The Red Squirrels’ Christmas
Mother Red Squirrel peeked out of the family’s treetop home. A fresh covering of snow had swallowed up the sounds of the pine forest. “Tomorrow is Christmas. This is a holy night,” she said to her son as her other chickarees slept in a cozy circle.
“Why is it holy?” he asked.
“Because God is here,” she answered. “And because God is here we are holy, too.”
“But we’re rodents, and rodents aren’t very special.”
“That’s not true. We can scurry down a tree head first. We can smell food planted beneath inches of snow, and see far away. We bury so many pine seeds that some of them become trees. The last pine cone you ate could have come from a tree planted by your great-great-great grandfather’s grandfather.”
“God wasn’t here when my sister was killed by the Tree Marten. I know, because if he were I wouldn’t have cried so much.”
Mother Squirrel’s large black eyes reflected her son’s sadness. “I have seen many young squirrels die, but God loves all of his creation. He laughs with us and he cries with us. God’s son was killed too. There were many who cried that day.”
“I don’t understand, mother.”
“Nobody can understand God, but listen to the night breeze. We have wonderful ears. Wait for a gentle calling. Imagine what our forest homeland looks like to God and put yourself in the center of it.”
One of the red squirrel sisters lifted a sleepy head. “What’s going on?” she asked.
Her brother directed her to the opening of their hollow tree. “Come see the new snow, and listen for holy sounds,” he said. The wind slowed and they heard a whispering voice. They could not hear distinct words, but peace had struck each of their hearts in a way they would always remember.
MERRY CHRISTMAS
BY TERRY PETERSEN 1993
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