A Christmas Poem

On Christmas morning,
Standing before the tree,
Lights dazzling;
Packages calling my name
from every corner of the room.

Snow has fallen overnight.
The world outside is white.

Our living room
(just a room when I went to bed)
Is now a wonderland of possibilities.

I tremble over one possibility:
I stood eyes wide before it in the toy store,
My fingers aching
Under the sign that said “DO NOT TOUCH!”

(It did not say “DO NOT DREAM!”)

Mom and Dad please see me standing here.
I am afraid to move.
(For when I return
It may be gone.)

In the weeks that followed
I hoped.
I prayed.
I hinted.

God, I swear I will be good for the rest of my life!

Now Dad looks at Mom with a silent question
“Which one first?”
And she looks at me
(because they have also been waiting for this moment)
And says
“Oh, I think this one.”

Despite all the stories in church on Christmas morning,
It is Christmas trees that taught me to believe in miracles.

With the lights dancing in my eyes
And hope dancing in my heart,
I peel the wrapping ever so slowly.

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About almondhead

I am a mental health counselor in private practice. One of the focuses of my practice is helping people with fear, anxiety and their ugly stepsister, depression. I became a counselor after a long career in the technology world, so naturally, I think of the brain as an engineering problem. It can help to understand something about how the brain works. I decided to start this blog as a way to help other people learn about fear, anxiety and relationship. (All our problems are really about relationships.) You can also find me at: www.virtuallyfearless.com www.PsychologyToday.com www.theravive.com http://www.marriagefriendlytherapists.com/
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2 Responses to A Christmas Poem

  1. greg says:

    Great description of the Hoping & Wishing of a child.
    I Immediately pictured “Ralphie” from A Christmas Story, looking for his BB gun.

  2. Holly Day says:

    I remember feeling like that when I opened my eyes (remember how Mom made us close our eyes when we walked into the living room?) and saw “Suzy Smart, complete with desk and a REAL chalkboard. It was so unreal that I was afraid to run over to it, fearing the parentals would call me on my mistake, “oh Holly, That isn’t for you. That is for some other 7 year old girl. We’re just keeping it under our tree.” All I could say was, “it’s beautiful!” Until Mom assured me that Suzy was really mine.

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