I’m always searching for inspiring stories that show the goodness in people as well as the true meaning of the season with maybe an uncanny miracle too. Here are a few stories:

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THE TRUTH ABOUT SANTA A Wonderful Way To Explain Santa To Kids Without Them Feeling Lied To

In our family, we have a special way of transitioning the kids from receiving from Santa, to becoming a Santa. This way, the Santa construct is not a lie that gets discovered, but an unfolding series of good deeds and Christmas spirit.

When they are 6 or 7, whenever you see that dawning suspicion that Santa may not be a material being, that means the child is ready.

I take them out “for coffee” at the local wherever. We get a booth, order our drinks, and the following pronouncement is made:“You sure have grown an awful lot this year. Not only are you taller, but I can see that your heart has grown, too. [Point out 2-3 examples of empathetic behavior, consideration of people’s feelings, good deeds etc, the kid has done in the past year]. In fact, your heart has grown so much that I think you are ready to become a Santa Claus.

You probably have noticed that most of the Santas you see are people dressed up like him. Some of your friends might have even told you that there is no Santa. A lot of children think that, because they aren’t ready to BE a Santa yet, but YOU ARE. Tell me the best things about Santa. What does Santa get for all of his trouble? [lead the kid from “cookies” to the good feeling of having done something for someone else]. Well, now YOU are ready to do your first job as a Santa!”

Make sure you maintain the proper conspiratorial tone. We then have the child choose someone they know–a neighbor, usually. The child’s mission is to secretly, deviously, find out something that the person needs, and then provide it, wrap it, deliver it–and never reveal to the target where it came from. Being a Santa isn’t about getting credit, you see. It’s unselfish giving.

My oldest chose the “witch lady” on the corner. She really was horrible–had a fence around the house and would never let the kids go in and get a stray ball or Frisbee. She’d yell at them to play quieter, etc–a real pill. He noticed when we drove to school that she came out every morning to get her paper in bare feet, so he decided she needed slippers. So then he had to go spy and decide how big her feet were. He hid in the bushes one Saturday, and decided she was a medium. We went to Kmart and bought warm slippers. He wrapped them up, and tagged it “merry Christmas from Santa.” After dinner one evening, he slipped down to her house, and slid the package under her driveway gate. The next morning, we watched her waddle out to get the paper, pick up the present, and go inside. My son was all excited, and couldn’t wait to see what would happen next. The next morning, as we drove off, there she was, out getting her paper–wearing the slippers. He was ecstatic. I had to remind him that NO ONE could ever know what he did, or he wouldn’t be a Santa.

Over the years, he chose a good number of targets, always coming up with a unique present just for them. One year, he polished up his bike, put a new seat on it, and gave it to one of our friend’s daughters. These people were and are very poor. We did ask the dad if it was ok. The look on her face, when she saw the bike on the patio with a big bow on it, was almost as good as the look on my son’s face.

When it came time for Son #2 to join the ranks, my oldest came along, and helped with the induction speech. They are both excellent gifters, by the way, and never felt that they had been lied to–because they were let in on the Secret of Being a Santa.

CREDIT: Charity Hutchinson

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Here are a few more stories from CAMILLE STYLES that I found inspiring.

When Michigan resident Chad Rose just happened to have an extra Christmas tree that was used on his business’s parade float, he did what any decent person would do: he posted on Craigslist to give it away for free. For some, a tree is an annual necessity and integral part of the holidays, but for many it’s an expense that needs to be saved for daily essentials. After posting the ad, his inbox was immediately flooded with touching stories of why various families deserved to have the tree.

With each e-mail he read, it became clear how significant a simple tree can be in contributing to the holiday aura. One email, which he shared with MLive.com, read, “Having a real Christmas tree would be such a great blessing this year [because] usually we draw a Christmas tree on a large poster and hang it in the corner.” Realizing that $25 towards a tree was too much for some families to spare, Chad went out and bought 40 more to give away for free. He spent most of the next day going over his list of emails, checking it twice, and not paying much attention to who’s been naughty or nice – just deserving.

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Canadian airline WestJet delivered holiday cheer for 250 passengers on a flight to Calgary. The airline placed a digital Santa Claus at an airport, and asked passengers what they wanted for Christmas. While everyone was in the air, 175 WestJet workers sprinted to nearby stores and bought everything they asked ‘WestJet Santa’ for — from pairs of socks and underwear, to big-screen TVs. When the passengers arrived at their destination, every one was met with their dream gift at baggage claim.

