I enter the home of poverty & cause pale-faced children to open wide their eyes in wonder.
I cause the aged to remember their youth... & to laugh
I cause eager feet to climb dark stairways with filled baskets, leaving behind hearts amazed at the goodness of the world
I cause the prodigal to pause & send, to an anxious family, some little token of love
I enter dark prison cells, causing scarred manhood to remember what might have been & pointing to better days ahead
I enter the homes of pain, & there, lips that are too weak to speak simply tremble in silence, eloquent gratitude
In a thousand ways, I cause this weary old world to look up into the face of God, & for a few moments, forget everything that is small & wretched.
You see, I am the Christmas Spirit
I wish we could put up some of the Christmas spirt in jars & open a jar of it every month.