They’re not what you might think!

My favorite gifts at Christmastime
aren’t from expensive stores.
They’re cards and letters that arrive
each day at my front door.

These tiny gifts are works of art,
quite bright and colorful.
They warm my heart on dark, cold days
when skies are gray and dull.

Each card reminds me I am rich
with friends and family.
Each calls to mind our treasured ties
and priceless memories.

Some cards contain a photograph
of how the kids have grown
attesting to the speed of life
and how the years have flown.

Some tell me of a parent’s death
or of a grandchild’s birth,
while some describe a brand-new job
and renewed sense of worth.

Some cards announce an address change.
Some voice a prayer request
acknowledging what steals their joy
or ties them up with stress.

Some jot a note. Some type (a lot).
Some simply sign their name.
And while some cards are duplicates,
no two are quite the same.

Each one’s a chance to reconnect
with those I rarely see.
A one-way chat with one whose card
conveys they thought of me.

And I of them. I’ll write them back.
Though postage isn’t cheap,
the custom of exchanging cards
is one I plan to keep.

* Another reason to send actual cards at Christmas time (rather than just e-mailing family greetings) is to help our struggling United States Postal Service.

Pondering the true meaning of the holiday; Angel Song

‘Twas the Day After Christmas
Pondering the true meaning of the holiday

‘Twas the day after Christmas.
The inlaws had gone.
And out on the curb was the trash.
I pondered the piles
of crumpled debris
that cost me a mountain of cash.
 
The kids were complaining
about broken toys.
My wife had a throbbing migraine
and there in my bathrobe
I stood like a Scrooge,
ashamed of the five pounds I’d gained.
 
We loaded up gifts
to return to the store.
Aunt Ethel still thinks I wear small.
The Wii game’s the wrong one.
The perfume’s not right.
And so we were off to the mall.
 
The crowds were disgusting.
The chaos unreal.
In spite of the Muzak that played,
my world was quite joyless.
The angels were mute.
And in the return line I prayed…
 
“Dear God, please remind me
your Son’s special day
has little to do with this stuff.
Don’t let me forget
that His presence means most.
The gift of Your grace is enough!”

Angel Song
A melody of grace

The lyrics of Christmas
began in God’s heart
while its music found voice
on the strings
of a harp.

With the beauty of Handel,
of Mozart and Bach,
the songs of the season
inspire less talk.

So, let’s ponder
the “good news of great joy”
we hear
that points to the fact
in Christ’s birth
God comes near.

A last-minute checklist for a blest holiday;
My Dad Went Home for Christmas

The Day Before Christmas
A last-minute checklist for a blest holiday

It’s the day before Christmas and your shopping’s not done.
You’ve maxed out the VISA and Capital One.
Your kids are expecting a flat screen TV,
a Tivo, an X-box and even a Wii.
They have no idea how bad things have got
and how much your stomach’s all tied up in knots.
The market is iffy. Your job’s insecure
and plans for next summer have lost their allure.

The Spirit of Christmas seems way beyond reach
It’s like you’ve been drained by a joy-sucking leech.
In twenty-four hours the big day arrives,
and like old man Scrooge your heart’s shriveled in size.
But lest you give up and turn into the Grinch,
consider this game plan to ease Humbug’s pinch.

Just take time to chill out. Warm up by the fire.
Then prayerfully ponder your heartfelt desire.
To count all your blessings that money can’t buy.
Like children who hug you and puppies that try.
The vows at your wedding. Your mate’s faithfulness.
Their mute understanding and tender caress.
A bank full of memories that no one can rob.
Your grandfather’s watch with his antique gold fob.
The wealth of true friendship. A chum’s knowing glance.
And when you have screwed up, that prized second chance.
A healthy awareness of all you can do.
Those talents God gave you that help define you.

That fireside reflection should brighten your mood.
By adding up blessings, you start feeling good.
In spite of these hard times, recession and debt,
you’re really quite wealthy. You tend to forget
that Joy to the World is much more than a song.
It’s what you can give even when you been wronged.
When you feel content without lusting for more,
you give from your heart not some shelf at a store.
The best gifts you wrap aren’t expensive you see.
They’re priceless and costly and yet they are free.

