Sniffly noses and raspy
coughs interrupt
the peaceful night.
With pillows stuffed into the
corner of the couch,
a knitted blanket insulates
my fuzzy bathrobe and
creates a cozy nest.
Snuggling into the slippery
leather is better than
fighting the noise
upstairs.
Hurried changes of
plans disappoint us all.
No gifts to share, no
festive paper to tear.
No cranberry pumpkin muffins
to nibble, no old-fashioned
cream pie to savor, its
ingredients read
from a lined and stained
page, carefully measured and
poured, sprinkled with nutmeg,
tradition, and love.
Another year, we’ve dozed
and grazed, each of us
alone,
grasping for
meaning and healing
on this quietly glorious
day. Is this how
she felt, finding
warm shelter and rest
in her time of need on
that first Christmas Day?
How blessed we are
despite our discomfort,
without our festivities.
The food, the family,
the friends are missing,
but
we have our home
and recline
in the arms of
our Lord,
born this magnificent day,
who makes
each moment
unique and
holy.
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