Did You Ever Think God Might Be Santa Claus?

Merry Christmas! Today I decided to share a poem, hot off the laptop. May your holidays be filled with peace and joy.

Photo by Laura James on Pexels.com

Five days till Christmas, we huddled by the tree,
counting the presents, guessing what was inside.
We studied our reflections in the shiny balls,
blew gently on the strands of tinsel
tinted by the red, blue, and yellow 
bulbs shining warm, leaking white light
where the color had been scratched off.
We had sat on Santa’s red velvet knee,
sharing our requests, and we knew
he would grant them, for Santa Claus
never said no, it costs too much. 

Yes, we saw Grandpa hauling gifts
from the blue Chevy to our door.
Aunts and godparents brought more,
but it was Santa we were counting on
to bring those extra special things,
not pajamas but a bike or the doll
that walked like a real little girl. 

All we had to do was be good
as we sat in our dress-up clothes,
hands neatly folded in our laps
at Grandma’s house on Christmas Eve
where the tree was taller than the sky
and a train chugged through a village
made of houses, toys, and mirror lakes.

When it was finally almost Christmas day,
we went to bed early but couldn’t sleep.
We heard sleigh bells ringing in the yard,
reindeer clomping on the roof,
Santa making his delivery. Oh!
And when the night was finally still,
we scrambled to the heater vent
and saw the ribboned bicycle,
the bulging stockings by the tree. 

We waited impatiently for dawn,
then scrambled shrieking out of bed,
waking Mom and Dad. Come on!
Oh, the joy. Every wish fulfilled,
We didn’t see Mom’s flat stocking,
only her smile as we poured out
pencils, Lifesavers, and chocolate coins.
Can we have one? No, not yet.
First we have to go to church.
We sat in the pew swinging our feet,
looking at pictures while the priest
prayed in Latin far away, and then,
more presents, breakfast, company.

We never knew other kids
might have no gifts, no pine-scented tree,
no Grandma’s house on Christmas Eve.
as we sat in a sea of wrapping paper,
playing with our brand new toys
while Mom cooked pancakes and sausages.
God gave us a taste of heaven
to get us through the coming years,
a memory to counteract the tears.

--Sue Fagalde Lick

A little poem for Christmas Eve

Merry Christmas! Here’s a little Christmas poem for you. Not every bit of it is true. I can’t stop rhyming! 
Love you, 
I’ll be home for Christmas,
relaxing with my dog.
Because I’m lactose intolerant,
I won’t drink any nog,
but I will post on my blog.
I’ll be home for Christmas,
alone beside the tree,
unwrapping all the presents
I purchased just for me;
they’ll all fit perfectly.
I’ll be home for Christmas
after midnight Mass at ten
when we’re celebrating Jesus’ birth
and peace on earth to men,
singing “Jesu Bambino” again.
I’ll be home for Christmas.
It will look like I’m alone,
but I’ve got my dog beside me
and my family on the phone,
also fresh blueberry scones.
I’ll be home for Christmas
as the guy says in the song,
but home has many meanings
and not one of them is wrong.
When you sing, I sing along.
I’ll be home for Christmas,
no turkey, ham or roast.
I’m eating enchiladas
with a tall tequila toast
to my most enchanting host.
I’ll be home for Christmas.
You might hear me caroling
in my favorite red pajamas
with feet and everything—
and a little bit of bling.
I’ll be home for Christmas.
Don’t feel sorry for me.
In this house full of lights and food and song
with my twinkling artificial tree.
It’s exactly where I want to be.
I’ll be home for Christmas,
maybe playing my kazoo.
But if you ring my doorbell,
then my Christmas won’t be blue
‘cause you’ll be home for Christmas, too.
Copyright 2012 Sue Fagalde Lick
Post this without attribution and Santa will blow up your house. 
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