BETHLEHEM STAR synopsis

LOGLINE 

We all have a destiny . . . if we’re patient enough to wait until just the right time to shine.  

 

PITCH

A new little star is given a very important mission to lead Wise Men to the birth of a special child but is told this will not happen for a long, long time. The young star must withstand personal doubt, the taunts of older stars, the long stretch of eons, and the silence of the Galaxy. When it has just about given up, the little star bursts into its predicted brilliant glory and leads the Wise Men and others to the miracle in Bethlehem.  

 

SYNOPSIS 

Once upon a time a Christmas Star is born into the Universe. The Galaxy says its name is the Star of Bethlehem and although the smallest star in the Universe, its purpose is to shine brighter than any star ever on the night a Savior is born. Three Wise Men will travel with gifts for the child in a time of great danger and will need to see its light to find him. Although the Little Star wants the job, he isn’t sure he can do it. He thinks the job sounds really important. Most starts are part of Aquarius, Gemini, Leo, or Orion. However, the Galaxy says that the Universe is depending on its cooperation. For two thousand years, it will shine at half its light. Then at the appointed time, it will shine brighter than everything in the night sky. The Bethlehem Star tries to wait patiently for Christmas Eve.

 

As two thousand years passes, he wonders if the Galaxy has forgotten him. Even when the Little Star inquires of the Galaxy, there is only deafening silence. The Bethlehem Star withstands other stars’ taunting about shining at half its light, doubting it would ever shine fully. Tears drop from the Bethlehem Star all the way to earth, creating reservoirs of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Orion once tries to take his job, saying a comet, a planet, an angel, or even a shooting star should shine for Christmas Eve—much better choices than the dim Little Star.

 

More years pass. The Little Star tries to force itself to flicker just a little brighter, even if it hurts to do so, but all its efforts are for naught. Then, just when the Bethlehem Star is sure it has lost its chance for a miracle, the Galaxy speaks louder than before. It says the Little Star, not Orion, will shine over the Bethlehem manger where the Child is resting. As midnight approaches on the first Christmas Eve, the Bethlehem Star suddenly lights the night sky. It is so bright that nearly everyone on the Earth can see its glow, but especially the three Wise Men. All at once, a great company of the heavenly host appear, singing in the sky with hallelujahs. The Bethlehem Star is so excited to finally be shining his light for the Savior. Even the angels can see how the legendary star shines so brightly on Christmas Eve that the other stars are amazed beyond belief. For the rest of time, everyone in the Universe knows of the Bethlehem Star.

Copyright 2022 Jennifer Waters

The Man From the Synagogue: The Story of Coral Graf and a Lesson in Manna and Mitzvahs

“Dad, I’m going over to the Synagogue to talk to the Rabbi about the power of small miracles,” Coral said, while eating a bagel and lox for breakfast at her kitchen table. “I need to know that I’m doing the right thing with the coins from The Man Upstairs.”

“I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you,” Mr. Graf said, as he finished his Sunday morning coffee. “I sent him a box of bagels the other day.”

Coral felt a responsibility with each coin that she gave to someone. What if one person needed her coins more than another person? How would she know? She really wanted the Rabbi’s advice. Sometimes, her dad was too busy to answer all her questions. 

Her father grabbed his spring sweater as Coral gathered her tin can with overflowing coins from The Man Upstairs. She also put Puddles her porcelain pink piggy bank in her backpack. Last night, she filled him up with the latest coins dropped through the heating vent by The Man Upstairs. Pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters, half dollars, and dollar coins galore! 

“See you later tonight, Coral,” Mr. Graf said. He kissed Mrs. Graf on the cheek and headed out to his deli for the day. “Love you both to the moon and back!”

Before Coral put the tin can in her backpack, The Man Upstairs dropped another handful of coins through the heating vent. Coral thought he must have known she was ready to go out for the day, and she might meet some people in need. Other people’s needs were so great that sometimes it overwhelmed Coral, but she was determined to make as much of a positive difference in the world as she could. 

“Don’t forget these!” Mrs. Graf said, scooping up coins rolling across the floor and handing them to Coral. “Also, if the Rabbi asks you to meet The Man Upstairs, it might be better that he says a prayer for him. The Man Upstairs is private.” 

“Since he’s the Rabbi, I thought I’d tell him about the miracles that have been happening with the coins,” the ten-year-old girl said. “Groceries are being bought. Rent is getting paid. Homeless people found homes and jobs. People are even getting better from cancer.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a nice talk, but don’t be disappointed if he doesn’t understand,” Mrs. Graf said. “Not everyone understands that coins fall from The Man Upstairs through the heating vent in our apartment building for you to use to do good in the world.”

“I’ve never kept one single penny for myself, Mom,” Coral said. “I’ve been giving everything away. It’s the only way to help people!”

“Not everyone has enough faith for miracles to happen,” Mrs. Graf said. “I personally think you are a miracle, Coral!”

“Thanks! I love you, Mom,” Coral said. Then, she grabbed her jacket and marched down the stairs to the New York City street with her mother behind her.

“You should stop by and say hello to me at the Empire State Building during lunch,” Mrs. Graf said. “I have to go to work now, but I’d love to hear all about your talk with the Rabbi later today.”

