A Soldiers Christmas

 Matthew 24:6a  And ye shall hear of wars...

Back when there was only email for communications from over-seas, I remember when my husband would send an email that would say, 'Heading for the bunker, I will write when I can, remember, I love you."  In the early 90's, my husband served in the Gulf War/Desert Fox, and during this time, my children and I would sit on the couch watching the News as the missiles lit up the night sky over Kuwait and would pray for my husbands safety.  Maybe it's because we were apart during the Holidays, that my mind seems to drift to thoughts of those Military families who are separated during the Holidays today.

Twas the night before Christmas was first written anonymously on Dec. 23, 1823, and then the classic that we read today, was written by Clement Clarke Moore in 1837.  But I want to share a different version of this classic and dedicate it to the Men and Women who are serving in our Military today, and for those who will be spending this Holiday separated from their families.  For those who have served, who are serving and for those who will one day serve, I salute you and thank you and your families for your Service.  You are not forgotten this Holiday and we are praying for you!

But that's just me!

The Soldiers Night Before Christmas

Twas 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 in this home did live.

With medals and badges, awards of all kind,

A sober thought came through my mind.

For this house was different, so dark and dreary,

I knew I had found the home of a soldier, once I could see clearly.

I heard stories about them, I had to see more,

So I walked down the hall and pushed open the door.

And there he lay sleeping silent alone,

Curled up on the floor in his one bedroom home.

His face so gently, his room in such disorder,

Not how I pictured a United States Soldier.

Was this the hero of whom I'd just read?

Curled up in his poncho, a floor for his bed?

His head was clean shaven, his weathered face tan,

I soon understood this was more than a man,

For I realized the families that I saw that night,

Owed their lives to these men who were willing to fight.

Soon 'round the world, the children would play,

And grownups would celebrate on a bright Christmas day.

They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year,

Because of soldiers like this one lying here.

I couldn't help wonder how many lay alone,

On a cold Christmas Eve in a land far from home.

Just the very thought 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."

With that he rolled over and drifted off into sleep,

I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.

I watched him for hours, so silent and still,

I noticed he shivered from the cold night's chill.

So I took off my jacket, the one made of red,

And covered this Soldier from his toes to his head.

And I put on his T-shirt of gray and black,

With an eagle and an Army patch embroidered on back.

And although it barely fit me, I began to swell with pride,

And for a shining moment, I was United States Army deep inside.

I didn't want to leave him on that cold dark night,

This guardian of honor so willing to fight.

Then the soldier rolled over, whispered with a voice so clean and pure,

"Carry on Santa, It's 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!

Bruce Lovely, 1993