Christmas morn dawns bright and cold
With snow thick upon the ground.
Children squeal with glee, their wishes fulfilled
And joy and laughter abound.
The tree, once bright, now sags with the weight
Of the lights, and the many shiny balls.
Its day, once anticipated, has now come and is going.
The needles, now dry, silently fall.
The stockings, once hung o'er the mantle with care,
Are now emptied of their secret stash.
The candy cane wrappers and empty battery packages
Now litter the floor with the rest of the trash.
Forgotten are the recent memories
Of the shopping, the rush, and the noise.
Soon forgotten, too, are the mountains of gifts -
The ties, the socks, and new toys.
Is this what You meant for Christmas, Lord?
Are we honoring the memory of Your Birth?
When the TV stations track Santa's progress
From the North Pole to the ends of the earth.
But so few words are spoken
In memory of what this day truly means.
So few thoughts turn to You, Lord
In the rush of this holiday scene.
I truly love this season, Lord.
I like the lights, the gifts, and the noise.
I like Christmas carols sung by the fire
And children's faces as they open their toys.
But, even more, I love the memory we honor.
The joy and miracle of Your Birth
That promises of our salvation
And hints at Your sacrifice, and its worth.
So, this Christmas day, amid the rustle of paper,
And shouts of joy and acquisition
I promise to remember You, Lord
And what it means to be a Christian.