IT WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

HE LIVED ALL ALONE

IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE MADE OF PLASTER AND STONE

I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE

AND TO SEE JUST WHO IN THIS HOME DID LIVE



I LOOKED ALL ABOUT A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE

NO TINSEL NO PRESENTS NOT EVEN A TREE

NO STOCKING BY THE MANTLE JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND

ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES OF FAR DISTANT LANDS

WITH MEDALS AND BADGES AWARDS OF ALL KINDS

A SOBER THOUGHT CAME THROUGH MY MIND



FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT IT WAS DARK AND DREARY

I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY

THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING SILENT ALONE

CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME



THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE THE ROOM IN SUCH DISORDER

NOT HOW I PICTURED A LONE BRITISH SOLDIER

WAS THIS THE HERO OF WHOM I'D JUST READ

CURLED UP ON A PONCHO THE FLOOR FOR A BED



I REALISED THE FAMILIES THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT

OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT

SOON ROUND THE WORLD THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY

AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY



THEY ALL ENJOY FREEDOM EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR

BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE

I COULDN'T HELP WONDER HOW MANY ALONE

ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME



THE VERY THOUGH BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE

I DROPPED TO MY KNEES AND STARTED TO CRY

THE SOLDIER AWAKENED AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE

'SANTA DON'T CRY THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE

I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM I DON'T ASK FOR MORE

MY LIFE IS MY GOD, MY COUNTRY. MY CORPS'



THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER AND DRIFTED TO SLEEP

I COULDN'T CONTROL IT I CONTINUED TO WEEP



I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS SO SILENT AND STILL

AND WE BOTH SAT AND SHIVERED FROM THE COLD NIGHTS CHILL

I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE ON THAT COLD DARK NIGHT

THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOUR SO WILLING TO FIGHT



THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE

WHISPERED 'CARRY ON SANTA ITS CHRISTMAS DAY ALL IS SECURE'

ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT

'MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT'

WHAT HAPPENS IN HEAVEN

This is one of the nicest e-mails I have seen and is so true:

I dreamt that I went to Heaven and an angel was showing me around.

We walked side-by-side inside a large workroom filled with angels.

My angel guide stopped in front of the first section and said, "This is the
Receiving Section. Here, all petitions to God said in prayer are received."

I looked around in this area, and it was terribly busy with so many angels
sorting out petitions written on voluminous paper sheets and scraps from
people all over the world.

Then we moved on down a long corridor until we reached the second section.

The angel then said to me, "This is the Packaging and Delivery Section.
Here, the graces and blessings the people asked for are processed and
delivered to the living persons who asked for them."

I noticed again how busy it was there. There were many angels working hard
at that station, since so many blessings had been requested and were being
packaged for delivery to Earth.

Finally at the farthest end of the long corridor we stopped at the door of a
very small station. To my great surprise, only one angel was seated there,
idly doing nothing. "This is the Acknowledgment Section," and my angel
friend quietly admitted to me. He seemed embarrassed. "How is it that there
is no work going on here?" I asked. "So sad," the angel sighed. "After
people receive the blessings that they asked for, very few send back
acknowledgments."

"How does one acknowledge God's blessings?" I asked.

"Simple," the angel answered. Just say, "Thank You, Lord."

"What blessings should they acknowledge?" I asked.

"If you have food in the refrigerator, clothes on your back, a roof overhead
and a place to sleep you are richer than 75% of this world. If you have
money in the bank, in your wallet, and spare change in a dish, you are among
the top 8% of the world's wealthy "

"And if you get this on your own computer, you are part of the 1% in the
world who has that opportunity."

"Also.....If you woke up this morning with more health than illness you are
more blessed than the many who will not even survive this day!"

"If you have never experienced the fear in battle, the loneliness of
imprisonment, the agony of torture, or the pangs of starvation you are ahead
of 700 million people in the world."

"If you can attend a church without the fear of harassment, arrest, torture
or death you are envied by, and more blessed than, three billion people in
the world "

"If your parents are still alive and still married you are very rare "

"If you can hold your head up and smile, you are not the norm. You're
unique to all those in doubt and despair."

Ok, what now? How can I start?

If you can read this message, you just received a double blessing in that
someone was thinking of you as very special and you are more blessed than
over two billion people in the world who cannot read at all.

Have a good day, count your blessings, and if you want, pass this along to
remind everyone else how blessed we all are.

ATTN:
Acknowledge Dept.: "Thank You, Lord, for giving me the ability to share this
message and for giving me so many wonderful people to share it with."