That brings us to Christmas. That miracle birth.
A young virgin mother who doubted her worth.
The manger. The angels. The shepherds who came.
A baby long-promised to free us from shame.
A human-wrapped present no one could afford
was offered without charge. That babe was the Lord.
That’s it in a nutshell. He’s God’s gift of love.
The Present (or Presence) we all have dreamed of.
Amazingly awesome. Too good to be true.
Attempts to earn Heaven are over. They’re through.

So don’t sweat tomorrow. Just let Christmas come.
In light of its message, be grateful. Have fun.
Expect imperfection. Accept what you get.
Be thankful and patient. Let go of regrets.
Give grace when offended. Extend tenderness.
And when the day’s over your soul will feel blest. 
 

My Dad Went Home for Christmas
Reflections on a father’s recent deathMy dad went home for Christmas.The Father welcomed him.The lights of Heaven twinkled brightas he was ushered in. The little drummer boy marked time.My dad knew he belonged.He met the shepherds, saw the Lamband heard the angels’ song. He bowed and worshiped Jesus Christ.The greatest gift of all.The object of my dear dad’s faithfrom when he was quite small. 
That’s why when he got really sick,
he had the means to hope.
Aware the Father’s plans are good,
he found that he could cope.

He coped with all that cancer dealt
relinquished to God’s will.
He said he was all set to go.
before his voice was stilled.

But, boy, these silent nights are hard.
This Christmas will be rough
in spite of knowing Dad’s now whole.
Alive, all smiles and buffed.

What I really want this year

This Christmas finds me pondering
the things I’m hoping for.
Like boosting the economy
and finishing the war.

I hope that our new president
will take his cues from God
so he’s not swayed by what’s “PC”
though criticized as odd.

I want to help the homeless find
a decent place to sleep,
to feed them and to help them land
a job they’ll want to keep.

I wish for all who’ve lost someone
to cancer’s deadly curse
good memories of more pleasant days
before they became worse.

I long for shorter time between
those visits with my mom.
I pray she’ll live for many years
before I hear “She’s gone.”

I hope my kids will find a mate
who values what they’re worth.
I want all careless litterbugs
to care for Mother Earth.

I pray that people round the world
will search within their hearts
to find the Father’s fingerprints
in nature and the arts.

I long to see inventive minds
reduce the spread of AIDS.
I hope that new technologies
reverse mistakes we’ve made.

I have a dream that what God willed
in sending Christ to us
will be fulfilled as evidenced
by peace, goodwill and trust.

And on a much more lighter note
I want my team to win.
I want to lose a few more pounds.
A few more? How bout ten?

I wish for strength to push away
that second slice of pie
and courage to ask “What’s your name?”
when tempted to be shy.

As you can see, what’s on my list
are things I cannot buy.
But still, I think they’re possible
if, with God’s help, we try.

What carolers in Seattle are singing this season

I’m dreaming of a dry Christmas.
You can’t believe how wet it’s been.
My poor driveway’s lake-like.
My kids can’t ride bikes.
They’re wearing snorkels, trunks and fins.
I’m dreaming of a dry Christmas.
I don’t want snow just clear blue skies.
Or an ark by Noah would do
til this soggy holiday is through.

I’m dreaming of a dry Christmas.
My feet are webbing like a duck’s.
There are hillsides sliding.
and sidewalks hiding.
My flooded basement really sucks.
I’m dreaming of a dry Christmas.
I saw a salmon cross the street.
May the streams and rivers subside
and the lake that used to be I-5.

I’m dreaming of a dry Christmas.
I’m use to rain but not like this.
For I smell like mildew.
My soaked rug does too.
A wet/dry vac tops my wish list.
I’m dreaming of a dry Christmas.
O Santa please make it come true.
While some long for forecasts of snow,
I am sick and tired of H-2-0.

* the above lyrics can actually be sung to the tune of “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas”

A Postscript: A Mall and the Night Visitor

A shopping mall in Omaha is marked by silent nights.
The frenzied joy of seeking gifts has been replaced by fright.
Nebraskans now are asking us “Where is Immanuel?”
O, God-with-us, be now with them in their December hell.

by Greg Asimakoupoulos