’Twas the night before Christmas

and all through my house

not a creature was stirring —

just my tired computer mouse.

The stockings are hung on the mantle with care,

with a quiet, soft hope that my children would draw near.

The grandkids lay dreaming in their own little beds,

while sugar-plum laughter still echoes in my head.

Their parents are wrapping and whispering low,

building the magic those children will know.

My tree stands in silence, all glowing and bright,

holding my memories deep in its light.

Each ornament whispers of years gone by —

of scraped knees, first steps, and lullabies.

I sit and remember the Christmases past,

how the years felt slow — then suddenly fast.

When my house was so loud one could barely think straight,

and bedtime stories read far, far too late.

I think of my mom, and I think of my dad,

of the love that they gave — the best that they had.

I’d trade every present, each ribbon and bow,

for one more “I love you” from long, long ago.

The clock softly ticks and the fire burns low,

and gratitude settles in quiet and slow.

For family, for faith, for the years I’ve been given,

for the promise of hope and the grace found in heaven.

So if Santa is listening — one small, honest plea:

no toys, no bright gadgets, no lights on a tree…

Just more time.

More moments that stay.

More laughter around us.

Less slipping away.

For the greatest of gifts — the truest and best —

is love that we gave, and give with what’s left.

Recent Posts