This isn’t the first time WestJet has whipped out the holiday cheer, either. Last year, a flash mob of 150 volunteers performed a jolly dance in the waiting area for a red-eye flight, complete with Santa on the tarmac and stockings stuffed with new iPods.

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Sixteen year old Jordan Cox has a knack for extreme couponing, a talent he uses to help he and his struggling mom get by, according to the Telegraph. But this Christmas season, the savvy teen decided to also use his unique skill set to help struggling families in need. Jordan collected hundreds of coupons and purchased about $935 worth of groceries for less than a penny. He then donated it all to Doorstep, a nonprofit that disperses food to disadvantaged families.

“I decided I wanted to help as many people as I can, and to also show that it’s possible to shop very cheaply, if you know how,” Jordan said.

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But my all time favorite is a true story from Pastor Rob Reid:

THE TABLECLOTH

The brand new pastor and his wife, newly assigned to their first ministry, to reopen a church in suburban Brooklyn, arrived in early October excited about their opportunities.

When they saw their church, it was very run down and needed much work. They set a goal to have everything done in time to have their first service on Christmas Eve.

They worked hard, repairing pews, plastering walls, painting, etc. and on Dec 18 were ahead of schedule and just about finished. On Dec 19 a terrible tempest – a driving rainstorm – hit the area and lasted for two days. On the 21st, the pastor went over to the church. His heart sank when he saw that the roof had leaked, causing a large area of plaster about 20 feet by 8 feet to fall off the front wall of the sanctuary just behind the pulpit, beginning about head high.

The pastor cleaned up the mess on the floor, and not knowing what else to do but postpone the Christmas Eve service, headed home.

On the way he noticed that a local business was having a flea market type sale for charity so he stopped in. One of the items was a beautiful, handmade, ivory colored, crocheted tablecloth with exquisite work, fine colors and a Cross embroidered right in the center. It was just the right size to cover up the hole in the front wall. He bought it and headed back to the church.

By this time it had started to snow. An older woman running from the opposite direction was trying to catch the bus. She missed it. The pastor invited her to wait in the warm church for the next bus 45 minutes later.

She sat in a pew and paid no attention to the pastor while he got a ladder, hangers, etc., to put up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry. The pastor could hardly believe how beautiful it looked and it covered up the entire problem area. Then he noticed the woman walking down the center aisle. Her face was like a sheet. “Pastor,” she asked, “where did you get that tablecloth?” The pastor explained. The woman asked him to check the lower right corner to see if the initials, EBG were crocheted into it there. They were. These were the initials of the woman, and she had made this tablecloth 35 years before, in Austria. The woman could hardly believe it as the pastor told how he had just gotten the tablecloth.

The woman explained that before the war she and her husband were well-to-do people in Austria. When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave. Her husband was going to follow her the next week. She was captured, sent to prison and never saw her husband or her home again.

The pastor wanted to give her the tablecloth; but she made the pastor keep it for the church. The pastor insisted on driving her home, that was the least he could do. She lived on the other side of Staten Island and was only in Brooklyn for the day for a house-cleaning job.

What a wonderful service they had on Christmas Eve. The church was almost full. The music and the spirit were great. At the end of the service, the pastor and his wife greeted everyone at the door and many said that they would return.

One older man, whom the pastor recognized from the neighborhood, continued to sit in one of the pews and stare, and the pastor wondered why he wasn’t leaving.

he man asked him where he got the tablecloth on the front wall because it was identical to one that his wife had made years ago when they lived in Austria before the war and how could there be two tablecloths so much alike?

He told the pastor how the Nazis came, how he forced his wife to flee for her safety, and he was supposed to follow her, but he was arrested and put in a prison. He never saw his wife or his home again all the 35 years in between. The pastor asked him if he would allow him to take him for a little ride.

They drove to Staten Island and to the same house where the pastor had taken the woman three days earlier.

He helped the man climb the three flights of stairs to the woman’s apartment, knocked on the door and there he saw the greatest Christmas reunion he could ever imagine and was blessed with the ultimate Christmas gift.

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I also ran across this ‘new to me” poem last year that really spoke to me.

