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“At the old Gas Station”

The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve. He hadn’t been anywhere in years since his wife had passed away. He had no decorations, no tree, no lights. It was just another day to him.

He didn’t hate Christmas, just couldn’t find a reason to celebrate. There were no children in his life. His wife had gone.

He was sitting there looking at the snow that had been falling for the las hour and wondering what it was all about when the door opened and a homeless man stepped through.

Instead of throwing the man out, George, Old George as he was known by his customers, told the man to come and sit by the space heater and warm up.“ Thank you, but I don’t mean to intrude,” said the stranger. “I see you’re busy. I’ll just go”

[Read the rest here.  Hat tip: Delftsman.]

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Posted by Bill Faith on December 25, 2005 at 12:03 AM in Christmas | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack

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Peace on Earth and Mercy Mild

In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that the whole world should be enrolled. This was the first enrollment, when Quirinius was governor of Syria. So all went to be enrolled, each to his own town.

And Joseph too went up from Galilee from the town of Nazareth to Judea, to the city of David that is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and family of David, to be enrolled with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child. While they were there, the time came for her to have her child, and she gave birth to her firstborn son. She wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.

Read on here.

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Thanks, Mike. I needed that.

Posted by Bill Faith on December 24, 2005 at 09:51 PM in Christmas | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack

I posted this last year but it's too good not to post every year. This is what should be playing on all the radio stations instead of all that "Rockin' Shoppin' Xmas" crap they play ten time a day.

A Soldier's Silent Night

'Twas The Night Before Christmas,
He Lived All Alone,
In A One Bedroom House
Made Of Plaster And Stone.

I Had Come Down The Chimney
With Presents To Give,
To See Just Who
In This Dwelling Did Live.

I Looked All Around
A Strange Sight To See,
No Tinsel, No Presents,
Not Even A Tree.

No Stocking From The Mantle,
Just Boots Filled With Sand,
On The Wall Hung Pictures
Of Far Distant Lands.

With Medals And Badges,
Awards Of Every Kind,
A Sobering Thought Came Alive In My Mind

This House Was Different,
It Was Dark, It Was Dreary,
I Have Found The Home Of A Soldier,
I Can See That Most Clearly.

[...]

Read the rest of the lyrics while you listen to an absolutely awesome recording here. This is an obvious adaptation of "Merry Christmas, My Friend," which I posted here, but it's very well done. Blackfive has more information here.

If the link I've posted quits working please email me or leave a comment and I'll either locate a new link or make the recording available on my site.

Hat tips: Grim's Hall, Blackfive

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Posted by Bill Faith on December 24, 2005 at 08:20 PM in Christmas, Poetry | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack

This is a modified version of a post from last year. Maybe some of my newer readers will be seeing it for the first time.

Listen to it here or here as you read along.

Leroy The Redneck Reindeer
As performed by Joe Diffie
Written by Joe Diffie, Steve Pippin, and Stacey Slate

Well you've all heard the story
About Rudolph and his nose
But I'll tell you a Christmas tale
That never has been told
Well you may think you've heard it all
But you ain't heard nothin' yet
About that crazy Christmas
That the North Pole can't forget

Rudolph was under the weather
And had to call in sick
So he got on the horn
To his cousin Leroy
Who lived out in the sticks
He said "Santa's really counting on me
And I hate to pass the buck"
Leroy said "Hey I'm on my way"
And he jumped in his pick-up truck

When Leroy got to the North Pole
All the reindeer snickered and laughed
They never seen a deer in overalls
And a John Deer tractor hat
Well Santa stepped in
And said "Just calm down
'cause we all got a job to do
Like it or not Leroy's in charge
And he's gonna be leadin' you"

And it was Leroy The Redneck Reindeer
Hooked to the front of the sleigh
Delivering toys to all the good ol' boys
And girls along the way
He's just a down home party animal
Two Steppin' all across the sky
He mixed jingle bells with the rebel yell
And made history that night

Before that night was over
Leroy had changed there tune
He had 'em scootin' a hoof
On every roof
By the light of a neon moon
Santa wrapped his bag with the Dixie flag
He as having the time of his life
You could here him call
"Merry Christmas Y'all
And all of y'all a goodnight"

And it was Leroy The Redneck Reindeer
Hooked to the front of the sleigh
Delivering toys to all the good ol' boys
And girls along the way
He's just a down home party animal
Two Steppin' all across the sky
He mixed jingle bells with the rebel yell
And made history that night

He mixed Jingle Bells with the rebel yell
And made history that night

Learn more about Joe Diffie at his web site.