“I’ll stop by after talking to the Rabbi,” Coral said. “I could ride the elevators up and down the Empire State Building for hours, just for fun, like an amusement park ride.” 

When Coral arrived at the Fifth Avenue Synagogue, she swung open the doors and stood in awe of the gorgeous sanctuary. It seemed like such an important place to Coral. She tiptoed into the Rabbi’s office and hoped not to disturb anyone. 

“My name is Coral Graf. I’m here to see the Rabbi,” Coral said to his assistant. She placed her piggy bank on her oak desk. As she looked around the office, she noticed that the Rabbi had many books. She thought he must have been very intelligent and spent a lot of time reading. She had never seen anyone with so many books. 

“Do you have an appointment, honey?” the secretary asked. She pushed her glasses back on her wrinkled face. Coral thought the lady seemed busy. 

“Why do I need an appointment?” Coral said. “The Rabbi talks to God, and I want to talk to the man who talks to God.”

“Well, you’re feisty, aren’t you, young lady? Usually, you have to get on the calendar, but I’ll see what I can do to make an exception,” the secretary said. She walked into the Rabbi’s private office with a yellow pad of paper and returned minutes later with a tired smile. 

“The Rabbi has five minutes to see you,” the secretary said. She sat down at her squeaky, rolling chair. Coral wondered how she would ever explain herself in only five minutes.

“God must have a lot to say to the Rabbi if he only has five minutes to talk to me,” Coral said. “I’ll try to keep in short.”

The Rabbi looked up with a tired but kind smile. He took a deep breath as though pausing from a long day. 

“Your father sends such nice bagels and desserts from his deli. Now what can I do for you, Coral?” the Rabbi said. “You are such a fine young girl.”

“I wanted to tell you about the coins that I’ve been receiving from The Man Upstairs,” Coral said. She plopped herself on the chair in front of his desk. 

“Oh, well, what is it that you wanted to tell me about them?” the Rabbi said. He shuffled a stack of paper on his desk. Coral wondered how he could find anything in the big pile.  

“Well, the coins come through the heating vent, clickety clank, and drop into my tin can, and they keep coming as long as I give them away to do good in the world,” Coral said. 

She poured her tin can of pennies on the Rabbi’s desk. Then, she opened Puddles, her piggy bank, and dumped the coins from her pink porcelain pig.

“These coins are for you and the Synagogue,” she said. “It’s just enough to start a chain reaction of small miracles that create bigger miracles!” 

“Why, thank you!” the Rabbi said. “Please tell The Man Upstairs thank you as well. What is his name?”

“The Man Upstairs! His name is The Man Upstairs,” Coral said. She stacked the pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters, and dollars coins into separate piles for the Rabbi. She thought he might need her help to be more organized. 

“I’m sure we can put your coins to good use around here,” the Rabbi said. “It’s almost like when the Israelites received manna from God in the desert. They only ate the manna that they gathered that day. If they kept it for more than a day, worms crawled all over it, except on the Sabbath. Then it lasted two days.”

“I love that story!” Coral said. “I wonder what manna tasted like. The food at my dad’s deli is probably better.”

“Yes, that’s true. Rabbinical scholars think it tasted like wafers with honey,” the Rabbi said. “So, you’re giving your coins away to do mitzvahs?”

“Good deeds!” Coral said, her eyes drifting to the open scriptures on the Rabbi’s desk. 

“Yes, good deeds, like feeding the poor, acting kindly to a stranger,” the Rabbi said. “Some people just throw coins into fountains for good luck, but you’ve done much more than that. Your actions show what you believe.”

“Maybe you could talk to God about this for me?” Coral said. “I’ve been trying to give my coins to the right people. The Man Downstairs needed the coins, and I didn’t know it at first. I was worried that the Man from Central Park was not a good person to help. He seemed to drink too much alcohol, but my father and I took him to the hospital anyhow, and I gave my coins to his medical bills. How do you think I should pick the people that I help?”

“I’m sure you’re doing a good job,” the Rabbi said. He looked at his watch, and then he glanced at the scriptures on his desk. “Follow your feelings and listen to the voice inside of you.”

“I’ll listen extra hard to the voice inside of me,” Coral said. Then, she pulled her ears. 

“My feeling is that giving away your coin collection is just the beginning for you!” the Rabbi said to Coral. “Your generosity is going to lead to great things in life!”

“The Man Upstairs gave me enough coins to make small changes in the world, even if no one notices them at first,” Coral said. “You have to start somewhere!”

She felt confident that she was doing the right things with her coins. The Rabbi had helped her have more faith in herself and her ability to make good decisions.

“Now remember to keep the Sabbath,” the Rabbi said. “I really have a lot of work to do today. I’m working on a sermon for the week. Zechariah 4:10 says, ‘Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin.’”

“Thank you! I understand,” Coral said. “Let me know what you do with the coins . . . it’s just like they came from heaven.”

 

Copyright 2016, 2025 Jennifer Waters

Sequel to "The Man Upstairs: The Story of Coral Graf and Coins from a Tin Can" (1/3/15), "The Man Downstairs: The Story of Coral Graf and Her Missing Coins" (7/13/15), "The Man Next Door: The Story of Coral Graf and the Neighborhood Coins" (8/5/15), "The Man Across the Street: The Story of Coral Graf, a Hanukkah Miracle, and the Landlord with a Cigar" (9/10/15), "The Man Around the Corner: The Story of Coral Graf and a Homeless Cardboard Box" (9/10/15), and "The Man from Central Park: The Story of Coral Graf and a Bike Ride on a Spring Day" (10/4/15).