THE YELLOW SHIRT 

The yellow shirt  had long sleeves, four extra-large pockets trimmed in black thread and snaps up the front.  It was faded from years of wear, but still in decent shape.  I found it in 1963 when I was home from college on Christmas break, rummaging through bags of clothes Mom intended to give
away.  'You're not taking that old thing, are you?' Mom said when she saw me packing the yellow shirt.  'I wore that when I was pregnant with your brother in 1954!'
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'It's just the thing to wear over my clothes during art class,
Mom.  Thanks!'  I slipped it into my suitcase before she could object. The yellow shirt be came a part of my college wardrobe.  I loved it. After graduation, I wore the shirt the day I moved into my new apartment and on Saturday mornings when I cleaned.
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The next year, I married.  When I became pregnant, I wore the yellow shirt during big-belly days.  I missed Mom and the rest of my family, since we were in Colorado and they were in Illinois  But that shirt helped. I smiled, remembering that Mother had worn it when she was pregnant, 15 years earlier.
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That Christmas, mindful of the warm feelings the shirt had given me, I patched one elbow, wrapped it in holiday paper and sent it to Mom. When Mom wrote to thank me for her 'real' gifts, she said the yellow shirt was lovely.  She never mentioned it again.
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 The next year, my husband, daughter and I stopped at Mom and Dad's to pick up some .  Days later, when we uncrated the kitchen table, I noticed something yellow taped to its bottom.  The shirt!
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And so the pattern was set.
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On our next visit home, I secretly placed the shirt under Mom and
Dad's mattress.  I don't know how long it took for her to find it, but
almost two years passed before I discovered it under the base of our
living-room floor lamp.  The yellow shirt was just what I needed now while refinishing furniture.  The walnut stains added character.
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In 1975 my husband and I divorced.  With my three children, I prepared to move back to Illinois .  As I packed, a deep depression
overtook me. I wondered if I could make it on my own..  I wondered if I would find a job.  I paged through the Bible, looking for comfort.   In Ephesians, I read, 'So use every piece of God's armor to resist the enemy whenever he attacks, and when it is all over, you will be standing up.'
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I tried to picture myself wearing God's armor, but all I saw was the
stained yellow shirt.  Slowly, it dawned on me.  Wasn't my mother's
love a piece of God's armor?  My courage was renewed.
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Unpacking in our new home, I knew I had to get the shirt back to
Mother.  The next time I visited her, I tucked it in her bottom dresser drawer.
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Meanwhile, I found a good job at a radio station.  A year later
I discovered the yellow shirt hidden in a rag bag in my cleaning closet.
Something new had been added.  Embroidered in bright green
across the breast pocket were the words 'I BELONG TO PAT.'
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Not to be outdone, I got out my own embroidery materials and
added an apostrophe and seven more letters.  Now the shirt proudly
proclaimed, 'I BELONG TO PAT'S MOTHER.'  But I didn't stop there.  I zig-zagged all the frayed seams, then had a friend mail the shirt in a fancy box to Mom from Arlington , VA.  We enclosed an
official looking letter from 'The Institute for the Destitute,'
announcing that she was the recipient of an award for good deeds. I
would have given anything to see Mom's face when she opened the box.  But, of course, she never mentioned it.
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Two years later, in 1978, I remarried.  The day of our wedding,
Harold and I put our car in a friend's garage to avoid practical
jokers. After the wedding, while my husband drove us to our honeymoon suite, I reached for a pillow in the car to rest my head.  It felt lumpy.  I unzipped the case and found, wrapped in wedding paper, the yellow shirt.
Inside a pocket was a note:  'Read John 14:27-29.  I love you both,
Mother.'
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That night I paged through the Bible in a hotel room and found
the verses:  'I am leaving you with a gift: peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give isn't fragile like the peace the world gives.  So don't be troubled or afraid.  Remember what I told you: I am going away, but I will come back to you again.  If you really love me, you will be very happy for me, for now I can go to the Father, who is greater than I am. I have told you these things before they happen so that when they do, you will believe in me.'
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The shirt was Mother's final gift.  She had known for three months that she had terminal Lou Gehrig's disease.  Mother died the
following year at age 57.
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I was tempted to send the yellow shirt with her to her grave. But
I'm glad I didn't, because it is a vivid reminder of the love-filled game she and I played for 16 years.  Besides, my older daughter is in
college now, majoring in art.  

And every art student needs a baggy yellow shirt with big pockets.