Amidst a fierce winter storm, discover the heartwarming narrative of ‘Delayed Delivery’, where memories of past Christmases intertwine with fresh experiences. Stella, an elderly woman facing her first Christmas without her beloved husband, finds solace in a surprising gift that embodies the love and foresight of her late spouse. As this touching story unfolds, it lends a profound insight into the enduring nature of love and the restorative spirit of the Christmas season. Celebrate the love that transcends time and gives hope in moments of solitude.
Welcome everyone to Family Talk. It’s a ministry of the James Dobson Family Institute supported by listeners just like you. I’m Dr. James Dobson and I’m thrilled that you’ve joined us.
SPEAKER 01 :
Well, welcome to a very special edition of Dr. James Dobson’s Family Talk. And from all of us here at the JDFI, Merry Christmas from our household to yours. I’m Roger Marsh, and on this special edition of Family Talk, we’re going to hear a classic program that Dr. Dobson voiced a couple of years ago for us. It’s a Christmas story called Delayed Delivery. But as we begin today’s program, we have a special greeting that Dr. Dobson and his wife Shirley recorded for that program a couple of years ago, a very meaningful moment for us and for the Dobsons now that Dr. Dobson has gone home to be with the Lord. So here’s how that program began on December 25th, 2023.
SPEAKER 02 :
Well, hello, everyone. I’m James Dobson, and thanks for spending a part of this marvelous Christmas day with us. With me in the studio is my beloved wife, Shirley. And, you know, I really do wish you could see her. She’s all decked out in red and white for the occasion.
SPEAKER 03 :
Thanks, Jim. I hope our listeners agree with me that this is the most important time of the year. Everything we care about is embodied in Christmas, from children to families to friends, and of course, the good food, and especially the celebration of the Christ child. Because of his birth and resurrection, we have the promise of eternal life.
SPEAKER 02 :
So ring the Christmas bells that you brought, Shirley, as we say together, Merry Christmas, everyone. Dear friends, approximately 20 years ago, I collaborated with several authors to prepare a book entitled A Family Christmas. It consisted of nine classic short stories that will warm your heart. They were illustrated throughout with prints of wonderful paintings by acclaimed artists and my friend, the late Gerald Harvey. A Family Christmas is no longer in print, which I regret. Introduction What three words in our English language carry more emotionally laden memories than a family Christmas? What other simple phrase unleashes such a flood of nostalgia, half-forgotten longings, and well-remembered tastes and smells, sounds and melodies and images? Happy or sad, festive or quiet, a family Christmas carries us from where we are to where we’ve been, or perhaps to where we want to be. I have only to close my eyes to find myself in scenes from a boyhood in Texas with my mother and father, scenes that are often interwoven with images from Oklahoma and California, and Kansas, around the fireplace with Shirley, Denae, and Ryan. Lights turned down low, the fire popping and snapping on the grate, and the sweet fragrance of Christmas candles filling the room. These are among my most precious memories of my life. The book also recalled other images that most of us have only seen in literature, in art, or in film. They represent a time gone by before most of us were born, and yet they are part of the heritage of Christmas that is still with us today. Gerald Harvey’s paintings focused on turn-of-the-century scenes that were vividly preserved on canvas and sculpture, sleighs jingling along snowy country lanes and the clip-clop of horses’ hooves on cobbled streets. The soft glow of gas lights around a town square filled with shoppers and tiny churches on starry nights. Light pouring through the windows and the good folks of the village gathering for a Christmas Eve service of carols and praise. It was all there for us to enjoy. You can understand why I feel a certain sadness about the passing of an era. Whether we speak of our own families or the worldwide family of God, this season is time for giving and receiving like no other. What I’ll share with you now is the opening story of The Family Christmas, written by Kathy Miller. She titled it Delayed Delivery, and these are her words. There’s never been a winter like this. Stella watched from the haven of her armchair as gusts of snow whipped themselves into a frenzy. She feared to stand close to the window, unreasonably afraid that somehow the blizzard might be able to reach her there, sucking her breathless out into the chaos. The houses across the street were all but obliterated by the fury of wind-borne flakes. Absently, the elderly woman straightened the slipcovers on the arms of her chair, her eyes glued to the spectacle beyond the glass. Dragging her gaze away from the window, she forced herself up out of her chair and waited a moment for balance to reassert itself. Straightening her back against the pain that threatened to keep her stooped, she set out determinedly for the kitchen. In the doorway of the next room she paused, her mind blank, wondering what purpose had propelled her there. From the vent above the stove, the scream of the wind threatened to funnel the afternoon storm directly down into the tiny house. Stella focused brown eyes on the stovetop clock. The 3.15 time reminded her that she had headed in there to take something out of the freezer for her supper, another lonely meal that she didn’t feel like preparing, much less eating. Suddenly, she grabbed the handle of the refrigerator and leaned her forehead against the cool white surface of the door as a wave of self-pity threatened to drown her. It was too much to bear, losing her beloved Dave this summer. How was she to endure the pain, the daily nothingness? She felt the familiar ache in her throat and squeezed her eyes tightly shut to hold the tears at bay. Stella drew herself upright and shook her head in silent chastisement. She reiterated her litany of thanks. She had her health. She had her tiny home, an income that could suffice her for the remainder of her days. She had her books, her television programs, her needlework. There were the pleasures of her garden in the spring and summer, walks through the wilderness park at the end of her street, and the winter birds that brightened the feeders outside her kitchen picture window. Not today, though, she thought ruefully, as the blizzard hurled itself against the eastern wall of her kitchen. Ah, Dave, I miss you so. I never minded storms when you were here. The sound of her own voice echoed hollowly in her room. She turned on the radio that stood on the counter next to a neatly descending row of wooden canisters. A sudden joyful course of Christmas music filled the room, but it only served to deepen her loneliness. Stella had been prepared for her husband’s death. Since the doctor’s pronouncement of terminal lung cancer, they had both faced the inevitable, striving to make the most of their remaining time together. Dave’s financial affairs had been put in order. There were no new burdens in her widowed state. It was just the awful aloneness, the lack of purpose to her days. They had been a childless couple. It had been their choice. Their lives had been full and rich. They had been content with busy careers and with each other. They had many friends. Had. That was the operative word these days. It was bad enough losing the one person you loved with all your heart. But over the past few years, she and Dave repeatedly had to cope with the deaths of their friends and relations. They were all of an age, the age when human bodies began giving up, dying. Face it, they were old. And now on this first Christmas without Dave, Stella would be on her own. Mabel and Jim had invited her to spend the holiday with them in Florida, but somehow that had seemed worse than staying at home alone. Not only would she miss her husband, but she would miss the snow in the winter and the familiarity of her home. With shaky fingers, she lowered the volume of the radio so that the music became a muted background. She glanced through the fridge briefly, then decided that a hot bowl of soup would be more comforting fare this evening. to her surprise she saw that the mail had come she hadn’t even heard the creak of the levered mail slot in the front door poor mailman out in this weather neither hail nor sleet With the inevitable wince of pain, she bent to retrieve the damp white envelopes from the door. Moving into the living room, she sat on the piano bench to open them. They were mostly Christmas cards, and her sad eyes smiled at the familiarity of the traditional scenes and the loving messages inside. Carefully, her arthritic fingers arranged them among the others clustered on the piano top. In her entire house, they were the only seasonal decoration. The holiday was less than a week away, but yet she did not have the heart to put up a silly tree or even set up the stable that Dave had built with his own hands. Suddenly engulfed by the loneliness of it all, Stella buried her lined face in her hands, lowering her elbows to the piano keys in a harsh, abrasive discord, and let the tears come. How would she possibly get through Christmas and the winter beyond it? She longed to climb into bed and bury herself in a cocoon of blankets, not emerging until her friends in spring returned. The ring of the doorbell echoed the high-pitched discordant piano notes and were so unexpected that Stella had to stifle a small scream of surprise. Now who could possibly be calling on her on a day like today? Wiping her eyes, she noticed for the first time how dark the room had become. The doorbell sounded a second time. Using the piano for leverage, she raised herself upright and headed for the front hall, switching on the living room light as she passed. She opened the wooden door and stared through the screened window of the storm door in consternation. On her front porch, buffeted by waves of wind and snow, stood a strange young man whose hatless head was barely visible above the large carton in his arms. She peered beyond him in the driveway, but there was nothing about the small car to give a clue to his identity. Returning her gaze at him, we saw that his hands were bare and his eyebrows had lifted in an expression of hopeful appeal that was fast disappearing behind the frost forming on the glass. Summoning courage, the elderly woman opened the door slightly and he stepped sideways to speak into the space. Mrs. Thornhope, she added in affirmation, her extended arm beginning to tremble with cold and the strain of holding the door against the wind. He spoke again. I have a package for you. Curiosity drove warning thoughts from her mind. She pushed the door far enough to enable the stranger to shoulder it and then stepped back into the foyer to make room for him. He entered, bringing with him the frozen breath of the storm. Smiling, he placed the burden carefully on the floor and stood to retrieve the envelope that protruded from his pocket. As he handed it to her, a sound came from the box. Stella actually jumped. The man laughed in apology and bent to straighten up the cardboard flaps, holding them open for her to peek inside. she advanced cautiously then turned her gaze downward it was a dog to be more exact a golden labrador retriever puppy As the gentleman lifted its squirming body up into his arms, he explained, This is for you, ma’am. He’s six weeks old and completely housebroken. The young pup wiggled in happiness as being released from captivity and thrust his ecstatic wet kisses in the direction of his benefactor’s chin. We were supposed to deliver him on Christmas Eve, he continued with some difficulty, as he strove to rescue his chin from the wet little tongue. But the staff at the kennels start their holidays tomorrow. Hope you don’t mind an early present. Shock had stolen her ability to think clearly. Unable to form coherent sentences, she stammered, but I don’t. I mean, who? The young fellow set the animal down on the doormat between them and then reached out a finger to tap the envelope she was still holding. There’s a letter in there that explains everything, pretty much. The dog was brought last July while her mother was still pregnant. It was meant to be a Christmas gift. If you’ll just wait a minute, there’s some things in the car I’ll get for you. Before she could protest, he was gone, returning a moment later with a huge box of dog food, a leash, and a book, caring for your Labrador retriever. All this time the puppy had sat quietly at her feet, panting happily as his brown eyes watched her. Unbelievably, the stranger was turning to go. Desperation forced the words from her lips. But who? Who brought it? Pausing in the open doorway, his words almost snatched away by the wind that tousled his hair. He replied, Your husband, ma’am. And then he was gone. It was all in the letter. Forgetting the puppy entirely at this sight of the familiar handwriting, Stella had walked like a somnambulist to her chair by the window. Unaware that the little dog had followed her, she forced tear-filled eyes to read her husband’s words. He had written it three weeks before his death and had left it with the kennel owners to be delivered along with the puppy as his last Christmas gift to her. It was full of love and encouragement and admonishments to be strong. He vowed that he was waiting for a day when she would join him, and he had sent her this young animal to keep her company until then. Remembering the little creature for the first time, she was surprised to find him quietly looking up at her. His small panting mouth resembled a comic smile. Stella put the pages aside and reached down for the bundle of golden fur. She thought that he would be heavier, but he was only the size and weight of a small pillow and so soft and warm. She cradled him in her arms and he licked her jawbone, then cuddled up into the hollow of her neck. The tears began anew at the exchange of affection and the dog endured her crying without moving. Finally, Stella lowered him to her lap where he regarded her solemnly. She wiped vaguely at her wet cheeks, then somehow mustered a smile. “‘Well, little guy, I guess it’s up to you and me.’ His pink tongue panted in agreement. Stella’s smile strengthened and her gaze shifted sideways to the window. Dusk had fallen and the storm seemed to have spent the worst of its fury. Through fluffy flakes that were now drifting down at a gentler pace, she saw the cheery Christmas lights that edged the roof lines of her neighbor’s homes. The strains of joy to the world wafted in from the kitchen. Suddenly, Stella felt the most amazing sensation of peace and benediction washing over her. It was like being enfolded in a loving embrace. Her heart beat painfully, but it was with joy and wonder, not grief or loneliness. She need never feel lonely again. Returning her attention to the dog, she spoke to him. You know, fellow, I have a box in the basement and I think you’d like it. There’s a tree in it and some decorations and lights that will impress you like crazy. And I think I can find the old stable down there too. What do you say we go hunt it up? Well, the puppy barked happily in agreement as if he understood every word. That’s the end of the story and I’ll close my letter with these thoughts about the meaning of Christmas. Love is stronger than death and reaches into eternity with gifts of kindness, coming from loving hearts that can warm the coldest winter and bring light into dark and lonely places. And once upon a dark night in a little village called Bethlehem, every one of us received a gift like no other. It was a gift of surprising kindness and enduring love. A gift that to this day warms hearts, releases captives, pushes back the shadows, and delivers hope and joy to transform desolate seasons of our lives. God’s great gift, delivered just when we needed it the most, will walk us through every trial, every hardship, every lonely day, and every starless night. And one day we’ll all be together in the presence of the gift, where loneliness and death and separation and tears will fade like a distant dream. The gift is ours, right now, and His name is Jesus. Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift. Well, this is James Dobson, and I do hope you enjoyed this touching story by Kathy Miller. She wrote it in her book, A Family Christmas. But you know, it occurs to me that there are some people in our listening audience who feel like Stella in this story. They’re lonely and discouraged. Perhaps they’ve lost a loved one. Is that you? If it is, I do hope that you’ll find peace in the Christ child and the promise of eternal life. Merry Christmas everyone, blessings to you.
SPEAKER 01 :
Well, I hope you’ve been encouraged and blessed by the touching story that you’ve heard on today’s edition of Dr. James Dobson’s Family Talk, read by our own Dr. James Dobson and featured on the Christmas Day edition of Family Talk back in 2023. It’s our hope and prayer that you will find peace in the Christ child that Dr. Dobson was just describing. And when he shares that encouragement that you would find the promise of eternal life, We know that this Christmas in particular is bittersweet for us here at JDFI and for the Dobson family. Dr. Dobson went home to be with the Lord on August 21st of this year, but we know that he heard those words, well done, good and faithful servant, as he entered into eternity. And this year here on Family Talk, especially at Christmas time, we are honoring his legacy and looking forward to what the future holds for the ministry of the Dr. James Dobson Family Institute. That is why this year, our 2025 Best of Broadcast Collection features six discs, 18 programs total that all feature some of Dr. Dobson’s most classic work here at the James Dobson Family Institute throughout our 15-year history. We encourage you to call us at 877-732-6825 or go to drjamesdobson.org and express your interest in receiving the six CD collection. We call it our 2025 Best of Broadcast Collection. Now you can also write to us as well. Our ministry mailing address is Dr. James Dobson’s Family Talk, P.O. Box 39000, Colorado Springs, Colorado, the zip code 80949. And do keep in mind that now through the end of the year, December 31st, we have a special matching grant in place thanks to some special friends of our ministry. That means that any donation that you make between now and midnight on December 31st in support of the James Dobson Family Institute will instantly be doubled up to $6 million. Now, you can make that tax-deductible donation online at drjamesdobson.org forward slash broadcast. That’s drjamesdobson.org forward slash broadcast. Or you can give us a call at 877-732-6825. That’s 877-732-6825. Or if you’d like to include a note with your contribution, you can do so by writing to us. Our ministry mailing address once again is Dr. James Dobson’s Family Talk, P.O. Box 39000, Colorado Springs, Colorado, the zip code 80949. Well, I’m Roger Martian on behalf of the Dobson family and all of us here at the James Dobson Family Institute. Thanks so much for listening today. And thanks for listening, especially here on this Christmas day. May your day be filled with joy and God’s richest blessings as you celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. And be sure to join us again next time right here for another edition of Dr. James Dobson’s Family Talk, the voice you can still trust for the family you love. This has been a presentation of the Dr. James Dobson Family Institute. Here’s today’s Dr. Dobson Minute with Dr. James Dobson.
SPEAKER 02 :
You know, what’s a shame is the pace of living that has crowded out time for the real meaning of Christmas. God himself incarnate came born of a virgin, came that we might all be reconciled to him. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him. In him was life and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. Christmas is really about that story of God Himself incarnate living within us, inhabiting this world with us, and then living a sinless life and dying to save us from our own sin.