Dedicated to my grandmother, Augusta Renner Graf Waters. 

Musical Time: The Story of a Metronome Who Wants to Make Music

“I want to do more than click and tick all day! Music! I must make music,” Galileo the Metronome said. 

For hours on end, Galileo sat on Cadence the Composer’s piano, keeping time with his pendulum-swinging arm. Cadence turned him on and off, adjusting Galileo’s beats per minute, depending on the piece he was writing.

“I can’t take this anymore! You are only using me for my fixed rhythm,” he said to the Composer.

“You are such a necessity! You have no idea how lost I would be with your steady tempo,” the Composer said.

“No one plays music at an exact tempo. I can’t even align myself with your expressive pieces,” Galileo said. “Strings! I want the strings of a violin on my neck! So, someone can play melodies through me . . .”

All at once, Galileo threw himself off the side of the piano onto the floor of the Composer’s home. 

“Oh no! My lovely Galileo!” Cadence said, gathering the scattered pieces. “What will I do with you now?” 

Cadence gathered the shattered and broken metronome and placed his pieces in the trashcan beside the piano.

“I’ll have to stop by The Music Store for a new metronome tomorrow, maybe one with blinking lights,” he said.

Meanwhile, Galileo’s parts were tossed throughout the wastepaper basket. “Oh, I ache worse than ever . . .”

In the morning, when the composer’s son, Winkel, found the Metronome’s pieces, he glued them back together.

“Well, you’ll never click like a metronome again, but maybe I could make you into an instrument,” Winkel said. 

Winkel pulled and plucked four strings across Galileo’s neck. Then he tightened them to exact pitches—E, A, D, G. 

“I’ll finally be able to make music!” Galileo said. “It was rash but jumping off the piano was for the best.”

By the time Winkel had reconstructed Galileo into a tiny violin, Cadence replaced Galileo with a new metronome.

“One day you’ll be known as rare as a Stradivari violin,” Winkel said, constructing a separate bow for Galileo.

“Please, play me!” Galileo said. “Don’t wait! Sounds waves will start from the friction of the bow on the strings and carry to the bridge. The bridge will send the vibrations through the instrument, and then we have music!”

As Winkel placed his bow to Galileo’s strings, the former metronome made music and has never stopped since.

 

Copyright 2016 Jennifer Waters

THE CHRISTMAS POINSETTIA synopsis

LOGLINE

A very special Christmas gift of love can turn weeds into wonder. 

 

PITCH 

Twelve-year old Maria is inspired by her abuelita’s Christmas story about a poor girl’s heartfelt gift of weeds to the baby Jesus and how they turned into beautiful red flowers. Maria experiments with her own prayers and weeds . . . but nothing happens, and her humble gift is tossed away in disgust. Still hopeful, Maria’s bedtime prayer is for baby Jesus to please turn her weeds into flowers—and it works so well her entire room is filled with beautiful red poinsettias, inspiring the entire village.

 

SYNOPSIS

Young Maria likes her abuelita’s stories, especially about los Cuentos de Navidad with los pastores, los ángeles, and los Reyes Magos. Maria, 12, lives in Tlalpujahua, México. One particular afternoon, she looks at the weeds growing through the concrete and thinks that they have tenacity. Then, she runs up the wooden steps of her parents’ home where she lives with her grandmother. She bursts through la puerta of the brightly painted casa. Her grandmother’s soft, black cat named Bonita, who loves to tickle Maria with her tail, greets her. She asks her grandmother to tell her a story, curls up in her grandma’s wooden chair and rests her head on a rainbow-colored blanket, eating candy and listening to the story, which goes like this:  

 

“There once was a poor Mexican girl named Pepita, who had no money to buy a gift to give the baby Jesus. Her cousin Pedro told her that even the smallest gifts of love make Jesus happy. Noticing the weeds on the side of the road, Pepita picked a small handful of weeds and made them into a bouquet. When she walked into the church, she felt ashamed that she only had this small gift to give the baby Jesus. While placing the weeds at the Nativity scene in the church, she said a quiet prayer with tearful eyes. Then she blinked, not believing her eyes: the weeds changed into a bouquet of bright red flowers. It was a miracle. Since that night, everyone knows the Legend of the ‘Flowers of the Holy Night.’ Most people call the flowers ‘Christmas Poinsettias’ and see the plant as a symbol of the Star of Bethlehem.”

 

Maria decides to try an experiment on Christmas Eve. She collects every weed she can find—big, small, and dirty—then hurries to el belén at the church’s altar. She gives Jesus her weeds. She takes off her red sweater and wraps the baby in it. Then Maria gently arranges all the members del belén, making sure they are standing in their proper places. The next morning, Maria runs again a la Iglesia del Pueblo to see if the weeds have become las flores. When she peers through the window, she still only sees weeds at el belén and feels a bit worried. Later that night, Maria and her familia enter la Iglesia del Pueblo with burning candles. There is a crowd gathered around the Nativity scene, staring at the weeds in disgust. The priest unwraps el niño Jesúsfrom Maria’s red sweater and throws it in the trash behind the pulpit. Tears stream down Maria’s mejillas color rojo brillante. She runs out of la Iglesia as fast as she can. 

