Dear Santa, I never wrote to you
When I was very young;
But now that I am "not so young"
Please count my note among
The many letters you receive
With lists of varying length,
And pay it close attention
When I call upon your strength
To join with our precious Lord
And bring to all on earth
The long-forgotten meaning
Of our Saviour's lowly birth -
The joy of unselfish giving,
Of sharing with those in need,
Bring love, tranquility and hope,
And banish rampant greed.
Dear Santa, read my letter
And answer it please do;
And I promise that from now on
I will believe in you.
September with its various activities was my favorite month:
Going back to school with eagerness, anticipation and a little trepidation;
The smell of books and chalks and pencils;
Goldenrod along the roadsides;
Warm delightful days and cool crisp nights;
Stopping on the way from school at the potato field
Where father had been working all day long
Digging the winter store of white potatoes,
While the waiting horses stamped and neighed,
Impatient for their warm dry stalls
And their nightly ration of water, oats and hay;
Riding home on a lumpy wagon load of bagged potatoes;
Listening as they rolled and tumbled, rumbling into the waiting bin
beneath the cellar window;
Gathering apples red-cheeked, crisp and juicy
To eat with popcorn on long winter evenings while mother read aloud
our favorite books;
Bringing succulent plums - yellow, red and blue,
To mother to preserve for winter use;
Stepping from the chilly air into the steamy, lamplit kitchen
Redolent with the spicy smell of pickles simmering on the
old black iron woodstove.
For supper there were baked sweet apples,
Mother's luscious brown bread,
And sweet fresh milk from our own Jersey cows;
Or hot soup from the last tomatoes in the garden,
With crusty home-made bread, hot from the oven,
Drenched with father's golden dairy butter.
And there were those lovely, lazy Saturdays -
Blue haze on the mountains,
A tapestry of red and gold and bronze spread across the countryside;
Clean air fragrant with the scent of frost-touched grass
and burning leaves.
Those were the days.
Nothing can ever be so perfect as those happy, youthful days
in retrospect.
There must have been cold, gloomy, rainy days of grumbling discontent,
But they have been forgotten,
Obliterated by the kindly hand of Time.
Recalling those lovely days of yesteryear I shed a tear or two
of longing
For that long-lost past when I was young and life was good.
I breathe a prayer of thankfulness, however,
For these memories of home and loving parents;
And bless the Lord for giving me the golden opportunity
To live those joyous carefree days of yore.
My body may be handicapped
But my mind and heart are free,
And my spirit leads me outward
Where my heart most longs to be.
I soar with the astronauts
In weightless carefree joy,
The stars my sparkling neighbors,
The moon a bright new toy.
I roam through fields of clover
And drink from mountain streams;
Reality's so dull beside
The splendor of my dreams.
They lead me through the velvet night
Where moonglow lights my way,
From the vivid glow of sunset
To the rosy dawn of day.
With the wind and rain for playmates
My gypsy heart roams free,
From stately stands of virgin pine
To the wind caves by the sea.
O'er the burning sands of the desert
And the Northland's ice and snow,
In the rushing roar of the ocean,
Great peace and joy I know.
But I must needs return to earth,
To my crutches and my pain;
'Til my spirit leads me outward
To freedom once again.
Six years ago she came into my life - A little baby, full of joy and sparkle; Loving, trusting, Being loved and cared for tenderly By everyone around her. Her baby hands and captivating smile Captured my heart and will forever hold it.
A snaggle-toothed first-grader now, She has that wide-eyed innocence Which fails to hide a healthy spark of mischief. She is so many different things - A little tomboy climbing trees, A little mother playing with her dolls; But always moving swiftly toward adulthood.
Lord, guide her on the long, hard road ahead. Make smooth her path, And let no harm befall Nor human treachery distress her As she hurries on with joyous anticipation To meet her destiny.
Dear Lord, what do You have in mind for me to do? What menial task, What act of love or sacrifice is in Your plan for me? I'm tired of the daily round of meaningless activities. I need a reason for existence. A goal to strive for. Give me, Lord, a dream, And strength to work toward it to completion. It need not be a great earth-shattering project - Just help me feel my life is not in vain. If nothing else, Lord, let me be a good example Of usefulness in spite of handicap; And cheerfulness despite whatever pain May fill my waking hours; Then when at night my body cries for rest, I pray that you may feel I've done my best Your purpose to fulfill; And then, Lord, grant me peaceful sleep And quiet, happy dreams throughout the night.
Dear Lord, I thank You for my lovely garden. I thank You for my sister's help in planting it, And for the strength You've given me to tend it. I thank You, too, for sending wind and rain To nurture it, and make it grow abundantly.
Lord, grant that I may share with others The bounty of my harvest; For sharing makes the fruit taste so much sweeter, And satisfies the soul.
I would give everything I have or ever hope to have If I could but return to yesteryear And Christmas as it used to be when I was young By ordinary standards we were poor. But we didn't know it Money was a very scarce commodity. Not knowing what it was, we didn't miss it; For we were truly rich beyond compare in all the things that matter We had love and understanding, Security from cold and hunger. We were content with what we had. Our world was beautiful, our happiness complete. Our home was filled with so much love and Christmas spirit That I can almost taste it even now.
We never made a Christmas list Nor asked for any special thing. But waited with such glad anticipation for Christmas morning To find our home-made gifts beneath the tree, And see the joy on the faces of our loved ones When they received the things we'd made for them.
Memories come crowding back Of snow and sparkling, starry nights; The one large Christmas star which shone above the mountains in the East Bringing in the tree and trimming it; The cold clean smell of balsam Spicy smells of Christmas goodies baking in the kitchen, Smiling faces, happy hearts, excited chatter; Oyster stew on Christmas Eve; Oranges and nuts and shiny red-cheeked apples; Candy bags upon the branches of the tree; Mother at the organ playing Christmas Carols While we gathered 'round her singing joyously.
Santa Claus was just a pleasant character like Mother Goose or Cinderella's fairy godmother. We knew what Christmas really meant - The birthday of our Lord. We knew our gifts came from each other In memory of His birth.
Dear Lord, I'd give all I possess If I could just have one more Christmas as it used to be With all the warmth and love and joy and peace But I do thank you most sincerely for these precious memories Of Christmas day at home so long ago.
Up in the Northland far away There's a long smooth hill at the foot of a mountain Broad and steep, free of bushes and trees, A perfect place to ski
The mountain above it is beautifully clad In fragrant balsam, fir, and pine, Rough logging roads winding throughout
I skied for hours along those roads Then at sunset, like a low-flying bird I swooped down the hill toward home nestled snugly below Aglow with lamplight welcoming me To the love and security waiting therein.
The warmth of that memory stays with me Brightening many a weary day I pray that someone is skiing those trails Feeling the joy and peace that I knew In those long ago days of my youth.
Woodsmoke and Cardamom 