'I wish it was always Christmas!' said the children. It was as if some secret power would have changed the people. They faced the hardships of life with a happier and a more hopeful attitude. The ding-dong of the bells reminded them of an angels' choir. The wind carried this majestic music far away; it was as if thousands of angels would have heralded the approach of something special.
Monica was still standing at the window and the bells' song did not resound in her heart. Her thoughts were not revolving around sweets, pretty dolls or toy cars. She was holding a letter addressed to Jesus. There were only a few days till Christmas, but the paper was still empty. If it hadn't been for this homework, she might have not written to Jesus at all this year. But since everyone was expected to hand in the letter before Christmas, she had no choice. She had to write it. Her teacher even said that the best letter to Jesus will be read out aloud as part of the Christmas celebration.
'I wish Grandpa would be here. He could help me.'
She sat down with the paper and started to write:
'Dear Jesus,
I was a very good girl, my grades are excellent and I always listen to my parents' advice. I would like for Christmas... '
'I would like for Christmas... ' the pen stopped in Monica's hand. She was sadly searching for the right words but her wish list remained empty. Monica didn't want dolls. She had a lot of them and she was too old to play with dolls anyway. She had never been fond of sweets either; plus, no chocolate could surpass Grandma's cakes and cookies.
'Maybe I could ask for a dress' she thought. 'Oh, no... the new things get old, and by tomorrow it will be only a piece of junk like everything else I've gotten for the last Christmases.'
Monica wasn't excited about Christmas at all; she just wanted to make her homework. Finally, Grandma's sweet voice put an end to these gloomy thoughts: 'Monica, dinner... '
The table was flooded by candlelight and the crackling fire in the fireplace filled with warmth the little house, banishing far away the coldness of winter. Her mother was humming while she was serving up the delicious meals prepared for the Advent Dinner. The air of the room was engulfed with her happiness and humming. Monica's eyes were fixed on the burning firewood. Grandpa's rocking-chair was resting in in the light of the fire. It was empty. '
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