 

Despite the taunting from the congregation, Maria picks more weeds and fills sus bolsillos as full as possible. She crawls into su cama, pulling up the covers, praying: “Por favor niño Jesús, change my weeds into flowers.” Early on Christmas morning, Maria feels something tickle her nose, thinking it might be la gata de su abuela. As she slowly opens her ojos, she realizes she is lying in una cama of bright red Christmas Poinsettias. She is excited to see that Christmas Poinsettias grow across the floor, ceiling, and every wall. Soon enough, the entire village believes the Legend of the Christmas Poinsettia and builds jardines de las flores rojas.

Copyright 2022 Jennifer Waters

"Christmas Rose," A MERRY CHRISTMAS CAROL

VERSE:             

On a cold December night

A baby was born and brought a great light

Myrrh, frankincense, and gold

Gifts to a king, and a story to unfold

And I had nothing to give but my tears

All of my hopes, and all of my fears

I felt so empty handed

                                   

CHORUS:          

But then came an angel

Who touched all my sorrows

That had fallen in the snow

There in their place in the humble manger

Grew a white and pink lovely

Christmas Rose

VERSE:             

It smelled like fragrant spring

It was the gift that I had to bring

A flower of warmth and love

Things that could only come from above

'Cause I had nothing to give but my tears

All of my hopes, and all of my fears

And I wasn’t empty handed

CHORUS:          

‘Cause then came an angel

Who touched all my sorrows

That had fallen in the snow

There in their place in the humble manger

Grew a white and pink lovely

Christmas Rose

                 

BRIDGE:           

Almost like a shepherd in the fields

What I gave was priceless and yet so simple

It came in the misty chill of winter
As clear as the voice of heaven's timbre

VERSE:             

If you have nothing to give but your tears

All of your hopes, and all of your fears

Just come empty handed

CHORUS:          

‘Cause then came an angel

Who touched all my sorrows

That had fallen in the snow

There in their place in the humble manger

Grew a white and pink lovely

Christmas Rose

TAG:                 

Such a lovely Christmas Rose

What a lovely Christmas Rose

Copyright 2016 Jennifer Waters

https://soundcloud.com/jen-waters/christmas-rose

Featured on WHIMSY FOR TWO singer-songwriter release

Frederick the Seahorse: The Story of A Quest for a Hidden Sea Chest

“Where do you think the Titanic’s lost sea chest of treasure is hiding?” Frederick said, swimming along the ocean floor. 

The blue-green seahorse had scoured the ocean for years, wondering who had acquired the chest, and if he could find it. 

“I’m not sure, Son, but if it’s around here anywhere, I’m sure you’d know,” King Maris said, sitting on his throne. 

The British ocean liner Titanic sank into the North Atlantic Ocean on April 15, 1912, with precious jewels and diamonds, and no one had been able to locate all of its rumored treasure: gold rings, earrings, broaches, necklaces, pocket watches, and cuff links. 

“I just don’t want to be like Uncle Makai who lost his kingdom because he ran out of treasure,” Frederick said. 

“Son, he lost his soul before he ever lost his treasure,” King Maris said, reminding his only child that character mattered.

King Maris had ruled the Kingdom of Kaimana; his father, King Llyr, ruled before him; and next in line was Frederick. 

According to oceanic legend, a sea chest with millions of dollars of treasure from the Titanic was still missing.

For at least a century, pearls, diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and gold and silver coins from the British ocean liner have tossed in the sea waves. However, no one had captured the fortune to make it their own. 

“I can’t imagine running the kingdom without having more treasure than our neighboring kingdoms,” Frederick said. “You’re a greater king than the rich King Saewine of the Kingdom of Nokauakau, and I will not be overshadowed by him or his sons. How could you let me be prey to thieves and enemies? I’ll outdo you, Dad, and stock up on wealth.”

“Frederick, we have so much wealth! Instead of looking for more treasure, don’t squander what we have,” the King said.

“I know you think we have enough gold and silver, but what if we run out and need more?” Frederick said. 

“If I’m the next king, then we will need more wealth than what we have now, so I can build my own kingdom,” he added. “It will be a bigger kingdom than yours, or King Saewine, and it will last forever. I hope one day a statue is made of me.”

He rubbed up against the large monuments of his father with Poseidon, “God of the Sea,” also known as Earth-Shaker. The gold and silver monuments erected by his father stood tall on the ocean basin and towered over the average seahorse.

“Find a bride as your princess and start a family. Forget about trying to amass more riches that will rust,” the King said. “Then, your mother and I would be prouder of you than if you found any hidden sea chest. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. What good is it for you to gain the whole ocean and lose your soul?”

“Yeah, Dad, but you’ll see that I was right when I make you richer than any king in the ocean,” Frederick said. 

Later that night, when the ocean had grown dark, Frederick set out on an expedition without his father’s consent.

“Dear Father, I’m going to find the hidden sea chest. Be back soon. Yours truly, Your Son,” he wrote on a seashell. 

