The Christmas Voice

By Dick Duerksen

Victor had been waiting months for Christmas—and his twelfth birthday. Every morning he cut a notch in a log to count the days. “Twelve is when you become a man,” Pa had said, and Victor was ready.

He worked hard on chores: feeding chickens, hauling wood, caring for the animals. But in his free time Victor loved exploring the mesas of New Mexico with his dog, Patch. His favorite place was El Morro, an ancient stone ruin.

What Victor wanted most for Christmas was a real American Indian bow and arrow set from Old Tom’s trading post in Ramah. On his birthday Pa handed him a letter from his uncle in Albuquerque. Inside was a check for $10! Victor tucked it in his pocket, dreaming of the bow and arrows.

At last the December trip to Ramah arrived. Pa hitched up the horses, and Victor helped tie sacks to the wagon. The road was rough—branches scratched his arms, and his hands filled with splinters—but Victor didn’t mind. He was getting closer to his Christmas dream.

When they reached Ramah, Victor cared for the horses while the supplies were traded. He was just about to head inside when Old Tom called everyone to look at the sky. Dark clouds rolled in from the south.

“Haven’t seen it like that since the big blizzard,” Old Tom warned. “You’d better get home quick, before the storm buries you.”

Victor wanted to look for his bow, but there was no time. He and Pa hurriedly loaded the wagon and started back.

Snowflakes swirled through the air, then turned into sheets of ice and snow. The road vanished. The wagon wheels bounced and slipped. Victor kept urging the horses forward, but after a flash of lightning he noticed something terrible—their wagon had crossed its own tracks. They were going in circles.

Victor turned to tell Pa they were in trouble, but Pa was asleep, slowly freezing on the wagon seat beside him. “God,” Victor shouted loudly, “please wake Pa up!” He remembered Psalm 23: “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, . . . You are with me” (verse 4).

A voice in his mind whispered: Stop. Build a fire.

Victor wrapped Pa in a blanket and scrambled under the pines for dry sticks. He found some—but no matches. Desperate, he searched Pa’s pockets and discovered three matches. What about paper?

The voice reminded him: Remember the check.

Victor stared at the precious birthday gift. Without it, there would be no bow and arrows. But then he looked at Pa’s pale face. “Forget the bow,” he said. “Help me save Pa.”

The first match fizzled. The second broke. The last tiny match flared—just enough to light the check. Flames spread to the sticks, and soon a fire crackled, warming Pa back to life.

“Where are we?” Pa whispered.

“I don’t know,” Victor answered.

“God knows. Ask Him,” Pa replied faintly.

Victor prayed again. Just then the storm cleared for a few seconds, and bright moonlight lit the land. In the distance stood a lightning-scarred pine tree. Victor knew it! It marked the edge of their farm. They were only about a mile from the house. 

He ran back to Pa with joy. “God has given us the best Christmas gift ever,” he said. “We’re going home!”

Dick Duerksen, a pastor and storyteller, lives in Portland, Oregon, United States. This story was originally featured in the December 2024 issue of Adventist World. It has been adapted for younger readers.