At the other end of the table grandmother was sitting, and I next to her, for I was "Grandma's boy." The old brass spectacles were sitting astride the very tip of her nose so that I could not quite grasp whether she peered through them or merely glanced above them. When father had finished reading, grandmother spoke up--she wanted us to sing now this Christmas carol, now that; she had sung on Christmas Eve for so many, many years that she could lead us in singing them. Her voice--well, it was old, for she was past eighty, but if you say it wasn't fine, then you surely are no good as a judge of grandmother's voice. * * * * * Mother--do I remember her? Indeed, I never forget her. Gentle and quiet she sat at the table, slightly pale, her cheeks somewhat haggard. Her mother-eye wandered from one to the other, resting on each of us with a wealth of love. It was a strange look that came from those eyes surrounded by dark edges--it was so filled with love and wistfulness. Then came that Christmas when her chair stood vacant. O, yes, I remember her so plainly. It was quite near Christmas when she closed her eyes, and her last words to us were: "_Follow Jesus!_" Yes, I remember it all, but--O, wait just a little--it was only that--if tonight you visit those dear ones at home, tell them then that I remember it all. And tell them that we also--despite the struggle for money and the increasing lack of veneration for ancient Christian festivals--tell them that we also celebrate Christmas both in our home and in the church. * * * * * Thus I sent my Christmas greetings carried on the wings of the angel. 2. _Room for Jesus_ (LUC. 2, 7) "There was no room in the inn." No, neither was there room in the golden regal halls in Jerusalem nor in the palace of the high priest. Therefore the angels--those heavenly messengers--came to neither the inn nor Jerusalem. It is not with the angels as with the invader's hordes in Belgium--they do not intrude upon foreign soil, sword in hand. They are the messengers of peace, and visit only those who have room for Jesus. And here we behold first of all the shepherds on the field near Bethlehem. In their hearts there was _room_ for Jesus; the sweet music from Heaven above found the _way open_ to these men. They had been sitting out there watching how old and young flocked to the City of David to register on the tax list. It must have been a sore trial for them to think how God's people had come under a foreign yoke: Wasn't, then, all hope dead? Were not the living conditions of Israel so desperate; the people themselves so harassed that it must needs be impossible for God to fulfill His promises from the ancient days of yore? They bent their heads, sighing heavily. But the sigh soared upward.