When King Maris found the note in the ocean sunlight, he wept tears of remorse, believing his son was lost. “If we ever see our son again, it will be a miracle,” King Maris said to his wife, Queen Maris. “I hope he returns . . .”

After weeks of swimming past sharks in the fierce ocean waves, Frederick washed ashore on an unknown island. When he opened his eyes, he found himself lying next to a sea chest of treasure, guarded by pirates with sharp swords. 

“Ahoy! Shiver me timbers! Is this the treasure that you’ve been looking for?” the pirate with an eye patch said. “Aren’t your hearties coming for you? Are you trying to hornswaggle us? You must have a bounty on your head!”

“I told my father that I would recover the sea chest for Kaimana,” Frederick said, breathing heavily on the sand. 

“Aye, aye! I’m an old salt and seadog! You’re a scallywag. Why did you think it would be so easy to find the treasure?” the pirate said, now placing a knife at Frederick’s throat. “You can visit Davy Jones’ Locker at the bottom of the sea.”

“Please let me go. Just let me back in the ocean. I want to go home to my father. He’ll be worried,” Frederick said.

“Yo ho ho! Oh, sink me, now you want to go back to your daddy, do you?” the pirate grumbled, singing a chantey song. “You’re a son of a biscuit eater! Are you three sheets to the wind? For trying to run a rig on me, you’re walkin’ the plank. If you survive, then you can find your way home to your daddy and your little kingdom and booty!”

The band of pirates wrapped Frederick up in ropes attached to a lead weight, took him out on their ship, and bounced him off the plank. Frederick sank to the bottom of the ocean, faster than any sea chest would have sunk.

“Lad, take that ‘er loot with you!” the pirate yelled at Frederick, tossing a large, shiny diamond to the ocean floor with the seahorse. “Dead men tell no tales! Batten down the hatches, sailors! And get me a clap of thunder! Yo ho ho!”

“How am I going to get out of these ropes?” Frederick said, burping one bubble after another. He slowly watched the shiny diamond as it dropped next to his nose on the bottom of the ocean. “So close, but so far away,” Frederick said, considering his fate. “I guess a diamond can’t really help me now.”

Wrestling in the ropes attached to the lead weight only made Frederick more tired and certain of his demise. 

“If I die here, Father and Mother will never forgive me. I told them that I was going to bring back a treasure,” he said.

Days went by, and Frederick still struggled to break free of the ropes. He despaired until the point of death. As he was just about to give up hope, he thought he was having a vision, but then again maybe not. 

“My name is Naia,” a gorgeous red-orange seahorse said, swimming in Frederick’s direction. “Let me save you . . .”

“Oh, well, I don’t need your help. I’m fine,” Frederick said, uncurling his tail and kicking it against the ocean’s sand.

“You don’t look fine to me,” Naia said, ignoring his protest and unraveling the ropes secured by the pirates. 

“Thank you. I really do appreciate your help,” Frederick said in a soft voice. “I was searching for a sea chest.”

“A sea chest?” Naia said. “That old chest that sunk off the Titanic? It was just a drop in the ocean. Look at all the ocean’s beauty. It’s so colorful and brilliant. I can hardly believe how fortunate I am to swim in the ocean.”

“Yep, I know what you mean,” Frederick said, realizing just how beautiful Naia’s blue eyes were in the sunlight. 

He glanced at the shiny diamond, realizing how little it now meant to him, especially compared to Naia’s eyes. 

“Would you like to meet my mother and father?” Frederick said. “I haven’t been home for a while . . .”

“Of course, I would,” Naia said. “First, let me send word to my father that I will be gone for a few days.”

“Now run along and tell Father that I went on a trip with a friend,” Naia said to her friend Guppy. “I think this is true love. Tell him that I will send word if there is going to be a wedding. He would need to give me away . . .”

“I got a little lost, Naia,” Frederick said. “Thank you for helping me find my way home. My family misses me.”

Not giving the diamond another thought, Frederick swam off with Naia, grateful for someone who cared about his freedom.

After days of swimming in the ocean, Frederick and Naia had danced in the waves to more than one melody.

“Do you have a seahorse in mind to be your wife?” Naia said, trying to nudge Frederick into admitting he admired her.

“Oh, no, not really,” Frederick said, looking in the other direction. “I was trying to gather wealth first . . .”

“Well, then, maybe I should just swim back to my father and let you go on your way to your parents,” Naia said. 

“No, don’t do that,” Frederick said. “I would miss you terribly, and I’d probably be lost again in no time.”

Despite Frederick’s protest, Naia swam off in the other direction, leaving Frederick at a complete loss. He swam in circles, crying and looking for his lost love that he might never ever be able to replace. When he finally found her in an ocean cavern with her friend Guppy, he was afraid she would not even speak to him.

“Please, I’m sorry,” Frederick said. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Now I know that love is more important than any lost treasure. I almost lost you, and you’re a greater treasure than silver or gold. Come meet my parents. They’ll love you.”

“I forgive you,” Naia said, wondering what it would take to help Frederick realize that she was in love with him.

By the time Frederick and Naia reached his father, he knew he would have to ask Naia to be his bride and princess. There was no way that he could risk losing the most valuable person that he had ever met on land or sea.

