in the days of my youth -
I loved, was loved, and lived
in the spring - in the sun - in the truth.
All was new and exciting to me -
every Christmas was crisp and clear.
The joy of the Season was plain to see.
It was the beginning and end of each year.
The truth was all around me,
for it emanated from my mother…
my family, friends, and Sunday school
teacher as told them by another.
There was Santa and there was Jesus
as I awoke on Christmas morn.
Santa brought me presents.
Jesus was virginally born.
He brought to me salvation
it was told to me in my youth,
but I only “saw” Christmas presents…
and then was told the truth.
That began a new year in my life,
as had it done seven times before,
but this seemed different somehow
no magic - no mystery. It tore
my heart into to think that
all my life had been a lie.
There was no jolly Christmas elf,
nor was there a Savior to die.
Or so my broken heart did say,
while all others still played along.
I went to church and Sunday school
and even sang their songs.
How can you steal the magic
of the Christmas elf,
without damaging the miracle
of Christmas Day itself?
As I grew, I grew apart
from all those who played the game.
I, instead, worshipped truth
unlike the intellectually lame.
They were blinded by the light, you see
which is like being in the dark
for when you’re on a journey, my friend
your vision is where you start.
For if you head off in the wrong direction
and never realize your mistake
your eyes may gaze upon the goal
but your labor’s false - your mission’s fake.
I watched the world march away
as I struggled for the peak.
They ridiculed my “wayward” way
as they marched to different beats.
And then one day I found myself
alone and cold and tired
the magic of my youth was gone
as was my heart’s desire.
I looked to Heaven through teary eyes
and struggled hard to breathe.
I wailed at God in that expanse,
“Just fix her and I’ll believe!”
How little I knew what I had done
or how powerful He could be
or that He would fix my wife
by simply fixing me.
So when a problem comes down on me
as cold as rain in December
I think back to the night…
I wailed at God and remember
that though my problem, to me, seems big
for God, it’s a simple thing,
for somewhere behind December rain
God has for me a spring.