Posted by Bill Faith on December 23, 2005 at 01:51 AM in Christmas, Music | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack

I can't let the Christmas season pass without re-posting this one. Merry Christmas, Johnny. Ho, Ho, Ho!

The Night Before Christmas (Cambodian Version)

Twas the night before Christmas and we were afloat
Somewhere in Cambodia in our little boat.
While the river was lightened by rockets red glare
No one but the President knew we were there.

The crew was all nestled deep down in their bunks,
While the Spook and I watched the sampans and junks.
Our mission was secret, so secret in fact,
No one else would remember it when we got back.

When out on the water there arose such a clatter
I leaped down from the bridge to see what was the matter.
The incoming friendly was starting to flash
And I knew that the ARVN's were having a bash.

The snap of friendly fire on the warm tropic air
Convinced me for sure no one knew we were there,
On a clandestine mission so secret it's true
That I'm still convinced only Tricky Dick knew.

While I huddled for safety in the tub on the bow,
I thought of a title, "Apocalypse Now."
To give to the films I was I making each day
To show all the voters when I made my big play.

As I sat there sweating in my lucky flight jacket,
Spook said, "Merry Christmas!" and tossed me a packet.
And what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a new lucky cap, which I still have right here.

I keep it tucked here, in this leather brief case,
Just sharing with the press its secretive place
As I regale them again with my senate refrain,
That Christmas in Cambodia is seared into my brain.

Don't bother to quibble with history my friend,
By pointing out Johnson was President then.
Don't listen to Swiftees who try to explain,
For I tell you that night is seared into my brain.

Down Hibbard, down Lonsdale, and you too O'Neill,
So you don't remember? Well it's something I feel.
I don't need all you Swiftvets to support my campaign,
Cause Christmas in Cambodia is seared into my brain,

Into my brain, into my brain, into my brain...

Russ Vaughn
2d Bn, 327th Parachute Infantry Regiment
101st Airborne Division
Vietnam 65-66

Did you get what you wanted, Johnny? You didn't? Awwww! Mommy tried to buy it for you but we were too smart to sell it to her?  What's a poor boy to do, Johnny? You dumb ass! (What, me gloat? Hell, yeah!)

Posted by Bill Faith on December 23, 2005 at 01:15 AM in Christmas, Poetry, Russ_Vaughn | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack

A re-post from last year in case you missed it.

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Who Brings Santa Presents?

"Mommy, who brings Santa presents?"
(it was his hundredth question of the day)
His little face gazed up solemnly;
She was at a loss for words to say.

She hugged him tight and smoothed his blanket
and thought of Santa and all that flying
’round a world caught up in tragedy,
a world at risk – so many dying.

Yet this unselfish five year old
with Christmas starlight in his eyes
had to think and wonder who
would give Santa his own surprise.

Then carefully she chose her words
so he would understand
how the scope of Santa’s trip
’cross each and every land.

"Your Daddy and men like him, son,
give Santa gifts this night
each time he leaves the North Pole,
they help him plan his flight."

[Read the rest here.]

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Hat tip: Mrs. Greyhawk

Posted by Bill Faith on December 21, 2005 at 12:45 AM in Christmas, Poetry | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack

(A re-post from last year.)

MERRY CHRISTMAS, MY FRIEND

‘Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
In a one-bedroom house made of plaster and stone.
I had come down the chimney, with presents to give
and to see just who in this home did live.

As I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,
no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stocking by the fire, just boots filled with sand.
On the wall hung pictures of a far distant land.

With medals and badges, awards of all kind,
a sobering thought soon came to my mind.
For this house was different, unlike any I’d seen.
This was the home of a U.S. Marine.

I’d heard stories about them, I had to see more,
so I walked down the hall and pushed open the door.
And there he lay sleeping, silent, alone,
Curled up on the floor in his one-bedroom home.

He seemed so gentle, his face so serene,
Not how I pictured a U.S. Marine.
Was this the hero, of whom I’d just read?
Curled up in his poncho, a floor for his bed?

His head was clean-shaven, his weathered face tan.
I soon understood, this was more than a man.
For I realized the families that I saw that night,
owed their lives to these men, who were willing to fight.

Soon around the Nation, the children would play,
And grown-ups would celebrate on a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom, each month and all year,
because of Marines like this one lying here.

I couldn’t help wonder how many lay alone,
on a cold Christmas Eve, in a land far from home.
Just the very thought brought a tear to my eye.
I dropped to my knees and I started to cry.

