I read a Christmas story the other night to my oldest daughter and finished it misty eyed. It was “The Christmas Apple” by Ruth Sawyer, first published in the book This Way to Christmas in 1944. A poor, very skilled clockmaker labors for years over a beautiful, nativity-themed clock in order to present it to the Holy Mother and Child during the annual church procession of gifts. The entire village attends the procession to worship the Lord on Christmas Eve, and many believe that the statue of the Christ Child will reach out to receive an especially prized gift, should one ever be offered. No one still living had ever seen this miracle.

When Christmas Eve arrives, a long-time friend of his tells him with tears that her father has fallen sick and all of their Christmas money was spent on the hospital bill. The clockmaker tells her not to worry, that he would sell a clock, and give them the money for their tree, treats, and decorations. He goes door to door, trying to sell his best clock, but he cannot sell it to anyone. He finally goes to the richest man in the village, and that man says he will buy a clock, but not the one being offering. The rich man wants to buy the fabulous nativity-themed clock which has been in the clockmaker’s shop window. Of course, the clockmaker does not want to sell it, but in the end, he does, taking less than one percent of the offered price.

Once again without anything to give during the Christmas procession, the clockmaker starts to go to church, but he remembers that he does have an apple, his only food for that day and the next. He takes it as his gift, a symbol of his generosity and everything he has sacrificed for, and when he approaches the altar, the statue of the Child reaches out for it.

I’m not sure I should summarize the story for you like this, because there’s more depth to it than I repeat here, but perhaps you’ve read another story just like it. “The Christmas Apple” is similar to another story I’ve known for years, The Clown of God by Tomie dePaola. In that story, an orphan boy becomes a famous juggler with a beautiful rainbow-and-sun routine that fascinates everyone who sees it. When he becomes old and unwanted by the crowds, he goes to a cathedral on Christmas Eve, sees the procession of gifts, and waits until everyone leaves before going forward to juggle before the grim-faced statues of the Holy Mother and Child. “For you, sweet Child, for you,” he says, once his rainbow and sun were in full motion, and then he dies of a heart attack, having given his all to the Lord. When the friars find him in the sanctuary, they see the statue of the infant Jesus holding the ball which represented the sun and smiling.

I honestly feel a little sappy for tearing up at the end of these stories. Perhaps they pluck that string within me that wants so much to hear my Father in Heaven say, “Well done, good and faithful son.” Many Christians, I bet, do not believe the Lord is pleased with them—tolerates them probably, will accept them into heaven when it comes to that, but is not wholly pleased with them. They probably don’t think of God’s attitude specifically, but hold a general feeling that he is frowning or sighing or just about to tell them how they aren’t really up to doing what real Christians should do. I wonder if I believe that lie myself.