As Christmas approaches, I can't help but remember those days of my childhood and all the memories they evoke. I can feel the comfort and coziness of the warmth in front of the living room stove. I can smell the goodies baking in the kitchen. I can remember Mom's little plastic nativity she would set out every year.
One year when I was around 7 or 8, she sat it under the tree and I can remember so well laying on my stomach and gazing at it, thinking about that night. That one special moment in time when that one special baby was born. Several years ago, I decided to write a poem about that night and how we should never lose the true purpose of Christmas. I hope you enjoy my Christmas story.
A Christmas Story
Packages
wrapped up with ribbons and bows,
Stockings
over fires with embers aglow;
A tree
in the corner strung with tinsel and lights;
A soft
falling snow on a cold winter night.
Under
the tree on a soft woolen skirt,
Sat a
nativity scene of the dear Savior’s birth.
As I
knelt down close to take a good look,
My
mother would read from an old worn book.
She
told of a mother, weary and worn,
Looking
for a place for her child to be born.
The
inns were all full, no room could be found.
They
were shown to a stable with hay on the ground.
She
read how the shepherds were watching their sheep
When
angels came to them with voices so sweet.
She
read of their messages of tidings of joy
As they
told the shepherds about the birth of a boy.
We’d listen
intently, eyes glued on that book
As she
told how the shepherds went to go look.
How
they found the sweet baby in a manger that night
And how
they gave praise to God for the sweet blessed child.
We hung
on her words, the picture so clear,
For
this was a child the world would hold dear.
She
flipped back some pages as we knelt at her feet,
While
she read of some wise men and a star in the east.
She
told of their journey to see the small babe.
She
read of their worship and the gifts that they gave.
We
heard about the frankincense, the myrrh and the gold,
As Mom
quietly finished her story of old.
As she
closed the worn book that she’d just read,
We’d
get our kisses from Daddy and scoot off to bed.
As she
tucked us all in and kissed us good night,
We’d think
of that story as she covered us tight.
For we
had been raised to know the Lord’s love,
And we
knew that sweet Child was a gift from above.
We knew
that a great sacrifice had been made,
That
started with the birth of Jesus that day.
So
forget all the presents, the ribbons and bows.
Forget
all the stockings and lights all aglow.
For the
greatest gift you’ll find on your Christmas morn,
Was
given by God, the year our Savior was born.
(Copyright Brenda Garretson Keefer 1999. Do not use or reprint without the express written consent of the author)
