This Christmas

I’m not dreaming of snowflakes,

Nor reindeer hoofs on the roof,

I expect no jolly old man in a red suit,

And there’ll be no mistletoe over the door.

But I’ll deck out the Christmas tree,

With its bright green leafy leaves,

Bring out my Christmas angels,

To remind you what Christmas means to me.

The tree speaks of spring and new life,

A tree that would die one day to become a cross,

The angels who sang of the birth of a king,

God’s gracious gift when he sent his son for me.

I’ll set up my nativity scene,

I’ll wrap gifts that I’ve made,

And some that I’ve bought,

And place them under my Christmas tree,

To speak of the gift God once brought,

To earth wrapped in a cloth,

Placed in a wooden manger,

Like the wood used make a cross.

I’ll remember the baby gifts given to him,

The gold, the myrrh and frankincense too,

Gifts for a baby that would become king,

Gifts needed the day he was nailed to a tree.

This year I have gifts for those closest to me,

To given like the one who has given much to me,

Gifts that cost both money and time,

But fail in comparison to what Jesus gave to me.

For me these symbols of Christmas,

You’ll find this year in my home,

Represent a mother’s new born in a simple box,

Who was given gifts that told of the true cost.

Of the day God humbled himself,

By becoming a man,

Who would live a life worthy,

To become a prefect sacrifice.

Christmas is not about me or about gifts I receive,

It’s about remembering the only gift that I need,

My salvation bought through a death on a cross,

This, my friends, is what Christmas means to me.

  

 Debbie Chilton (c) Copyright 2012