Christmas In Missouri

The house is quiet when Mom wakes.

The sun yet sleeps as Jack Frost paints on frigid glass.

She reads her Bible and silently prays,

Thankful for her family to be under one roof again.

The smell of butter and cinnamon fills the air,

Rousing children from their dreams of Santa and his sleigh.

Parents wake to the sounds of children cheering Christmas,

And the sound of tiny feet racing to see presents under the tree.

We gather together in the den.

Children barely contain their excitement, but for the moment, there is peace.

Dad reads from The Book—of a virgin mother and a lowly stable,

Of shepherds' awe and angels singing of peace on earth and the birth of the King.

Gifts are dealt, paper is torn,

The whole house echoes with chaos and mirth.

Laughter and joy, wishes fulfilled, gratefulness abounds,

As wrappers and boxes fill every empty space.

The children retreat to play with their treasures.

We gather around a table covered in dotted bones.

We make trains with numbers, and Dad keeps score,

While Mom prepares her famous homemade dinner rolls.

The table is set, and the drinks have been poured.

Our mouths water in anticipation of the meal we only share once a year.

But before we partake, Dad says the prayer,

Thanking God for the food, for family, and most of all, for the birth of the Savior.

The house is quiet now that we’ve had our fill.

The kids watch one last Christmas movie while we slumber on sofas and armchairs,

Filled not just with food,

But with quiet contentment and the love that Christmas brings.

In the morning, we load up our SUV.

Somehow, there’s always so much more than what we came with.

As we pull out of the drive, I wonder

If this is the last time we will all be together.