Christmas, A Long Time Ago: Twas the Night Before Christmas Part II

I remember a long time ago, when Christmas was a peaceful time of year. However, it just seems that with each year, there are a group of my fellow believers who just want to make even Christmas Season a time of war with our culture. And while there many things I love to take issue with our culture, I just don't get this Christmas thing.

You take a sacred holiday which was originally celebrated by Christians (after being converted from being a pagan holiday) and was designed to celebrate the fact that God himself made him vulnerable enough to become a human being. Then somewhere along the way, St. Nick made his way in, as did other traditions.

Then Santa joined in, and within about 50, maybe 75 years, you have a holiday called "Christmas" but that really, in functional terms, has nothing to do with Christ and everything to do with stimulating the economy.

In my decision to NOT be depressed by the excessive materialism and arguments that just seem to erupt from this season, I have searched my inner poet (OH NO, NOT THAT!) and written yet and other cuplet. I channeled my inner Dr. Seuss.

It's cheesy and smarmy, but it's also in reaction to the hundreds of forwarded emails I keep getting about "Twas the night before Christmas.... yada yada yada... people don't care about keeping it Christmas, they just want to take Christ out of it."

Well, in my opinion, I don't really want them putting such a beautiful name into such a sickly excuse of a holiday. If the stores are needed for Christmas, I don't want anything to do with it. They can keep their holiday season and I can keep mine!

All I can think each time I hear the alarm sounded, is a little meek voice inside my head that says, "Didn't Christ love them enough to give them a choice?"

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Twas the Night Before Christmas and all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, except for a mouse

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of Christmas day danced in their heads.

They were thinking about what they had bought for each other

Each brother and sister, friend, father and mother

Dreaming about playing with cousins and Aunts

and Uncles and parents and sweet yummy snacks

Dreaming about cookies, family made feasts, gifts from those who love them

And celebrations so neat.

They didn’t have wish lists that went out the door

They didn’t have appetites that just wanted more.

Christmas had been shown them as a love celebration

Of the love of God, who sent his son for salvation

It wasn’t about presents, or a man who brought toys

It wasn’t about buying more games or stuff that makes noise

It wasn’t about manipulation or culture war battles

It wasn’t about catch phrases or false holiday values

It wasn’t about pining for the days way gone by

It wasn’t about yelling for the world to comply

It was about the passing of love and submitting of power

First by God , and then Christ in his first and last hours

The Word became flesh, God lowered himself

To become one of us and give of himself

God does this but once, and it just seems to be

Something to celebrate, and think of as holy

So, to turn it into a material mess,

where we yell and we fuss, as the stores have digressed

Is simply a miserable, angry response

That, really, we shouldn't want to focus there even once

When what we should do is give them the less

Let them have their shallow materialistic fest

Then, we could be like my sweet children each year

And we'd have "won" for he'd be remembered with cheer.

Limericks of Illness

There once was a woman of Ohio
Who had a lot of reasons to smile
Then her son he did run
a temperature of 101
And she avoided him like he was Gomer Pyle.


I once was a happy young girl
Before the days of the great hurl
Now I feel like I'm dead,
but haven't quite lost my whole head
Though I fear our home may be overtaken by venomous squirrels. (obviously I've become delusional in my illness)

Virus, a Haiku

Quesy cold yet hot
Whinning Moaning Complaining
such is being sick

Ode to the Stomach Flu

You came to our home quite suddenly
Your attack we did not expect
From the home of a family we considered friend,
never in the least a suspect.

The first hit,of course, our son
Of this we did expect
as since the age of 2 months innocent
Into his mouth everything in certainty went.

Serves him right, I thought to myself.
Good hygiene is not his goal.
Perhaps he'll learn his lesson this time
Watching his siblings enjoy this day so bold

I felt justified, nay vindicated.
"My superior hand washing will save me again."
We placated him with some sweet "you poor thing"s
Certain that we'd never experience a moan of his pain.

However, all that did change on the turn of a dime
When his siblings and I found ourselves laying supine
The flu may have entered our home through him, but
It's havoc has wrecked all who live within.

Now I lie here writing bad poems.
Hoping this will not last so much longer.
If it does, then I'll perhaps try my hand at haiku,
An iambic pentameter, a sonnet or a limrick

Or perhaps I'll try writing a songer.

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Boy does the flu really stink!