Poem inspired by Roger's tract;
Colette Harding
‘Are you ready for Christmas?’ she asks me
as I stand in the queue by her till.
I am sure what she said was meant kindly,
so I smile as she gives me the bill.
‘As ready as ever,’ I tell her,
knowing Christ has his home in my heart,
and I give her a leaflet about why he came,
which I urge her to read, as we part.
For people ‘get ready’ in all sorts of ways;
there’s the tree and the tinsel and more,
there’s the turkey, the sprouts and the stuffing,
and the wreath to be nailed to the door;
there’s the lights and the crackers and stockings,
and a difficult line-up of guests,
and mince pies, and the pudding, the log and the cake,
but surely they’re missing the best?
If this time of the year has a meaning,
then that’s more important than all:
The Lord sent his Son to this world as the Saviour;
that babe who was laid in the stall!
The King of the Universe made himself man,
lived a perfect life instead of me,
and at 33 years, he then went to his death,
and was punished, so I could go free.
How does this relate to what goes on around us
supposedly all in his name?
If I live my life with no thought for my soul,
I am playing one long ‘Christmas game’.
I’m filling my life with the gifts he has given,
but I never give him thanks or praise;
of course I assume he’ll let me into heaven
even though I’ve ignored him for years.
How can we be ready for Christmas,
if all that we see is the stuff
that the world tries to fill every mind and each heart
with, but saying ‘it’s never enough’?
We don’t need more presents, more food or more fun
we’ve too much of that all the year.
It’s forgiveness and cleansing I need most of all,
through the cross of my Saviour, so dear.