Newspaper Page Text
DECEMBER 22, 1956.
THE BULLETIN OF THE CATHOLIC LAYMEN’S ASSOCIATION OF GEORGIA
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SMITH’S SHOE REPAIR
FOE FINE SHOE REPAIRING
Daniel Village
Augusia, Ga,
FRANK C. SHIRLEY
ATLANTA SERVICES
ATLANTA, Ga.—Funeral serv
ices for Frank Camerson Shirley
were held Dec. 4th at the Sacred
Heart Church, Rev. John Em-
merth officiating.
Surviving is his wife.
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CLARENCE MOBLEY CONTRACTING CO.
"Lowest Price — Maintenance Considered"
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GENERAL CONTRACTORS
PARTNERS: C. W. Mobley, Jr., L. M. Mobley, C. W. Mobley,
ASSOCIATES: E. B. Alridh, Brad Bennett
® General Building « Public Utilities
® Rural Electrification
AUGUSTA, GEORGIA
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Best Wishes
A Merry Christmas
719 Broad St.
Augusta, Ga.
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Our Thougnts of You!
14 c finally found the happy words
that icill our thoughts convey; .
A nd drmv this pic of old St- Nick,
his reindeer and his sleigh.
II e loaded down our Santa Claus
with words for him to say.
A nd told him to deliver them
to you on Christmas Day.
Among these words are “Season s-"
and oh, there's “Happy,'' too,
But best of all -we think is this:
“M erry Christmas, Friends, To
‘Yule,
MAIN OFFICE
701 BROAD
GWINNETT ST. BRANCH
GWINNETT AT ELEVENTH
DANIEL
FIELD
UPTOWN BRANCH
1109 BROAD
CAMP GORDON
FACILITY
Member Federal Deposit Insurance CoiporaRon - Federal Reserve System
Real Meaning Of Christinas Is
Nurtured In Catholic Schools
(By Myrtle Vorst Sheppard)
“Christmas is for children!”
To this I would add, “Especial
ly for Catholic children!”
The truth of this was brought
home to me most vividly last year
when I found myself cast in the
role of substitute kindergarten
teacher at Mary Queen of Peace
school, operated by the Sisters of
Loretto, in Webster Groves, Mis
souri.
After an absence of 25 years
from the classroom, during which
time I was occupied with home
making and motherhood, here I
was in the unique position of be
ing part of a mother-daughter
teaching team. This rather unusu
al situation presented me with
one of the greatest challenges of
my life.
My 21-year-old daughter, Lou
ise, had signed up to teach second
grade. Through her the nuns got
in touch with me and persuaded
me to take over the afternoon
kindergarten class, when they
learned that Sister Roberta Marie
must spend several months in the
hospital.
A POSITIVE JOY
I began in September — with
considerable doubt and misgiving,
I must admit. But with my daugh
ter’s encouragement and the help
of the good Sisters, I managed to
steer my way a bit clumsily
through September and October.
November came more easily. Then
December was upon us and the
daily classroom work became a
positive joy.
. Down came the turkey and the
pumpkin borders. The Pilgrims, in
their broad-brimmed black hats
and crisp white collars, walking
up the snowy path to their log
church on the back bulletin
board, were laid away until the
next November. In their places,
almost magically — from Sister
Roberta Marie’s vast store of ma
terials from previous years—came
angels, candles, golden stars, and
in the midst of all a life-sized cut
out of the Baby Jesus on a sparkl
ing bed of straw.
This was the beginning of the
wonderful, beautiful, breath-tak
ing story of Christmas! From
there on it was not a story, real
ly. It was an enactment of the
actual birth of Christ in the
stable at Bethlehem. And the
children loved every minute of
it. So did I.
PRICELESS EXPERIENCE
“How fortunate you are,” I
said to them many times as I look
ed at their eager, glowing faces.
“To be here in a school where
you are taught the real meaning
of Christmas!”
I had enjoyed this same privi
lege as a child, and so had my
children, but during the. interven
ing years I had forgotten how
priceless are the experiences en
tered into by the children in our
Catholic schools. Now, as 'a sub
stitute teacher, I was reviewing
a part of my own childhood and
that of my children—something
infinitely precious.
There were Christmas stories
to be read, poems to be recited,
carols to be sung, and the phono
graph was kept busjy with “Silent
Night, Holy Night,” “O Little
Town of Bethlehem,” “Hark, the
Herald Angels Sing.”
The children listened wide-eyed
as I recounted the old, old story
of the shepherds and the Magi.
The legend of the spider that spun
its web across the mouth of the
cave and saved the life of Baby
Jesus—when the Holy Family,
pursued by Herod's soldiers, were
fleeing into Egypt—held them
spellbound. Later, they dramatiz
ed the incident most vividly. And
in art class they produced some
real five and six-year-old master
pieces, showing the spider busily
at work at the enti’ance to the
Holy Family’s hide-away.
WHAT'S A SACRIFICE?
All of this was but a build-up.
however, for that thrilling day
when the children arrived at
school at noon to find a fragrant,
tinsel-ladened Christmas tree
standing in the far corner of the
room, its glittering green branches
dipping protectively over a repli
ca of the stable wherein Christ
was born.
“But why is the stable empty?”
they asked, wonderingly.
“Because it is waiting to be
filled with sacrifice straw,’ ’I ex
plained.
“Sacrifice straw?” they chorus
ed.
I nodded. “Every day for the
next week we are going to count
the sacrifices we make here at
school and at home, and for each
one you will receive a piece of
straw—sacrifice straw. When the
manger is filled, we shall have a
(Continued on Page 24)
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