Otherwise, she would surely swim home, and he would never see her again, even though she had saved his life. 

When the two seahorses swam to King Maris’ throne, the King and Queen were as speechless as could be at their son’s arrival. 

“Son, I thought we would never see you again,” the King said, after many moments of silence. “We thought pirates killed you!”

“Father, I’ve returned with the greatest treasure of all, a love named Naia,” he said, brushing against her side.

“Naia, will you marry me and help me rule my father’s kingdom?” Frederick said, bowing before the seahorse.

A tear-filled Naia’s eye as she kissed him in front of his parents, knowing that she loved him more than anyone. 

“It would make me happier than anything to be your wife,” Naia said. “In fact, my father, King Saewine, is the richest king in the ocean, and he would gladly give his treasure as my dowry. I knew when I saw you that it was true love.”

“Your father is King Saewine?” Frederick said, feeling foolish that he had tried to build a kingdom bigger than his.

“Why, yes? Have you heard of him?” Naia said, smiling with pride at her father’s good name in the ocean. 

“Yes, we’ve heard of him,” King Maris said, looking at Frederick. “We will hold the wedding here!”

“I’m the richest seahorse in all the ocean!” Frederick said. “And it has nothing to do with that silly old sea chest!”

Ever since that day, Frederick and Naia were richer than any fish in the sea, bird in the sky, and living creature on the ground. Love had given them everything they needed, even if they never owned the treasure from the Titanic’s sunken chest. 

 

Copyright 2020 Jennifer Waters

https://soundcloud.com/jen-waters/frederick-the-seahorse

The Nativity Spider: A Christmas Folktale from Ukraine

“Betsy, did you kill the spiders?” Mrs. Lobb called from the kitchen of their New York mansion. “I don’t want to get caught in their webs!”

“Mother, please let them live! It’s Christmas, and they’re my friends. I can’t kill them,” 11-year-old Betsy said. “They spin such beautiful webs!”

Betsy loved to play in the fields, and in the springtime, she had met an adorable family of spiders. She admired the tiny creatures and couldn’t bear the thought of anyone hurting them, especially Tarantola, the youngest spider, whose nickname was Tara. 

“I love your dainty webs!” Betsy said, admiring the handiwork of the spiders in the trees. “Please, come and live with me! I think you’ll bring me good fortune.”

“I would love to come spin my magic in your home,” Tara said to her. Even if no one else could hear the spider speak to her, Betsy was sure that he was talking loud and clear.

Although the other spiders were shy at first, they warmed up to Betsy’s charm and crawled into her pockets, never to return to the fields. They wove such intricate webs in Betsy’s bedroom, almost like paintings or fine works of art. 

She thought the spiders seemed wise with patience and persistence. For her birthday, they spun her an elegant lace dress, complete with a matching belt and quilted purse. 

“I cannot have Christmas Eve guests in this house when you have spiders running through your bedroom!” Betsy’s mother said in a stern voice. “If you don’t kill the spiders, Father will kill them, and it will not be pretty at all. Get the broom and do as I say.”

“Yes, of course,” Betsy said. She ran up two flights of winding stairs to her room and gathered her spider family in the pockets of her red Christmas dress. Instead of killing them, Betsy ushered the spiders into the corner of the third-floor attic of her home. 

“Go up to the rafters until my mother’s Christmas party is over,” she said, as she tripped over the golden hem in her Christmas dress.

“Each year the Christ Child comes at midnight and touches spider webs on Christmas trees and turns them into silver tinsel,” said Tara. “This has been happening since the first Christmas. When he turns a spider’s web into tinsel, he promises the spider will live another year. It’s a blessing.”

“Really? Oh, we must sneak to the tree then right before midnight,” Betsy said. “Wait for me until I come get you. That seems like such a miracle.”

As the evening went on, Tara spun delicate webs in the corners of the attic with his parents, brothers, and sisters. He even spun one that looked like a snowflake. 

Downstairs in the ballroom, guests ate cheese and wine and danced to Christmas carols. Holly, ivy, and garland decorated every window and door. Betsy looked at the guests and thought their behavior was selfish and ghastly. Her friends had to hide while strangers had fun in her home. She could hardly believe that her parents would associate with such nasty people. 

Even if diamonds flashed from the necks of many of the women wearing gowns, Betsy preferred the simple webs of her spiders. Her mother always tried to impress people with money. 

The Christmas tree towered at twelve feet tall with limbs that balanced crystal ornaments and glistening balls. Servants mingled among the guests with trays full of Christmas pies and three-layered chocolate cakes. 

Betsy ate crab dip with sourdough bread, making her way to the punch bowl a time or two. She was waiting for a few minutes before midnight to sneak her friends to her family’s tree. 

“Aren’t you having fun, darling?” Betsy’s mother said, as she danced with her husband. “See why you had to get rid of those horrid spiders?”

“Spiders? Does she still play with those ugly creatures?” her father said. “If I see a spider, I’m stepping on it!” He twirled with his wife across the floor, and then stopped to greet guests. 

“Father, don’t be so nasty! The spiders are lovely. They only want to decorate the house with their webs,” Betsy said. “Can’t you see how creative they are?”

“Don’t let anyone hear you say that, Betsy,” her mother said. “The guests will think I raised a filthy child.”