He must have awoken, for I heard a rough voice,
“Santa, don’t cry, this life is my choice
I fight for freedom, I don’t ask for more.
My life is my God, my country, my Corps.”

With that he rolled over, drifted off into sleep,
I couldn’t control it, I continued to weep.

I watched him for hours, so silent and still.
I noticed he shivered from the cold night’s chill.
So I took off my jacket, the one made of red,
and covered this Marine from his toes to his head.
Then I put on his T-shirt of scarlet and gold,
with an eagle, globe and anchor emblazoned so bold.
And although it barely fit me, I began to swell with pride,
and for one shining moment, I was Marine Corps deep inside.

I didn’t want to leave him so quiet in the night,
this guardian of honor so willing to fight.
But half asleep he rolled over, and in a voice clean and pure,
said “Carry on, Santa, it’s Christmas Day, all secure.”
One look at my watch and I knew he was right,
Merry Christmas my friend, Semper Fi and goodnight.

©1987 by James M. Schmidt

I've seen at least 5 different versions of this poem over the past few years. The above version comes from this page on the IWVPA site.  It appears to be a faithful reproduction of this Leatherneck Magazine version, which Snopes is convinced is the original version. When I emailed a link to Blackfive, he wrote back and told me he's convinced the poem was originally written by an Army Ranger and stolen by the Marines. As I told him, when a Ranger and a Marine disagree this ol' boy stands way back and does not get involved.  Merry Christmas to all of our Warriors. May God bless and keep you.

Hat tip: Mary Ann

Posted by Bill Faith on December 19, 2005 at 01:01 AM in Christmas, Poetry | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack

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An Angel's Christmas Poem

I am a Soldier’s Angel, God chose me to take care
Of all our men and women, in a world that is not fair

I write them and send packages and pray for safe return
That is my job I’m proud to say, and how much I have learned

This Christmas will be different, most certainly for me
I'll be the Christmas Angel upon my Soldier’s Tree

[Read the rest here.]

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After you finish reading the poem, wouldn't it be a wonderful time to visit the Soldiers' Angels home page and find out how you can help?

Posted by Bill Faith on December 16, 2005 at 07:11 PM in Christmas, Poetry | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack

This is a re-post from last year; it's still excellent. Thank you Subsunk for reminding me about it (Do read his related post.)

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A SOLDIER'S CHRISTMAS

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
my daughter beside me, angelic in rest.

Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree, I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.

My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep
in perfect contentment, or so it would seem.
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t too near,
But I opened my eye when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn’t quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.

My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
and I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.

A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.

“What are you doing?” I asked without fear
“Come in this moment, it’s freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!”

For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts,
to the window that danced with a warm fire’s light
then he sighed and he said “Its really all right,
I’m out here by choice. I’m here every night”

“Its my duty to stand at the front of the line,
that separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I’m proud to stand here like my fathers before me.

My Gramps died at ‘Pearl on a day in December,”
then he sighed, “That’s a Christmas ‘Gram always remembers.”
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ‘Nam
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.

I’ve not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he’s sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red white and blue… an American flag.

“I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home,
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat,
I can carry the weight of killing another
or lay down my life with my sisters and brothers
who stand at the front against any and all,
to insure for all time that this flag will not fall.”

“So go back inside,” he said, “harbor no fright
Your family is waiting and I’ll be all right.”
“But isn’t there something I can do, at the least,
“Give you money,” I asked, “or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you’ve done,
For being away from your wife and your son.”

Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
“Just tell us you love us, and never forget
To fight for our rights back at home while we’re gone.
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.

For when we come home, either standing or dead,
to know you remember we fought and we bled
is payment enough, and with that we will trust.
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us.”

©Copyright December 07, 2000 by Michael Marks

Author’s Notes:

A Soldier's Christmas was the first in this series of patriotic writings, drafted on Pearl Harbor Day 2000 when in the wake of the 2000 Presidential Election our nation saw the right of US Armed Forces personnel openly questioned and debated. I felt it unconscionable that at the onset of the Christmas season, those serving to defend our nation would hear anything but our love and support. It is our challenge to stand for their rights at home while they stand for our lives and safety overseas. This poem went out and quickly spread around the world in emails, letters, magazines. I received letters from Marines in Bosnia, soldiers in Okinawa, from a submariner who xeroxed a copy for everyone on his sub. Moms wrote, dads, brothers and sisters. I have saved and cherish every letter and set out to continue writing throughout the year.

