An excerpt from Christmas Presence
Toward the end of every year we know that Christmas Day
Will lift the tired spirits for those who celebrate
With gifts and lights and Christmas trees and carols that we sing,
And all the warm and happy smiles that Christmas presents bring.
Christmas is for everyone, but there is just one flaw
We each define our everyone and everyone’s not all.
We judge what we will share by who can share with us
And sometimes even that is really not enough.
We’ll make up an excuse to justify the fact
We ignore some folks we shouldn’t saying, “I just can’t”.
For them there is no gift, nor visit, not a call,
Not even just a simple smile while rushing through the mall.
Christmas to forgotten folks becomes another day
To bear alone like all the rest that drain their lives away.
Come take a look at Christmastime for those you might have missed
When you ignored their names when as made your Christmas list.
…
SARA
Sara Jenkins limped along the sidewalk on South Main,
Her ancient, failing body was bent with cold and pain.
Her dirty fingers held the bags containing all she owned;
She walked alone and spoke to ghosts of people she had known.
The shoppers on the sidewalk turned away in haste,
The sight and smell of Sara was more than they could take.
No one knew old Sara, and no one wanted to;
No one had the time for her with Christmas things to do.
She hobbled down an alleyway behind The Deli Suite,
To find the empty packing crate where she had to sleep.
But when she turned the corner, she dropped her bags, appalled.
A big blue truck had smashed her home against the deli’s wall.
Sara scrambled to the crate and pulled the boards away
Searching through the scraps of it to find a picture frame.
The glass was cracked, the photo torn, but she could see his face,
And his arm around her shoulders in a younger time and place.
Gently as she could, she pulled the picture free
And turned it to the light so that she could see.
She smiled at him and kissed him, then put him in her shirt.
She hugged herself to pull him close and wished away the hurt.
The wind whipped up around her, she pulled her old coat tight.
She knew she needed someplace warm to make it through the night.
Sara spied the dumpster where she used to look for food,
The only thing the dumpster held were rags and broken wood.
She packed the rags around her, stuffed them in her clothes
And looked around to find a spot to sleep out of the snow.
There was nowhere in the alley where she could lay her head,
She raised herself, went to the truck to try the door instead.
When she closed her eyes and pulled, the truck door opened up,
And Sara’s life grew by one night, all thanks to random luck.
The driver of the went home on noon for Christmas Eve,
And left something behind him in his haste to leave.
A thermos and a lunch box were lying on the floor;
Now Sara had a Christmas meal and shelter from the storm.
She gathered up her battered bags and slid behind the wheel,
Locked the doors, settled back, and had something to eat.
If he came back in the morning, then she’d have to leave,
But time for that tomorrow, tonight was Christmas Eve.
…
Christmas Presence isn’t wrapped and placed beneath our trees
The Presence that is Christmas lives in you and me.
We can give this Presence freely, it only costs us time
And the happiness it brings, lasts beyond the giver’s life
In ripples that flow outward for lives and lives to come
Of those who learn to share it because it blessed them once.
Some suffer through their Christmas though not from lack of gifts.
They suffer from the empty feeling caused by loneliness.
This painful sorrow has a cure, a simple loving thing,
Come, look again and see the joy that spending time can bring:
…
The driver of the truck that crushed old Sara’s hut
On Christmas Day remembered that he hadn’t locked it up.
He went down to the alley and found her sleeping there
And the thought of this poor woman in the cold he couldn’t bear.
The driver gently woke her, at first, she was afraid
When he said, “Merry Christmas, Ma,” she felt her fears allayed.
He said, “The family’s waiting and we have an extra place.
What don’t you come home with me and share our Christmas Day?”
Sara searched his smiling face afraid this was a ruse
And saw a soft reflection of another face she knew.
For the first time in a decade this wandering soul would know
What it felt to share a Christmas with a family in their home.
…
These aren’t simply stories; they’re choices that we make
To take some time that’s given us and give the gift away.
Not just every Christmas, but every day of life,
The greatest presents we can give are gifts of precious time.