“People might think you’re not in your right mind,” her father said. Then, her parents turned to dance with their guests, shushing Betsy before she could say another word. 

She looked at the grandfather clock, realizing that she couldn’t talk to her parents about her true feelings. They always dismissed her for matters more important to them. 

The hands on the clock said it was already half-past eleven, and in less than half-an-hour, the Christ Child would come. Betsy felt excitement and wonder all the way to her toes. 

“Tara must spin his webs for the Christ Child before midnight,” she whispered while counting the minutes. Then, she turned and saw the Widow Vaduva smiling right at her. She had known her parents for many years and was probably the kindest guest at the party. 

“The Christ Child does come at midnight, doesn’t he?” the Widow Vaduva said in Betsy’s ear. “It’s time for me to hurry home,” the widow said, as she looked at the golden watch on her wrist. She grabbed her mink jacket from the side closet. “He’s been to visit my home almost every year to bless the spider webs on my Christmas tree. Your mother must have never known this! Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!” Betsy said, hugging the widow. “You are nicer than most of my parents’ friends.” Then, Betsy ran up two flights of stairs to the attic, swinging open the door, only to find the attic glistening in beautiful, artistic webs. 

“Tara, you’ve spun so many webs that I can’t even find you! Where are you?” she said. “It’s almost midnight!”

“I’m right here, Betsy,” Tara said, sliding down his web into the palm of her hand. 

“It’s five minutes until midnight, but my mother’s party is still going on,” Betsy said. “My parents and their guests will kill you if they see your webs on the tree.”

“Don’t worry! The Christ Child will appear exactly at midnight,” Tara said.   

She gathered Tara and his family into her dress pockets, ran down the stairs, and hurried past guests to the tree. She slipped them onto the branches and let them spin their webs.

“Here you go! You have about two minutes before the clock strikes midnight,” Betsy said to Tara and his relatives. She stood in front of the tree and tried to shield the spiders from the view of the guests. The spiders scurried up and down the Christmas tree spinning their webs.

“Is that a spider?” one of the guests said, noticing a growing web on the tree. “Oh, it can’t be a spider . . .” 

The party ground to a halt as the musicians stopped. 

“Maybe it is a spider,” another guest said. “It seems like there’s a growing spider web on the Christmas tree!”

Guests froze, staring at the tree in horror. They stopped dancing, drinking, and eating and shook with fright. Betsy’s parents gasped at the tree in fear. 

“Aaaah!” one of the older women yelled. “It’s a spider! Kill it!”

Betsy’s father ran to the kitchen pantry and came back broom in hand. Her mother had a livid look on her face. Guests began to scream.

Before her father could swing the broom, the grandfather clock struck midnight. Bright starlight poured through the window, and a radiant Child appeared, gazing at the delicate webs. The entire room gasped as he admired the artfully cast strands on the evergreen. 

“Please bless our Christmas tree,” Betsy said, walking next to the Christ Child, who smiled at her with light. 

“The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it, the world and all who live in it,” he said, touching the webs on the tree. 

With one touch, they shimmered into silver tinsel that sparkled from every branch of the Christmas tree. Gasps filled the room. Her mother and father watched the moment in awe with the guests. Betsy’s heart swelled with joy—she knew the spiders’ beauty had been seen at last.

Then, the Child disappeared in the starlight, as if he was only in Betsy’s imagination, but she was sure that he just spoke to her. The room full of people saw his appearance with her.

“Thank you for coming,” Betsy whispered, hoping the Christ Child could hear her.

Before anyone could look, she shuffled Tara and his spider family back into her dress pockets again. 

By next Christmas, Betsy’s mother was much more understanding about her love for the spiders. The Widow Vaduva had explained the entire magic of the Christ Child and the spider webs to both her parents at length. 

“The Christ Child comes at midnight each Christmas Eve to show us that nothing in creation is wasted. This miracle was first seen in Ukraine,” the Widow said. “The spiders spin in patience and quiet, and he crowns their work with silver. True beauty does not come from wealth or jewels, but from love, faith, and humble devotion.”

From that Christmas on, spider webs transformed into silver tinsel on the Lobb family evergreen. Betsy felt more than merry in her heart, knowing that the Christ Child took every spider web and made it brilliant. If only he could do the same for every heart on Earth this Christmas.

Copyright 2025 Jennifer Waters

Pen Jen's Inkwell Podcast version:

“Betsy, did you kill the spiders yet?” Mrs. Lobb called from the kitchen of their three-floor New York mansion. 

“Mother, please let them live! It’s Christmas, and they’re my friends. I can’t kill them,” 11-year-old Betsy said.

Betsy loved to play in the fields, and in the springtime, she had met an adorable family of spiders.

“I love your dainty webs!” Betsy said, admiring the handiwork of the spiders in the trees. “Please, come and live with me!”

Although the spiders were shy at first, they warmed up to Betsy’s charm and crawled into her pockets, never to return to the fields. For her birthday, the spiders spun her an elegant lace dress, complete with a matching belt and quilted purse. 

“I cannot have Christmas Eve guests in this house covered in spider webs!” Betsy’s mother said in a stern voice. “If you don’t kill the spiders, Father will kill them, and it will not be pretty at all. Get the broom and do as I say.”

