Christmas in the Country
By Mary Cox-Bilz

A Dream Come True

When I was nine years old, my parents asked me if I would like to attend a Maryland Easter Seals facility for children and adults with disabilities named Fairlee Manor. The thought of playing with other challenged kids like me would be a dream come true.

The following summer, I enjoyed ten days of outdoor recreation with kids that became my lifelong friends. Years later, I could not wait for summer to come, so I could reunite with my pals. We swam together in the pool, enjoyed campfire chats, and frolicked in the sights and sounds of nature. No one was ever left out. We all participated. And when it was time to say good-bye until next year, we left camp with tearful eyes, yet lasting memories.

Through the years, I often thought about throwing a surprise party for Easter Seals. Today, I am a writer, mouth artist, and editor and illustrator of Christmas In The Country.

Christmas In The Country is a collection of heartwarming stories, essays, and poems written by individuals from the United States, Mexico, Canada, and Australia, sharing their special memories. Fifty percent of all book royalties from Christmas In The Country print edition and electronic volume will be donated to Easter Seals, a gift of thanks for caring for me and other children and adults with disabilities. Along with camping and recreation, Easter Seals provides medical rehabilitation, job training/employment, child care, and adult day care to people with special needs. Easter Seals changes lives!

My sincerest thanks goes to Christmas In The Country publisher, Ebooksonthe.net, for their endless hours putting the pieces together to assure a quality product.

Reader, thank you for supporting Easter Seals by buying Christmas In The Country. Consider telling your neighbors about this book and why it was written.

Warmest Wishes for a Happy Holiday,

Mary Cox-Bilz

PS: Easter Seals welcomes your gifts to support services for children and adults with disabilities.

Donations may be mailed to:

      Easter Seals, 230 W. Monroe, Chicago, Illinois 60606

And please mention Christmas In The Country!

A Tiny Christmas

By Chuck Render

You feel the icy chill of winter on your bare feet, and you shiver as the frigid draft whistles under the massive front door and penetrates to your tiny bones. Suddenly, there’s a noise - scraping sound of long toenails on the bare wooden floors. It’s the dog. He’ll find you if you’re not careful, so you scurry from the foyer as quietly as you can, cross the musty oriental carpet, crawl behind the sofa, and curl your small body into a tiny ball behind the massive, curved wooden legs that look like animal claws.

The dog stops in the hallway and peers into the dark parlor. Did he hear you? Did he get your scent? No matter. As big as he is, he’s a gentle creature. He would never harm you, but he might reveal your presence, and you don’t want that. You don’t move a muscle. Sounds of toenails on the wooden steps fade away to silence in the long hallway upstairs. You’re alone again.

You wait, not moving a muscle. In the dim lights, you can see the fireplace. It has things hanging on it that you do not remember. Greenery is draped across the mantle, and there is a big red bow tied in the middle. The air is filled with a freshness of outdoors-the smell of the tall, fat pine tree that stands proudly in the corner. Colorful glass bobbles hang from each bough. You’ve already crawled under that tree once, but nobody saw you. You liked it there.

Somewhere in the distance you hear soothing melodic sounds. You glance at the old, tube-type radio console against the wall, but the light behind the tuner dial is not glowing. You listen. The sounds are becoming louder. They’re somewhere outside near the board front porch. Voices. Human voices. They stop.

Curious, you sneak back into the foyer, but stop suddenly when you hear a single, faint, reedy tone somewhere outside, followed by soft humming. Then, the night air fills with lovely music.

“Silent Night,” they sing. “Holy Night. All is calm. All is bright. Round yon virgin, mother and child. Holy infant so tender and mild.”

You are about to crawl to the small window beside the door and look outside when lights on an old chandelier high about you come on, bathing the foyer in light. Old boards at the top of the stairs creak under somebody’s heavy weight. You know instantly who it must be, so you hurry back inside the parlor to hide.

“Sleep in Heavenly peace. Sleep in Heavenly peace.”

You crouch in the shadows and watch the old man hobble down the stairs, wrapping his heavy robe around himself clumsily. He almost loses his balance when the dog brushes past his leg and charges toward the door, wagging his tail earnestly.

The old woman takes more time and effort to descend the steps, but she does it, clutching a heavy, knitted shawl around her shoulders with one hand and inching the other down the stair railing with each painful step. The old man smiles and ties the belt around his waist as he looks outside at the singers, then he turns to the old woman and grasps her hand.

“Come on, Mama,” he says gently and steadies her.

“Silent Night. Holy Night.”

You peek across the foyer, prepared to run for it in an instant. You don’t want them to know you’ve been sneaking around down there.

“Wondrous star, lend you light.”

When the front door is opened, the dog is the first one out, but he only goes as far as the top of the steps where his long, hairy tail slaps heavily from side to side. His tongue is out and he woofs softly-happy with what he sees.

“With the angels, let us sing.”

The old couple follows the dog to the porch rail where they stand with arms around the back of the other’s waist, and their heads close together. They look down affectionately at the carolers, and listen.

“Alleluia to our King. Christ the Savior is born. Christ the Savior is born.”

From where you are crouching, you can see faces in the front yard, illuminated by the undulating glow of candles they hold. Then, you feel the cold wind from outside and you suddenly remember where you are.

The cat. Where’s the cat? It will, no doubt, be aroused. You flatten out and slither through the crack behind the loose baseboard. Once inside the wall, you curl up in your warm nest of shredded newspaper and tuck your nose under your long tail. You are safe there, richly blessed.

“Sleep in Heavenly peace. Sleep in Heavenly peace.”

Charles R. “Chuck” Render is a retired Air Force Colonel who once taught reading and arithmetic in elementary schools in rural Southern Illinois.

Author of At the Gate Called Beautiful, Letters In My Casket and other books,  Mary Cox-Bilz began her writing career shortly after the death of her second husband. A devoted Christian, Mary has a birth defect that left her a quadriplegic. Fiercely independent, she types with a mouth stick and draws with a pen in her mouth. Mary maintains she is not handicapped because she lives her life as she chooses. 

Christmas in the Country Edited and Illustrated by Mary Cox-Bilz
Cover Art / Maggie Dix

206 Pages

Available in PDF, CD, or Paperback