A CHRISTMAS POEM:

T'WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS,

HE LIVED ALL ALONE,

IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE MADE OF

PLASTER AND STONE.


I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY

WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE,

AND TO SEE JUST WHO

IN THIS HOME DID LIVE.


I LOOKED ALL ABOUT,

A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE,

NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS,

NOT EVEN A TREE.


NO STOCKING BY MANTLE,

JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND,

ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES

OF FAR DISTANT LANDS.


WITH MEDALS AND BADGES,

AWARDS OF ALL KINDS,

A SOBER THOUGHT

CAME THROUGH MY MIND.


FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT,

IT WAS DARK AND DREARY,

I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER,

ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY.

THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING,

SILENT, ALONE,

CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR

IN THIS ONE ROOM HOME.


THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE,

THE ROOM IN SUCH DISORDER,

NOT HOW I PICTURED

A UNITED STATES SOLDIER.


WAS THIS THE HERO

OF WHOM I'D JUST READ?

CURLED UP ON A PONCHO,

THE FLOOR FOR A BED?


I REALIZED THE FAMILIES

THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT,

OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS

WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT.


SOON ROUND THE WORLD,

THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY,

AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE

A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY.


THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM

EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR,

BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS,

LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE.

I COULDN'T HELP WONDER

HOW MANY LAY ALONE,

ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE

IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME.


THE VERY THOUGHT

BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE,

I DROPPED TO MY KNEES

AND STARTED TO CRY.


THE SOLDIER AWAKENED

AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE,

"SANTA DON'T CRY,

THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE;


I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM,

I DON'T ASK FOR MORE,

MY LIFE IS MY GOD,

MY COUNTRY, MY CORPS."


THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER

AND DRIFTED TO SLEEP,

I COULDN'T CONTROL IT,

I CONTINUED TO WEEP.


I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS,

SO SILENT AND STILL

AND WE BOTH SHIVERED

FROM THE COLD NIGHT'S CHILL


I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE

ON THAT COLD, DARK, NIGHT,

THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOR

SO WILLING TO FIGHT.


THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER,

WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE,

WHISPERED, "CARRY ON SANTA,

IT'S CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL IS SECURE."


ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH,

AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT.

"MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND,

AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT."

This poem was written by a Marine. Sometimes we forget that in the political struggles that are going on here in this country over whether it was right to invade Iraq, and now whether we should just pull out altogether, there are tens of thousands of troups over there who will spend Christmas away from their homes and families.

Let's keep each and every one of them in our prayers.
Lord, look after these brave souls and return them safely to the busom of their loved ones.

Amen!

MERRY BLEEPING CHRISTMAS!

As most of you know I'm in sales - have been for ten years. With few exceptions I have spent most of those years dreading the days between Thanksgiving and Christmas (which I unceremoniously refer to as D-day - that is Done day). I work six days a week, an average of nine hours a day, and come home exhausted. Christmas morning more often than not is spent not rejoicing in the birth of my savior, but rather exhaling. Finally, I can relax, knowing the madness is over, at least until next Thanksgiving.

But the joy of the season, quite frankly, is missing. Just once I'd like to be able to enjoy the season; and no I don't mean necessarily the obvious things like getting gifts or shopping for others or decorating the house, though certainly having more time to do those things would ease the stress level I feel. What I'm talking about is feeling the real joy of Christmas; being able to appreciate what this time of year truly means to those of us who have been touched by His love. Instead of rushing through it and wishing for it to be over, wouldn't it be nice, I wonder, if I could just stay present in His presence, to breath it in like oxygen. I do believe I'd never let go of that feeling.

While at the Christmas party at the Church I had a difficult time enjoying myself; my mind seemed troubled and distracted by work-related issues. Not until the comedy sketches did I finally manage to let a little joy in. I'm glad I went, but I regretted not allowing myself to soak it in.

Maybe next year, I wonder. Maybe. There always seems to be another next year. Just once I'd like for next year to be this year!