His Only Son

Well, there’s time for one last Christmas poem before the big day rolls around. On a more pensive note, though, today is actually the 2nd anniversary of my father’s passing in 2003. I had intended to write on that subject, but we’ll get right down to the season because that is the message that folks are looking for about now. Perhaps I shall return to reflect thereon after the holidays. However, I have taken the liberty of choosing a father/son story to finish out my poetic Christmas suite for this year. The following poem is actually a rather true story about one late night in my own parenting past. It was one of those amazing moments when what you know and what you feel suddenly collide with a staggering eternal truth. My prayer for you this season is that you may have a similar experience and that, if only for a moment, all the glitter and commercialism will fade away and the true wonder of that first Christmas comes shining through for you. That’s the moment when all the presents and parties and trees suddenly cease to matter and you come face to face with the Jesus whom God sent to us on that first Christmas day. Merry Christmas to all.

“For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life.” John 3:16

His Only Son
It was Christmas eve around midnight
the presents were under the tree
The stockings were stuffed, but
somehow it just didn't feel like Christmas to me
We had read the Christmas story together
before the kids went to bed
But all night I had felt kind of empty
somewhere in my heart or my head
The magic of Christmas was missing
it had faded for me through the years
As tradition became repetition
Until I no longer held Christmas dear
Instead it seemed more of a bother
and an expensive bother at that
Nothing more than an inconvenience
more mess, more bills, more fat
It was late, far too late, I imagined
and the end of a very long day
But I figured I better look in on the kids
before I hit the hay
In my son's room I had a strange feeling
as if something was left out of place
Then I noticed the moon light streaming in
and how it lit up his young face
I thought to myself, "sure, it's Christmas
there must be sugar plums dancing in there"
I gave him a kiss as I reached down
to brush back a wisp of his hair
Then I knew, in an instant, I saw it
what really happened on Christmas day
As my heart raced back to another child
long ago and far away
To a boy who was sleeping, as mine did
on that very first Christmas night
I saw his peaceful face awash
in the very same moonlight
Then I realized, finally, what God did
and the depth of the terrible price
God paid when He offered His only Son
for us all as a sacrifice
Of course, now I saw it so clearly
in the light of my love for my son
My own flesh and blood, whom I certainly
never would give up for anyone
But that's just what God did with Jesus
he sent Him to suffer and die
God sent Him because of His love for me
as I saw it I started to cry
And me, I was tired of Christmas
but I just didn't know what it meant
I had gotten too busy to notice the Savior
I knew that God had sent
I was filled with the joy and wonder
which eluded me all of these years
Now it was there, I could feel it
as it came flooding in through the tears
There, alone on my knees, in the darkness
I finally understood
That on Christmas God gave the greatest
gift of love that anyone could
By Frank Carpenter ©

Christmas Stories

As we march headlong toward the holidays I wanted to follow up on my movie review of The Nativity Story with a poem about the other Christmas stories which abound at this time of year. Movies and assorted Christmas specials clog the theaters and airways, bombarding us with imaginary themes and a host of animated fictional characters offering various takes on the holiday. Most of us grew up on those characters and they may even hold a special place in our hearts. The catch is that they also cloud the true Christmas story and crowd its message to the side. These characters are the emissaries of a commercialized Christmas which has no resemblance to the original story or meaning. I encourage you, my fellow citizens to sort through the available Christmas stories in search of the truth. If it’s only about snowmen and reindeer and elves and presents, then we’re the merely the victims an organized subliminal conspiracy by retail empires who hope to make us feel merry … and therefore generous. However, a rudimentary etymological consideration of the word Christmas reveals that its root word is Christ. I believe that is the point. It’s not “Elfmas” or “Rudolfmas” or “Giftmas,” but Christmas, and those first six letters make all the difference. My hope and prayer for you this season is that you may rediscover the wonder of THE Christmas story. Then share it with your children and friends and family.

Christmas Stories
There are so many Christmas stories
Oh how we love to hear
The way the children's snowman came to life
We applaud those flying reindeer
And the way they pull the sleigh
We love jolly old Saint Nick and his dear wife
Who could ever overlook
Those darling little elves
And all the magic things that they can do
We watch aghast with horror
As that mean old Mr. Grinch
Tries to steal Christmas morning from the Whos
Adults and children just alike
All gather 'round the tube
To watch what they've seen many times before
The characters of Christmas
Come in every shape and size
So easy to believe in and adore
But there's another Christmas story
That our children need to hear
You've heard it and you probably know it well
The plot is not as colorful
Nor are the characters
Yet, it's the one we really need to tell
Remember how in Sunday school
You learned about the Christ
Who came to cleanse the world of its sin
They told you all you had to do
Was open up your heart
And Jesus would forgive you and come in
On Christmas day we celebrate
The birth of Jesus Christ
Who came to earth to save both me and you
He's the only Christmas story
That you really need to know
And the only Christmas story that is true
By Frank Carpenter ©