On the 10th Day of Christmas Past, a special story from Mary Lou Little (MHA Tour Member):
Question: In what ways can the Savior fill us like in today’s story?
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Catherine Pater (Tini) is my father’s cousin. He is the only member of his mother’s family to be raised in the United States, so he is the only member of his mother’s family who didn’t suffer from the horrors of WW2. His mother died when he was two years old, so he wasn’t exposed to his Dutch heritage.
This story gives me a better appreciation of my faithful, sweet, Dutch family. It also makes me realize how blessed my dad, and his descendants, are that his mother came alone to start a new life in a new country, saving him the ravages, and suffering, of this horrendous experience.
~Mary Lou Little~
Christmas pancakes in war-torn Holland
By Catherine Pater, for the Deseret News, Dec. 22 2015
It was December 1944. The war had been raging for almost five years over the little country of Holland. Conditions were almost unbearable. After wearing our same clothes and shoes for nearly five years because everything was plundered from our country, we were left in rags with no food to eat and no fuel to heat our homes or even a fire to cook on. Our only means of survival was the community kitchen where we went once a day to pick up our one-cup ration of soup, which consisted of a mixture of tulip bulbs and sugar beets thickened with sawdust. As a result of these conditions, nearly everyone was sick and many never saw the end of the war.
But Christmas was coming and the church bells would still ring and invite every Christian to worship on Christmas morning the Savior who had been born in Bethlehem. A small group of members of the church sat together, remembering Christmases of the past. We saw the black potbelly stove spread its warmth through the little chapel and we envisioned the Christmas tree set on the podium all alight with real white burning candles and beautiful decorations. We could even smell its delicious fragrance. But this year there would be nothing at all. We all knew that all the members would understand no one had anything to give but himself, but how badly we wanted the other members to know that the Christ child had remembered them this Christmas!
And so Christmas Eve approached and again we huddled together and prayed. As by a miracle that evening, we heard a knock at the door. Standing there, we saw a member of the church who lived in the farm country and who had managed to get through the German front line. He had brought us a sack of flour and a bottle of oil. Remembering the story of Elijah when the woman had only a handful of meal and a little oil and made a cake and had enough for herself, we began to make pancakes. We stayed up all night mixing our flour and water by candlelight and baking the pancakes on two small oil lamps. It was a glorious sight to see the stacks of pancakes. We worked through the bitter cold and dampness of the night; hungry as we were, we never touched the stacks of pancakes. We knew it was the gift for Christmas morning for him whose birth we would celebrate and remember with great thanksgiving for this miracle.
Christmas morning came. The church bells rang and the members filed into the chapel reverently, cold, hungry and sick. Many had walked over the snowy streets for many blocks and miles. Many had walked many hours. This Christmas, they who came were there to worship him who was born that day. They had not come for gifts, nor did they find the beautiful lighted Christmas tree, the black potbelly stove glowing with heat, warm chocolate milk, cookies or oranges. They had come because of their love for him whose birthday it was. They came because of their faith and because of their hope for a better future.
Never will I forget the staring and glistening eyes of those present. While the organ played the beautiful music of “Peace on earth, goodwill to men,” we walked among the Saints and presented each one with a pancake. There was no sugar, no syrup, no butter, but eager hands stretched out. We who had been hungry and cold through the long night and had not touched one of the pancakes were filled, but not with the food of earth. Seeing the gratitude of a group of people who were destitute as we, many sick and some even close to death, reminded us that the Christ child again, as ever before, remembered his children and loved them. To be a part of this experience made it a Christmas I shall never forget.
(One of seven winners this year in the Deseret News’ annual “Christmas I Remember Best” writing contest 2015.)
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