‘Twas the Night Jesus Came
Not a person was praying, not one in the house.
The Bibles were left on the shelf without care,
For no one thought that Jesus would come there.
The children were dressing to crawl into bed,
Not once even kneeling or bowing a head.
And mom in her rocker with baby in her lap
Was watching the Late Show while I took a nap.
 
When out of the East there rose such a clatter,
I sprang to my feet to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash
Tore open the shutters and lifted the sash!
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But angels proclaiming that Jesus was here!

The light of His face made me cover my head –
It was Jesus returning, just as He said,
And though I possessed worldly wisdom and wealth,
I cried when I saw Him in spite of myself.
In the Book Of Life which He held in His hand
Was written the name of every saved man.
He spoke not a word as He searched for my name;
When He said, “It’s not here” my head hung in shame.

The people whose names had been written with love
He gathered to take to His Father above.
With those who were ready He rose without a sound
While all the rest were left standing around.
I fell to my knees, but it was too late;
I had waited too long and thus sealed my fate.
I stood and I cried as they rose out of sight;
Oh, if only I’d know that this was the night!

In the words of this poem the meaning is clear;
The coming of Jesus is now drawing near.

There’s only one life and when comes the last call
We’ll find that the Bible was true after all.
~unknown

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And a new story that whether true or not, spoke to me about quiet kindness that is the epitome of the Christmas spirit.

A Waitress Secretly Fed a Lonely Boy Every Morning — Until Four Black SUVs Pulled Up Outside the Diner and Soldiers Walked In With a Letter That Made the Entire Town Fall Silent

Jenny Millers, 29, was a waitress at Rosie’s Diner, a small-town café where her days looked the same and her smile quietly hid her loneliness. One October morning, she noticed a boy no older than ten—small, with a backpack far too big for his frame—always sitting in the farthest booth with a book open.

Every day he only ordered a glass of water. Jenny soon realized he arrived at 7:15 sharp, read in silence, then left for school without eating. On the fifteenth day, she set down a plate of pancakes as if it were a mistake. “Oh, I’m sorry, the kitchen made an extra. Better for you to eat it than throw it out.” The boy looked at her, torn between hunger and hesitation. Ten minutes later, the plate was empty. “Thank you,” he whispered.

From then on, it became their quiet ritual—pancakes some mornings, eggs and toast on others, oatmeal when the air turned cold. He never asked, never explained, but always ate every bite and softly thanked her.

Others noticed. “Who’s that boy? Never seen his parents.” “Playing charity worker on company time?” Jenny ignored the remarks. When her manager confronted her, she replied firmly, “I’ll pay for his meals myself.”

Then one Thursday, the boy didn’t come. Jenny kept glancing at the door, her chest tight with unease. She set a plate of pancakes at his booth anyway. But all day long, the seat stayed empty.

Jenny waited the next morning, hoping the little boy would appear, the untouched plate of pancakes heavy on her mind. As she wiped the counter, the soft rumble of engines approached the diner. Four black SUVs pulled into the lot, their arrival turning every head in the café. A group of uniformed soldiers stepped out calmly, their presence filling the air with quiet curiosity. Jenny felt her pulse quicken, unsure why such an unusual moment had found her small-town diner.

The soldiers entered with gentle purpose, surveying the room before approaching Jenny’s station. One stepped forward and handed her a sealed envelope with a respectful nod. She held it carefully, sensing the importance of whatever message it carried. The diner fell so silent that even the silverware seemed to pause mid-clink. Jenny opened the letter slowly, her eyes softening as she read the words inside.
The letter revealed that the boy—Oliver—was the son of a deployed service member recently reassigned overseas. His mother worked long hours, and the family had been quietly struggling, unsure where to turn. Oliver had visited the diner because it felt warm and safe, and Jenny’s kindness had become the highlight of his mornings. The soldiers had come on behalf of Oliver’s father, who learned of her generosity through his son’s journal. He wanted to thank Jenny for offering care at a time when he could not be present.

Jenny felt her eyes fill as she finished reading, moved beyond words. The soldiers expressed their gratitude, and the entire diner responded with gentle applause that warmed the space. Later that day, Oliver returned, smiling shyly before giving her a grateful hug. In that moment, Jenny realized how far small acts of kindness can reach. From then on, the boy’s booth wasn’t just a seat—it became a reminder that compassion truly leaves a lasting mark.