NEW FACE FOR AN OLD FRIEND...

ON A SNOWY CHRISTMAS EVE

 

The endearing true story of an aging artist bitter with life and the family he once loved. The vinegary old man and his dog, Rudy, live in a small Canadian village nestled in the heart of British Columbia. Who can change such a bitter, broken heart? The answer comes when Bernie faces himself and his past during a children’s Christmas pageant.

This bittersweet and stirring story is for all ages, for all who believe in the miraculous birth of Jesus Christ, God’s gift to the world. If you are looking for spiritual significance during this highly commercialized holiday season and want your family to understand the “true” meaning of Christmas, then this story is for you. What makes the beautifully written narrative so special is that it really happened, not so very long ago on a snowy Christmas Eve.

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“On a Snowy Christmas Eve” Christmas Story

- Perfect story for family Christmas story time

- For teens and adults with beautiful Color illustrations

- Written by Award Winning Brandon Author Ruth Carmichael Ellinger

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Some stories are written from a vivid imagination, woven like threads in a tapestry to become alive with color and contrast, with sight and sound. Some stories are mere ideas, thoughts, and reflections, methodically and carefully framed into words that tell the tale. Still others, like my own, are the experiences of life lived, of stories and events more wonderful than a fiction writer could ever produce. This is where I write. And God, who is the Master Author, holds the pen.  (from Christmas Comes to Ernie) 

                 ©Ruth Carmichael Ellinger/2001

It is often said that the pen is the tongue of the soul and the heart is revealed in things written. For a writer to capture the reader, error free technique and perfect sentence structure alone, is not enough. You must capture the reader with your passion, words and images that the reader feels are coming from your heart. 

I write because of an inspiration within, because the Spirit compels me to write my stories and this is not simply my own choice. To me, it is a moral duty, an obligation to my readers to write the truth in a way that allows them to see themselves reflected in a spiritual context. Readers can relate to the circumstances written in the story, work out similar problems, consider who they are in relationship to God, and where they are going in that relationship.

Words are easily written just as they are easily spoken. Those same words placed in neat columns on a tablet, of read from a page in a dictionary or thesaurus are innocent in themselves, yet the same words can be mightily used under the influence of the Holy Spirit. 

Words have the power to persuade for good or evil. If words fall from the lips of a resentful or abusive person, or are written with the thread of bitterness, how unworthy is such an effort. If a person desires to write a story in noble and gracious style, let the writer first have a gracious and noble heart, then his writing and instruction will be a reflection of his noble life. ♥

The Shepherdess Speaks

Get out there and vote…women!

Elizabeth Davidson Carmichael

One more thing before Nov 6^th. Casting your vote is like a voice heard above the political rhetoric. My paternal grandmother, Elizabeth Davidson Carmichael, campaigned for women’s rights, the right to vote in public elections. Yes, it may be in the genes. Grandma was a young widow desperately trying to survive in a man’s world. The enfranchisement of women was crucial to her life. Her motto: "Men, their rights and nothing more; women, their rights and nothing less!" This is another reason why I vote. Grandma first voted in 1920 in the presidential election. I know what it meant to her.


Elizabeth's Suffrage Speech 

 

    “I would like to ask the women of this county a few simple questions. Ladies, what is the defining feature of citizenship in our great country?” A male voice in the crowd rang out in protest.

    “Why don’t you address the men and ask us what we think about it, lady?”

    Elizabeth ignored the belligerent voice and persisted. “Yes, they say we are citizens, but we are denied the right to vote in political elections simply because of our gender, because we are women. They tell us we are equal citizens, but I say we are second-class citizens!” Cheering and clapping came from the proponent section of the audience.

    “We are denied our fundamental rights as equal citizens. By the very word itself, the constitution provides us with an equality based on citizenship, not on gender. Yet, we cannot vote. If we consider ourselves citizens, members of this great nation, we must have the same rights as other members, according to the fundamental principles of our Government.” The anti segment to Elizabeth’s right rang bells and pounded on pans, creating an intolerable din of noise in an effort to drown out her voice. Women in the audience began to chant, “Free us, free us, free us,” until the climate grew somewhat hostile. Again, Elizabeth raised her voice in an effort to be heard above the din.

    “For decades, women have pressed forward in their demands for equality in the political arena, in educational opportunities, and in ownership of lands and businesses. Women have withstood the worst of brutal men who beat and abused them, but they have no recourse in our judicial system. Men are granted child custody rights in every instance and they hold the deeds to properties and businesses. Mothers are robbed of their own children, often brutally attacked and molested without legal alternatives to dispute their claim. Women are denied the pursuit of independence simply because they are women. It is time for emancipation! Slaves are emancipated, but the women of America remain in bondage to a government that decides their destiny. Women in America have no vote, no choice, no rights, and no one to speak for them except their own.”