I was thinking about our servicemen overseas this Holiday Season and wrote the following in hope of bringing a small bit of Christmas cheer to active duty and veterans alike ... just a humble thanks and "God Bless." Please feel free to pass it along or post it as you see fit. Thank you.

Happy Holidays,
Michael Marks

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Sources: here and here.

Posted by Bill Faith on December 7, 2005 at 05:01 PM in Christmas, Michael_Marks, Poetry | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack

In my email from LTC Ottenhausen:

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Duty
by Nelson O. Ottenhausen, LTC, USA (Ret.)

            The young soldier, stationed on guard at a foreign, middle-eastern city street corner, sheltered himself from the biting, late evening wind by standing back against the lee side of a small, one story building.  Occasionally, he peered around it to view the large crowd that had gathered out front along the main street.  He didn’t know why the people were there, nor did he care.  After all, it wasn’t his country, and he felt it was none of his concern.  He had been in the Army for only six months, enlisting on the same day that he had turned eighteen, and had just arrived in country two weeks before.  He didn’t fully understand, nor did he speak the local language, but he did know a few words and phrases, just enough for him to occasionally sample some of the local food and beverages.

            The guard mount commander had instructed him to keep a watch on the crowd, and if they got rowdy and things appeared to be getting out of hand, he should immediately send his buddy stationed across the street for reinforcements at the military garrison, two blocks away.  As he looked over the restive crowd, he thought, It must be a protest for some radical cause or other.

            Occasionally, he thought about home, half a world away, and of a girl named Hannah, whom he planned to marry during his next leave.  Six more months and he would be a married man.  The thought made him smile.

            Suddenly, about a block up the street, the crowd sent up a loud roar, snatching the young soldier away from his marital daydream and back into reality.  He quickly stepped away from the building and scanned the area, noticing that many of the people were pointing towards a young woman in the middle of the street.  She came from out of the darkness and appeared to float head and shoulders above the crowd, gliding slowly towards where he stood.  He saw a bearded man about five steps ahead of the woman, as if he lead the way, pulling her along by some hidden force. 

            He thought, Perhaps the woman is sitting on a cart or some other device, but the soldier couldn’t tell because too many people blocked his view.  As the couple drew near, he could occasionally see as low as the woman’s waist through small gaps between the many bodies in front of him, and she appeared pregnant.

            As the shouting got louder, the young soldier became a little concerned for the couple’s safety and started to watch the crowd more closely.  At the same time, he tried to assess the crowd’s mood, but he couldn’t determine if it was good or bad because he couldn’t understand the language. 

            He quickly checked his weapons in case he might have to defend himself.  Then he turned his attention to a group of five rowdy young men standing nearby, ones that he had seen earlier in the evening drinking alcoholic beverages.  He watched them carefully to make sure they didn’t throw anything that might cause harm to the passing couple.  Soon, the man and woman passed directly in front of the young soldier and the five men, but instead of causing trouble, the drunken five began to cheer and wave their arms over their heads. 

            Noticing the cheers, the woman turned her head and looked directly at the five men for an instant, then her gaze shifted to the young soldier.  Although she smiled when she nodded her head at him, the soldier sensed a brief moment of deep pain and suffering in the woman’s eyes.  Fascinated by what he saw, he continued to stare at the woman, his eyes locked onto hers by some unknown power.  He couldn’t tear his gaze away.  Within an instant, he thought the woman’s face began to emit a subtle, warm and angelic glow.  A sudden feeling of inner peace and tranquility swept over him like a wave of water, a feeling he had never experienced before.  A moment later, the woman broke eye contact, then she and her male companion proceeded down the street through the crowd and disappeared into the darkness, heading toward one of the local inns. 

            Within minutes, the crowd became quiet and began to disperse.

            After a short while, the young soldier stood his night vigilance alone, the street empty in both directions.  He started to go back to the shelter of the building when he noticed three well-dressed men coming out of the darkness from the same direction as the bearded man and pregnant woman had come just moments before, heading directly towards him.  At that moment, he heard his commander’s voice behind him.  “Soldier, you’re relieved of your duty here.  Fall in.” 

            As he marched back to the barracks in formation with the rest of the sentinels assigned to his detail, the young soldier looked up at the clear dark sky, wondering if the traveling woman with the mournful eyes and peaceful smile had noticed the extremely bright star overhead.

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Posted by Bill Faith on December 5, 2005 at 03:22 AM in Christmas | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack