The Littlest Christmas Bell

I heard the following story 40 years ago when I was a member of a singing group at Utah State University known as "The Sounds of Zion." At that time the story ended with Santa saying, "I'm afraid you're right, it's just too little." I thought the story was way funny, and have since tried to tell it to several other people. Every time I tell it and give the punch line, they just look at me like I'm weird or something. I wanted to learn a Christmas story, but I guess the disappointing ending doesn't work for me real well. So, I have added on to the ending so that I can use this story with my storytelling. I hope you like it.

The Littlest Christmas Bell

In a small village near the Austrian Alps was a tiny little bell-maker's shop. It was just a few days before Christmas and a light snow was falling on an already snow-packed ground. Villagers were scurrying about the shops in town, trying to complete their Christmas shopping.

The little old bell maker was busy in his shop, carefully arranging the bells he had to entice his customers. People liked bells at Christmas-time, and his business had been brisk and profitable. He had sold everything from large church bells, to small hand-rung bells. There was, in town, a resident bell choir that always performed during the Christmas season. Jingle bells had been particularly popular this year among the townspeople, and he had just one tiny jingle bell left, displayed on a top shelf near the back of his shop. The bell had been there a long time, and the dust on the shelf testified of its lengthy stay. Still, the little bell rested patiently, awaiting the time when it surely would be sold.

The days passed, and customers passed in and out, emptying the shop of its inventory. Still, the jingle bell waited patiently, wondering just who would purchase him and how he would be used. Then finally, it was the day before Christmas, and the traffic inside the shop dropped off dramatically, as the people in the village completed their holiday shopping and retired to their home for final preparations. The old bell maker strolled about the shop, peering out the window just before dusk. Darkness descended as the evening came on, and the lights in the bell-maker's shop beamed through the windows highlighting the folds in the snow. An old clock on the wall slowly ticked into the night. Six o' clock came, and the man began to pull down the shades of his shop, and lock the door. He quietly turned out the lights in the shop one by one, then turned toward the door while retrieving his keys from his pocket.

The tiny little Christmas bell sat in dismay. Christmas was nearly here, and he was still on the shelf. He had been looked at many times by patrons of the shop, but the comments were always “too little “, “just too little.” Maybe it was true. He was just too little. Nobody wanted a tiny little jingle bell.

The shopkeeper finished locking the front door while a big tear formed on the jingle bell's cheek, then slid down into the dust, making a tiny mud puddle there on the shelf. The shopkeeper walked to the back of his shop, turned out the lights, then exited through the doorway to his living quarters in the rear of the building. The shop was dark. The tiny little bell cried softly on the shelf. “Dingle, dingle, dingle.” How he wanted to be taken home by someone to celebrate Christmas.

The snow outside began to come down harder, in large flakes that piled up quickly all over the village. Lights in the cottages and homes turned out one by one as the night deepened. A quiet stillness settled in as the villagers retired to their beds for the night. The littlest Christmas bell was still sobbing quietly when a distant sound caught his attention. There was something jostling in the air above the village, growing louder and louder as it approached the bell shop. The sound was of - - bells, jingle bells ringing clear but unevenly as the sound became closer and closer. Then suddenly, there was a big clunk that shook the ceiling of the shop, and then several pounding noises. Something was stomping around on the roof! There was more than one, there had to be lots of them. The bell was struck with wonder about the noise and commotion on the top of the building.

Then an amazing thing happened. Just across the shop from the shelf where the bell rested was a large stone fireplace. Suddenly, chunks of soot crashed down to the floor of the fireplace, creating a small puff of smoke inside the room. Then, with a loud thump, two large black boots appeared, with red-clad legs poking out the top. A large, white-bearded man bent down and squeezed through the opening in the fireplace. Lights flickered on in the shop, as the old shopkeeper entered from the hallway at the end of the room, awakened by the noise from the chimney. He squinted hard to see, then said, “Santa? Is that you, Santa?”

“Ho-ho-ho Merry Chistmas, M-e-r-r-y Christmas!”

“Why Santa, how kind of you to stop in my humble shop. But you musn't spend much time here. There are no children here.”

“Ho-ho, I know, I know. But I need your help, good bell-maker. It's a very stormy night outside, with lots of snow. My reindeer are having a hard time navigating. The rhythm of the bells on the sleigh harness is a great help to them on such a night as this. But you see, we have lost one jingle bell off the harness along our way, and the missing jingle and jangle of that one bell have thrown my reindeer out of rhythm, making it difficult for them to pull together along our way. We are hoping you have just one more jingle bell to attach to the harness. Tell me, good bell-maker, do you happen to have such a bell?”

“Oh Santa,” the bell-maker replied, “'Tis the night before Christmas and sales have been brisk. It has been a good year for selling bells. I'm afraid my stock is depleted. See all the empty shelves?”

Santa looked back with a look of disappointment. “Then you don't have just one jingle bell that can fill that empty spot in my riggings?”

“I'm afraid not, San – but wait, there is just one tiny little jingle bell on my top shelf near the back. It's a good bell, but I'm afraid it may be too little – just too little.”

Santa's expression changed to one of hope. “Oh, do get it for me, good bell-maker. Please, let me see it.”

The bell-maker retrieved a ladder leaning against the wall and carried it over to the shelf. Carefully, he climbed up to where he could reach back and grasp the littlest jingle bell. He held the tiny bell between his right thumb and fore-finger, and climbed back down the ladder. He held up the bell and looked through his spectacles as he moved over toward the light.

“It's a bit dirty,” he said, then blew on the bell and rubbed it against his night shirt to polish it up.

“Oh, put it in my hand,” said Santa. “Let me get a good look at this precious little bell.”

The bell-maker placed the bell in the center of Santa's enormous palm. The jingle bell was dwarfed by the huge folds of skin around the center of Santa's palm. He held it up close to his eyes and examined it closely, turning it from one side to the next. Then he shook the bell gently to hear it ring.

“Dingle Dingle”

“Ho-ho-ho. It's really cute. But....but...but... I'm afraid you're right, it's too little! Just too little!

(pause)

“But I'll try it anyway. Santa took the bell and turned excitedly toward his sleigh. He quickly walked over to the sled and up to the lead reindeer. He reached down to where the jingle bells were on the reins. He had to get down on his hands and knees to reach way underneath the lead deer to where there was a place on the strap where a jingle bell was missing. As he stretched out his hand with the bell balancing on the end of his fingers, the bell rolled off of his glove and plunged into a huge snowbank. “Rats!” Santa said, “we don't have time to look for it, we're just going to have to go without it. It was too little. Just too little”

Just then, Rudolf kicked in the snow and there was an unmistakeable jingle sound. Santa looked down and saw a gleam of light reflecting and reached down and pulled out the jingle bell. He wiped the snow off and then took off his glove and tightly gripped the jingle bell as he reached toward the fastener on the rein where the lost jingle bell had been. He twisted the bell to the right, then to the left, then pushed hard to get it attached. As he did so, he heard a “snap” and felt the tiny bell crush in his fingers. It was attached, but smashed. “Shucks”, said Santa. “That bell was too little. Just too little.”

Santa got up and brushed the snow from his bright red coat. “Man,” he said, “I really thought that bell was going to work. This is really disappointing. But I guess that's just life.” He walked back around the reindeer to his sled. He climbed up in his sleigh, sat down and grabbed hold of the reins. He looked ahead at the reindeer, then shouted out, “On Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer and Vixen, on Comet, on Cupid, on Donder and Blitzen. And you too, Rudolf.” He shook the reins hard. There was a curious ring from the sleigh bells. There was a distinctive “Ding ding-le” after the jingle of all the bells. It was coming from the littlest Christmas bell! The reindeer were startled by this out-of-place sound and leaped in the air, giving the sleigh a mighty jerk. The sled sprung into the air as Santa shouted out “Up, up, and away.” They dashed into the night, with sleigh bells jingling, and every once in a while, if you listened real close, you could hear a distinctive noise, just a little different than all the others, that rang out “Ding Ding-le, Ding, Ding, ding-le.” It was as if the littlest Christmas Bell was calling out “Too-Little, just too little.” It was just different and odd enough to keep the reindeer alert as they traveled through the night.

And so Santa made his rounds that night with the sound of a bell that made a sound different than all the rest, and who by all accounts was “too-little,” “just-too-little.” And yet, that made a sound that could be heard by anyone who would really listen close, and provided a guide to the reindeer, and those who had the intent to give.

In another place, at another time, the little cry of a tiny infant evidenced the birth of one who was to be a guide through the darkness and perils of life. Born in a stable that was “too-little” in terms of comforts, and to parents who had “too-little” in terms of earthly wealth, his voice would soon sound a different way of life. The message he brought was one of comfort, peace, safety and joy to all “who would listen.” At this season may we hear the gospel tones of the Lord Jesus Christ as we celebrate his birth and life which gives hope to all, even to those who feel that they are just “too little.” May you all cherish His gifts of Life and Joy as you provide love and service to others. And don't forget – Ding-dingle, Ding-ding-dingle.”

Story Ideas

I wanted to use Pulling My Strings as a blog to illustrate how I am going about gaining control of my own life and pursuing my own personal quest for freedom. I love to create and record stories and poems, largely fictional, but often based on true experiences. I had three ideas for stories tonight and I wanted to write them down before I lose them. The first is "Stories in the Dark" which is a real life based account of telling stories to my three adopted children (the three Js - Jasmine, Janae, and Joseph). They love it when we go to one of the upstairs bedrooms before bedtime and turn off the lights and make up a story in the dark. Sometimes we pass the story around, each of us telling a part and then leading into another part for the next teller. Sometimes I just make the whole story up by myself or give them an opportunity to fill in blanks as I go. Night before last I made up a story of "The Fox and the Egg" which turned out pretty good and I think could be used in a puppet show or storytelling event. The third story I had an idea for was to tell about my experience with the dentist and ensuing jaw spasms that maybe I will entitle "The Smile Exercise." Let's see if I can write about one of the ideas tonight.

The Fox and the Purple Egg

In a deep, dark forest in a land far away there lived a wily fox. He had beautiful soft, reddish fur and a long tail. This fox liked to hunt at night when most of the other animals had gone to bed, for there were fierce animals in the forest, like the bear, the mountain lion and the badger.

Just as it got dark one night, the wind started to blow fiercely, and it whistled through the trees and rustle the leaves. "Ah," thought the fox, "what a perfect night for hunting. The noise of the wind will cover my steps as I sneak through the forest and the strength of the wind will erase my scent so that the other animals will not smell me.

The fox decided to go clear through the forest on this night to the farmhouse near the edge of the woods. He knew the farmer there kept chickens, and the fox thought there would be nothing better than to have one or two chickens for dinner. Maybe there would also be eggs that he could help himself to, without causing a great stir in the henhouse. So into the barnyard the fox crept and dashed through the shadows to the henhouse. The wind continued to howl and moan as he stole from bush to tree to shed.

Arriving at the henhouse, the fox quietly poked his snout through the doorway. Moonlight peeped through a vent in an upper wall and dimly lit the nested hens and roosters inside. They lay quietly sleeping, shielding their heads with their wings to keep out the noise of the wind and the light of the moon. All was motionless inside. The fox considered how he could grab a chicken and drag it out the doorway without disturbing and awaking all of the other chickens in the coop. Then he thought that maybe he would first check for eggs in the nests and see it he could get a few with minimal disturbance to all the roosted fowl. He quietly sniffed his way down the aisle to a large brown hen in the middle of the lower row of nests. He could see that the hen was sitting high in her nest, and reasoned that it was very likely she was sitting on a nice egg. Carefully he poked his snout into the stacked hay beneath her and nosed around to search for an egg. He quickly nudged a very large one and in a quick and precise movement close his jaws around it and yanked it out. His action was smooth, and the hen resettled in the hay without awaking. The egg was so large that the fox's jaws just barely fit around it. This was a great prize to him and he turned and slipped out the door, though the barnyard and back into the forest, all the while thinking how very clever he was to have acquired the egg completely undetected.

"I will take this egg back to my foxhole, and eat it there," he thought, relishing the idea of a delectable midnight snack. He loped through the woods and was soon at the entrance to his hole. He set the egg down outside the hole to admire it in the moonlight. The wind was still blustering through the trees. Upon setting the egg down he was greatly surprised to find that it was a pastel purple color. The moonlight seemed to light the egg with a delicate purplish golw. He had never seen a chicken egg this color. He was very hungry, but even more curious, and he wondered at the color of this egg. What special chicken could be inside? There must be something truly unique about the chick held inside this purple enclosure. He decided that he would hunt tomorrow for more sustenance, and wait for the egg to hatch. After all, it would at least provide a tasty meal of a young, and very large chick. He pushed the egg inside his burrow with his snout, and lay down to rest until morning.

As the new day began to dawn, the fox awoke and looked over at the egg. He was very hungry now, since he had not eaten the previous night, and his mouth began to water as he focused his eyes upon the egg. It almost looked to him as though the egg had grown some since last night, and he stretched his jaws wide and closed on it, straining his jaw muscles to get some grip on it. Then he released it and looked at it some more. What a strange color for an egg. He wondered if there was something wrong with it. Maybe the egg would poison him if he ate it. He waited and watched.

In the early afternoon the egg started to move back and forth in a jerky kind of motion. A Tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap noise came from inside the shell. The fox eyed the egg keenly. Suddenly a small yellow beak poked a hole in the shell. Then the shell seemed to collapse as a yellowy ball of fuzzy feathers emerged. The chick struggled to get on its feet, then wobbled about, peeping as it went.

"H-m-m-m," thought the fox. "He's bigger that a regular chick, but he doesn't act any different." The chick turned and looked directly at the fox. He hopped over and rubbed up against the fox's soft fur. "Oh, no," thought the fox, "he thinks I'm his mother." The little bird peeped a few more times, then found his way to the fox's tail and settled in the long nest-like fur strands.

"Oh my," thought the fox. "What will I do now? He is kind of cute, but he is a chicken. And everybody knows, foxes eat chickens! Yes, but look how big he is! My, he will be a tasty meal when he is fully grown. If I can just wait that long!"

When the chick awoke, he followed the fox out of his hole into a meadow. The fox sniffed about and then suddenly sprang upon a small field mouse. He carried it back to the chick and laid it before him. The chick looked indifferently at it, and hopped aside peeping and peeping. He was hungry, but a mouse was not what he wanted. The fox dug in the ground and pulled out a nice lily root. The chick was uninterested in this too, and his peeping got louder and louder. "What to do, what to do," the fox thought, looking wildly about for something to give the chick. "If I can't feed him, I'll just have to eat him." His mouth watered and he began to move toward the chick. Then suddenly the peeping stopped. The young bird had found an ant bed and was hungrily devouring ants. The fox watched for a moment, then ate the mouse and the lily root himself.

As time went on, the chick learned to feed himself pretty well in the meadow. There were plenty of bugs and he also found lots of different kinds of tasty seeds in the grasses. The fox became rather protective of the chick. The little bird followed him everywhere, and the fox knew when to hurry into his hole to avoid danger, the chick following closely behind. It was only a few weeks when the chick grew into a much larger bird, with beautiful feathers and a brilliant red comb on top of his head. There wasn't any more peeping, but instead there was clucking and crowing, especially in the morning when the sun came up. The fox became rather fond of his growing child, but he was even more fond of the plump, muscular chicken legs, wings and breast that would make a wonderful meal someday.

The foxhole was soon just too small for the two of them, and the fox didn't know how to keep both of them safe, without an enclosure of some kind to hide in. The chick was now a rooster. It was time for the fox to prepare his dinner.

The day came for the feast. The fox went about his normal routine, so as not to raise any suspicion from the rooster. The large bird scratched about in the meadow, looking for seeds and insects. The fox led him carefully to the edge of the meadow, where a steep embankment created a dead end where it would be easy to catch and devour the rooster. The fox circled around the bird, trapping him in the small canyon. He focused and crouched, ready to spring upon his prey. His eyes grew wide and his mouth began to water as he readied for the kill.

Then a most amazing thing happened. Just as the fox was ready to launch himself at the rooster, the bird suddenly flew into the air, screeching and crowing as he went. He lighted on a nearby tree limb and screeched down directly at the fox. The fox was startled so much by this sudden move by the rooster that he jumped backwards in shock. As he did so, a large dark shadow bolted over him. A mountain lion landed directly where he had been poised to attack the rooster. The mountain lion growled and roared at the fox, but slipped in the sand where he landed. He scrambled to regain his footing, but as he did so, the fox had enough time to disappear in the nearby brush. The rooster flew from one branch to another, not far behind. His startled crow had saved the fox.

The fox, seeing the rooster fly from tree to tree, designed a wily escape route. As he rounded a bend in his path, the rooster, unable to change direction quite so quickly, flew directly in from of him. The fox leaped upon the bird, and closed his mouth upon the bird's neck. Now he ran faster, with all the speed he possessed, to put distance between him and the mountain lion. His mouth watered as he ran, and he could taste chicken broth as he carried him along. The mountain lion's roar faded in the distance. He zig-zagged through the forest and sprinted his best until he reached the farm house where he had originally found his splendid rooster. With a great jerk of his neck he opened his mouth and flung the rooster over the chicken wire surrounding the coop. The rooster flapped his wings and scooted to a landing. The fox looked one last time at the rooster as other chickens crowded around him in the barnyard. The rooster, returning the fox's glance, crowed magnificently. He had earned his freedom. Now the fox knew why he never could eat the chicken of the purple egg. He darted back into the forest and headed for home.