I think you'll really like this story..

The story has been told for centuries now. The story of Gaspar, Melchior
and Balthasar, and the gifts they brought to the newborn king. And of
how they saw the star and followed it for weeks across mountain and
valley and desert.
In the stately procession on their swaying beasts, they came and placed
their treasures at the feet of the infant Savior.

And what were their gifts? Ah, you say, everyone knows that. They brought
gold, frankincense and myrrh. So, since the earliest days, the story has
been told.

But you are not completely correct. The story is incomplete. You see, the
story was told by those who had seen the wise men on their journey. And by
those who stood by in wonderment as the wise men dismounted from their weary
camels and strode to the door of the rude stable. They watched as the wise
men held their jewelled cases high before them. That much the world say.
And so the story has been told.

But that is not the whole story. And if you listen very carefully and very
quietly, you shall hear the rest of it. You shall hear what happened when
the
wise men entered the stable. And you shall learn the secret of the gifts.

* * *

The first of the three visitors to approach the stable was Gaspar. His
cloak
was of the finest velvet, trimmed with flawless fir. At his waist and
throat
were clusters of gems, for Gaspar was a wealthy man.

Those who watched saw only that he paused at the stable door. "He prays,"
they
whispered to one another as they say Gaspar's lips move. But they were
mistaken. They could not see that it was the angel Gabriel, guarding the
holy
place, before whom Gaspar stopped.

"And who are you?" Gabriel asked in a voice that was firm but not unkind.

"I am Gaspar, and I come to worship the king," he replied.

"All who enter here must bring a gift," said Gabriel. "Have you a gift?"

"Indeed I have," said Gaspar, and he held aloft a finely wrought box. It
was
small, yet so heavy that his arms could hardly raise it. "I have bars of
the
purest gold."

"Your gift," said Gabriel somberly, "must be the essence of yourself. It
must
be something precious to you soul."

"Such have I brought," answered Gaspar confidently, the hint of a smile upon
his lips.

"So shall it be," said Gabriel. And he too smiled as he held the door for
Gaspar to enter.

* * *

And there, before the rough board wall of the stable, lay the king he had
travelled so far to see. The light of the lamp fell across the tiny face
and glinted back from the dark, bright eyes. In the shadows sat the
parents,
motionless and silent. And beyond them, Gaspar sensed the presence of the
sheep and oxen who stood their reverent watch.

Gaspar advanced a step and then another. He was about to kneel and lay his
gold before the child when he stopped and stood erect. There in his
outstretched hands lay not gold but a hammer. Its scarred and blackened
head was larger than a man's fist. And its handle of sinewy wood was as
long as a man's forearm.

"But, but---" Gaspar stammered as he stared, dumbfounded, at the heavy tool.

And then softly from behind him he heard the voice of Gabriel.

"So shall it be, and so it is," said the angel. "You have brought the
essence of yourself."

Gaspar turned indignantly. "A hammer? What foul magic is this?"

"None but the magic of truth," replied Gabriel. "What you hold in your
hands is the hammer of your greed. You have used it to pound wealth from
those who
labor so you can live in luxury. You have used it to build a mansion for
yourself while others dwell in hovels. You have raised it against friends
and
made them into enemies --- and against enemies to distroy them."

And suddenly Gaspar knew the truth. Bowed with shame, he turned toward the
door to leave.

But Gabriel blocked the way. "No, no," he said, "you have not offered your
gift."

"Give this?" Gaspar blurted in horror, looking at the hammer. "I cannot
give
this to a king!"

"But you must," Gabriel replied. "That is why you came. And you cannot
take
it back with you. It is too heavy. You have carried it for many years,
and
even now your arms ache with its weight. You must leave it here, or it
will
distroy you."

And once again, Gaspar knew that the angel spoke the truth. But still he
protested. "The hammer is too heavy," he said. "Why, the child cannot lift
it."

"He is the only one who can," replied the angel.

"But it is dangerous. He might bruse his hands or feet."

"That worry," said Gabriel, "you must leave to heaven. The hammer shall
find
its place."

