There is such quiet pleasure
in wrapping gifts,
each selected with love
for one's dear ones.
But I always remember
those across the world
who live with empty bowls,
without gifts,
often without their loved ones.
There was a little boy
in a village on the plains of Africa
who came home one Christmas Day
to find his mother cooking
the everyday porridge with vegetables,
that they ate daily.
He started to cry, because on Christmas Day
everyone in the village ate rice.
She was supposed to be cooking rice.
But his father had died.
There was no rice.
His mother's heart must have twisted
at the sight of his tears.
She must have wanted
to shower him with rice
and with every other good thing.
Now that little boy is a tall young man.
He is carrying home
to his mother in the village
a sack of rice,
and his good, shining heart.
There will be laughter,
and tears of joy,
and gratitude, and humanity.
There will be feasting and
the telling of stories.
And the knowledge
of that small happiness
will sit in my heart
all through the holidays,
through the unwrapping
of the gifts,
and the sharing of
the Christmas meal.
It will be the greatest gift
that I receive
this Christmas.