    Another round of cheering and hand clapping from the women, but this last statement incensed and angered the anti suffragists. They banged their pans, blew their horns, and stomped their feet in objection.

    “Women of Fairfield County,” resumed Elizabeth, “your country needs you. Let us show ourselves worthy of citizenship, whether our claim to it be recognized or not. Let us press forward in our pursuit of our basic freedoms guaranteed by our own constitution.” Elizabeth’s voice was strong and her words articulate.

     “I know how the law deals with feminine issues,” affirmed Elizabeth. ”My own brother is a lawyer and his hands are tied where women are concerned. Some of you here today have been guilty of abusing your wives, drinking up your wages, neglecting your children, and you know the law will not touch you. I tell you today that if women are given the vote, some of you will find yourselves behind bars where you belong.”

    This last declaration brought forth a gasp from Belva Lockwood, but she held steady, an admiring light in her eyes. The suffrage proponents and the anti segment were having a heated exchange in the center of the assembly. Several rotten tomatoes were hurled toward the bandstand and toward those suffragists wearing a yellow ribbon pinned to their breasts. In spite of the barrage of tomatoes, Elizabeth pressed on.

    “You out there, you worthless lazy men, you who father children and leave them for others to raise, you who dare to attend this rally to oppose the vote for fear you’ll lose the liquor that keeps you in a perpetual state of inebriation. Some of you will not work and your women must beg to keep body and soul together because they are not allowed to work.” In the corner of her eye, Elizabeth caught William moving closer to the bandstand, shoving an Anti- Suffragist aside and signaling to Jonathan across the mass of people.

    “God fearing men provide for their women, love and respect their women, and do not fear the enfranchisement of the female. God has said in His word that women be keepers at home, if the men provide a home, that they care for and love their children, if their men supply the means to do so. But what if he is lazy and refuses to provide? What if he drinks and gambles the money away? What if he dies? What if we have no husband or no one to provide for us, what then?”

    The crowd grew thoughtful, considering the proposed questions. Elizabeth knew she must also address the other extreme in the crowd and proceeded with her speech.

    “You in high places, you who fill government offices but refuse to listen to women. You fail to uphold the Constitution and its declaration of equality. You who sit in judges’ seats, passing laws against helpless and unprotected women because the law says men are always right, you who sit in corporate and university chairs fearing that women may prove to be smarter than you are, women who may unseat you in your comfortable place of ease. You are just as guilty as the negligent, abusive husband.”

    A rotten tomato sailed through the air, hitting Elizabeth on the shoulder and running down her new blue frock. Others followed, and the atmosphere of the rally grew hostile and antagonistic. The two groups shouted and shoved, forming two distinct factions. With the tomato running down her dress, Elizabeth gave her final statement.

    “One thing this suffrage rally has proven to me today, this town and county have both extremes of the male gender here in force to oppose the rightful claim of women to vote in our public elections. I say, women of Fairfield County, take your rightful place in our American culture! Stand up for yourselves and for your children. Don’t give up until we stand before the election box casting our votes. Then vote these worthless drunks and white collar criminals out of business.” Wild cheering broke out from the women and Elizabeth saw Mrs. Randolph and Mrs. Sinclair with the remains of rotten tomatoes dripping down their dresses clapping wildly, expressing their approval.

    Another round of tomatoes and rotten eggs were hurled at the bandstand, hitting Elizabeth and the other Suffragists. The awful stench of the eggs was almost too much for Elizabeth to bear. Nausea swept over her, and indignation rose in her breast. She knelt down, scooped up the tomatoes lying on the floor of the platform, and threw them at the nearest opposition member, hitting him squarely on the forehead.

    Feeling an unusual sense of exhilaration, Elizabeth laughed as if she had evened the score. She watched with satisfaction while the disgusting red substance oozed down his face and onto his shirt. She reached for another tomato, but caught sight of Stephen Whitman watching her from the perimeter of the crowd, a look of revulsion on his face. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and her heart sank. What had she done? She dropped the tomatoes, noting that Lucinda was gone and Stephen was trying to make his way through the crowd that was now out of control. She saw the sheriff and his deputies trying to control the most disruptive members of the two factions.

    Every imaginable kind of missile now sailed through the air in an alarming manner. After seeing their keynote speaker, Elizabeth Davidson Cameron, hurl tomatoes at her opposition, the Suffragists quickly caught on, and both sides began pelting their opponents with all manner of rotten fruit. 

    Elizabeth felt Belva pulling her away from the rostrum just as something large and hard hit Elizabeth on the side of her head. She fell forward, her head spinning with pain. William was there, reaching out his strong arms and catching her as she fell. Then all went black.

From: The Wild Rose of Promise