Slowly Gaspar turned to where the Christ child lay. And slowly he placed
the
ugly hammer at the baby's feet. Then he rose and turned to the door,
pausing
only for an instant to look back at the tiny Savior before he rushed
outside.

The waiting world say only the smile that wreathed Gaspar's face as he
emerged
from the stable. His hands were raised, as though the wings of angles
graced
his fingers. That much the world say, and so the story is told.

* * *

Next to step to the door of the stable was Melchior, the learned Melchior.
He was not so resplendent as Gaspar for he wore the darker robes of the
scholar.
But the length of his beard and the furrows of his brow bespoke one who had
lived long with the wisdom of the ages. A hush fell over the onlookers as
he
too paused before the door. But only Melchior could see the angel who stood
guard. Only Melchior could hear him speak.

"What have you brought?" asked Gabriel.

And Melchior replied, "I bring frankincense, the fragrance of hidden lands
and bygone days."

"Your gift," cautioned Gabriel as he had done before, "must be something
precious to your soul."

"Of course it is," retorted Melchior.

"Then enter, and we shall see." And Gabriel opened the door.

* * *

Melchior stood breathless before the scene within. In all his many years of
searching for elusive Truth, he had never sensed such a presence as this.
He knelt reverently. And from beneath his robe he withdrew the silver
flask of precious ointment.

But then he drew back and stared. The vessel in his hand was not silver at
all. It was common clay, rough and stained as might be found in the
humblest cupboard. Aghast, he pulled the stopper from its mouth and
sniffed the contents. Then he leapt to his feet only to face the angel at
the door.

"I have been tricked," he said, spitting the words with fury. "This is not
the frankincense I brought!"

"What is it, then?" asked Gabriel.

"It is vinegar!" Melchior snarled as though it were a curse.

"So it shall be, and so it is," said Gabriel. "You have brought what you
are made of."

"You are an angel of fools," Melchior snorted.

But Gabriel went on. "You bring the bitterness of your heart, the soured
wine
of a life turned grim with jealousy and hate. You have carried within you
too
long the memory of old hurts. You have hoarded you resentments and breathed
on
sparks of anger until they have become as embers smouldering within you.
You
have sought for knowledge. But you have filled your life with poison."

As he heard these words, Melchior's shoulders drooped. He turned his face
away
from Gabriel and fumbled with his robe, as though to hide the earthen jar.
Silently he sidled toward the door.

Gabriel smiled gently and placed his hand on Melchior's arm. "Wait," he
said.
"You must leave your gift."

Melchior sighed with a pain that came from deep within him. "How I wish I
could! How long have I yearned to empty my soul of its bitterness. You have
spoken the truth my friend. But I cannot leave it here! Not here at
the feet of love an innocence."

"But you can," said Gabriel. "And you must, if you would be clean. This is
the only place you can leave it."

"But this is vile and bitter stuff," Melchior protested. "What if the child
should touch it to his lips?"

"You must leave that worry to heaven," Gabriel replied. "There is use even
for vinegar."

So Melchoir placed his gift before the Savior. And they say that when he
came
out of the stable, his eyes shone with the clearest light of heaven's truth.

His skin was as smooth as a youth's as he lifted his head to gaze on
horizons
he had never seen before. And in that, at least the story is correct.

* * *

There was yet one more visitor to make his offering. He strode forward now,
his back as straight as a tree, shoulders firm as an oaken beam. He walked
as
one born to command. This was Balthasar, leader of many legions, scourge of
walled cities. Before him, as he grasped it by its handle of polished ebony,
he
carried a brass-bound box.

A murmur ran through those who watched as they saw him hesitate before the
door. "Look," they whispered, "even the great Balthasar does obeisance
before
the king who waits within."

But we know that it was Gabriel who caused the warrior to pause. And we
know
too the question that he put.

"Have you a gift?"

"Of course," answered Balthasar. "I bring a gift of Myrrh, the most
precious
booty of my boldest conquest. Many have fought and died for centuries for
such
as this. It is the essence of the rarest herb."

"But is it the essence of yourself?" asked Gabriel.

"It is," replied the general.

Then come," said the angel, "and we shall see."

* * *

Even the fearless Balthasar was not prepared for the wave of awe that struck
him as he entered the holy place of the Christ child. He felt a weakness in
his knees as he had never known before. Closing his eyes, he knelt and
shuffled forward through the straw in reverence. Then, bowing until his
face
was near the ground, he slowly released his grip on the handle of the box
and
raised his head and opened his eyes.

What lay before him at the baby's feet was his own spear. Its smooth round
staff still glistening where the sweat of his palms had moistened it. And
the
razor edges of its steely tip caught the flickering light of the lamp.

"It cannot be!" Balthasar whispered hoarsely. "Some enemy has cast a
spell!"

"That is more true than you know," said Gabriel softly from behind him. "A
thousand enemies have cast their spell on you and turned your soul into a
spear."

"You speak in riddles," cried Balthasar, turning to face the angel. "I'll
teach you not to jest at a time like this." And he raised his fist as if to
strike.

Gabriel did not flinch as he continued; "Living only to conquer, you have
been
conquered. Each battle you win leads you only to another with a foe yet
more
formidable."

"Do you think I like to kill?" demanded Balthasar. "You angels know nothing
of
this world. I am the defender of my people. Were it not for my spear
leading
them into battle, we should have been destroyed long ago. Why, even now,
the
enemy is massing to invade us. As soon as I leave this holy place, I must
raise more armies. I must buy more spears to arm them and ---"

"More," Gabriel interrupted quietly, "then what?"

"Why, more than we have know. More than our enemies have."

"And what will they do then?" asked the angel softly. "Will your enemies
too
need more?"

Balthasar heard the angels words, and they seemed to echo in the deepest
places
of his soul as though vaguely familiar. Was the question one that he had
sometimes asked himself? Was it that faintest flicker of doubt, quickly
stifled by one who did not dare to doubt?

For a moment Balthasar hesitated. Then, taking control of himself, he
reached
down and grasped his spear --- and turned toward the door.

"I cannot leave this here," he said. "My people need it. We cannot afford
to
give it up."

"Are you sure," asked Gabriel, "that you can afford to keep it?"

"But our enemies will distroy us if we drop our spears," Balthasar said
impatiently. "We cannot take that risk."

"Yes, it is a risk," Gabriel replied slowly. "But your way is a certainty
--- a certainty of spears."

Once again Balthasar hesitated. And once again the sweat of his hand
moistened
the smooth shaft of the spear. But know the beads stood out on his forehead
as
well, as the force of Gabriel's words did battle with centuries of warrior
instinct.

A long moment passed. Finally Balthasar loosed his grip, and the spear
dropped
toward the floor. But as he looked at the child at his feet, he whispered
anxiously, "But here? Is it safe to leave it here?"

The angel released a long-held breath as he whispered back, "This is the
only
safe place to leave it."

"But he is a child, and the spear is sharp. It could pierce his flesh."

"That fear you must leave to heaven," Gabriel replied.

And they say that Balthasar went calmly from the stable, his arms hanging
gently at his sides. They say that he walked first to Gaspar and Melchior,
where they waited, and embraced them as brothers. Then, turning to the
others
who watched, he went first to one and then to the next, enfolding each in
his
outstretched arms as one greeting beloved friends whom he has not seen in a
very long time.

* * *

That, at least, is how the story has always been told. And it is true, as
far
as it goes. But you have listened well, and now you know the whole of it.

Now you too may kneel before the Christ child to leave at his feet those
unseen,
secret things that may be left nowhere else but there. And having visited
the
holy place, you too like those three visitors of old, may go on your way
made
new.

But what of their gifts, you ask? What of the hammer and the vinegar and
the
spear? Well, there is another story about them and how they were seen once
more, years later, in fact, on a lonely hill outside of Jerusalem. But do
not
worry. That is a burden heaven took upon itself, as only heaven can. And
will, even to this very day.