A Missionary Christmas Poem

This year for Christmas I skipped the sales after Thanksgiving
The thrill just wasn't there.
No pictures taken with Santa Claus,
my decorating has no flair.
His presents are shoes, shirts, and ties, two suits and socks--no fun.
I've bought him all white clothes because...
This year I'm giving Christ my son.

I've spent more time in the temple,
Felt strength come from His words.
I've reread November's Ensign, and my testimony stirred.
Our family prays more frequently.
My tears are quick to run.
Abraham seems closer because,
This year I'm giving Christ my son.

I wonder how those Lamanite mothers gave their sons to war.
Or how the Pioneers chose Zion - their sacrifice was so much more.
My loss will be his presence, I'll miss his smile a ton.
For two years we will pray for him.
I'm giving Christ my son.

I stare at his face when he's not looking.
I memorize his eyes, their shine.
He's always hungered for the part of him that makes his soul divine.
The stories and lessons he always heard.
His choice and mine are one.
I'll put my faith in God's hand.
This year, I'm giving Him my son.

Past gifts have lost their glitter,
I think I finally understand.
Christ's birth should be celebrated by giving Him a hand.
It's because I know Christ lives and reigns,
That all his packing is done.
My gift has taken years to make.
This year...I'm giving Christ my son.