“Yes, of course,” Betsy said, gathering her spider family in the pockets of her red Christmas dress and running up two flights of winding stairs. Instead, Betsy ushered the spiders into the corner of the third-floor attic of her home. 

“Go up to the rafters until my mother’s Christmas party is over,” she said, tripping over the golden hem in her dress.

“My family and I must trim your Christmas tree with webs before midnight,” said Tarantola, the youngest spider. “Each year the Christ Child comes at midnight and touches spider webs on Christmas trees and turns them into silver tinsel. This has been happening since the first Christmas. When he turns a spider’s web into tinsel, he promises the spider will live another year. If I don’t give my gift to the Christ Child, I’ll die in the winter’s frost, so will my family.”

“Oh, we must sneak to the tree,” Betsy said. “Wait for me. I don’t want anything to happen to you or your family.”

As the evening went on, Tarantola spun delicate webs in the corners of the attic with his parents, brothers, and sisters. In the rest of the house, guests danced to Christmas carols as holly, ivy, and garland decorated every window and door. 

The Christmas tree towered at twelve feet tall with limbs that balanced crystal ornaments and glistening balls. Servants mingled among the guests with trays full of Christmas pies and three-layered chocolate cakes. Betsy ate crab dip with sourdough bread, making her way to the punch bowl a time or two.

“Aren’t you having fun, darling?” Mrs. Lobb said. “See why you had to get rid of those horrid spiders?”

“Spiders? Does she still play with those ugly creatures?” Mr. Lobb said. “If I see a spider, I’m stepping on it!”

“Father, don’t be so nasty! The spiders are lovely. They only want to decorate the house with their webs,” Betsy said.

“Don’t let anyone hear you say that Betsy,” Mrs. Lobb said. “The guests will think I raised a filthy child.”

“Honestly, I know you mean well, but people might think you’re not in your right mind,” Mr. Lobb said. Mr. and Mrs. Lobb turned to entertain their uppity guests, shushing Betsy before she could say another word. 

“Why do I feel like the spiders are my only real friends?” Betsy whispered to herself, looking at the grandfather clock. 

The hands on the clock said it was already half-past eleven, and in less than half-an-hour, the Christ Child would come. 

“Tarantola must spin his webs for the Christ Child before midnight,” Betsy said to herself, counting the minutes.

“The Christ Child does come at midnight, doesn’t he?” the Widow Vaduva whispered in Betsy’s ear. “It’s time for me to hurry home,” the widow said grabbing her mink jacket. “He’s been to visit my home almost every year to bless the spider webs on my Christmas tree. Your mother must have never known this! Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!” Betsy said, hugging the widow. “You are nicer than most of my parents’ friends.” Betsy ran up two flights of stairs to the attic, swinging open the door, only to find the attic in beautiful, artistic webs.

“Oh, I can’t see a thing! Tarantola, you’ve spun so many webs that I can’t even find you! Where are you?” she said.

“I’m right here, Betsy. Isn’t it midnight by now?” Tarantola said, sliding down his web into the palm of her hand. 

“It’s five minutes until midnight, but my mother’s party is still going on,” Betsy said. “My parents and their guests will kill you if they see your webs on the tree. My best idea is to wait until they leave and decorate the tree after midnight.”

“I’ll surely die, and so will my family,” Tarantola said. “I can’t wait! Carry us down to the Christmas tree!”

“If you insist, but Father might step on you,” Betsy mumbled, trying to remember where she had last seen the broom. 

She gathered Tarantola and his family into her dress pockets, ran down the stairs, and hurried past guests to the tree.

“Here you go! You have about two minutes before the clock strikes midnight,” Betsy said to Tarantola and his relatives. 

As Betsy ran to the corner of the room, the spiders scurried up and down the Christmas tree spinning webs.

“Is that a spider?” one of the guests said, noticing a growing web on the tree. “Oh, it can’t be a spider . . .”

“Maybe it is a spider,” the other guest said. “It seems like there’s a growing spider web on the Christmas tree!”

“Aaaah!” one of the older women yelled. “It’s a spider! Kill it! All spiders are evil and dirty little creatures!”

As she began to scream, the grandfather clock struck midnight and bright starlight shone through the dark window. The entire room gasped, and a small child appeared next to the tree, admiring the artfully cast webs on the evergreen. 

“Please bless our Christmas tree,” Betsy said, walking next to the Christ Child, who smiled at her with peace. 

“The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it, the world and all who live in it,” he said, touching the webs on the tree. 

As he touched the webs, they transformed into shining silver tinsel from every branch of the Christmas tree. 

Then the Child disappeared in the starlight, as if he was only Betsy’s Christmas wish. 

“Oh, you left before I really got to say much to you,” Betsy whispered, hoping the Christ Child could hear her.

Before anyone found Tarantola, she shuffled him and his spider family back into her dress pockets again. 

Although Betsy’s parents and their guests were never quite sure what had happened, silver tinsel shone on the evergreen.

Betsy felt more than merry in her heart, knowing that the Christ Child had taken every tangled spider web and made it brilliant. Now if he could only do that for each person on the Earth this Christmas.

 

Copyright 2016 Jennifer Waters

https://soundcloud.com/jen-waters/the-nativity-spider-spoken-word-narrated-by-jen-waters