Monday, December 12, 2011

A letter from a friend

My children,

Many years ago, in your timeline, I came to Earth on what you call Christmas Day.

Like you, my mom gave birth to me, and my first breaths were taken in a stable with the smell of hay and animals filling my small nose. Right away, some people knew who I was and came to bow at my feet, but also right away, some people didn’t like me.

I always knew who I was. Even when I was a youngster, I wanted to teach people all that I knew about the other part of me, my father.

Thankfully, some of you still remember me on my birthday. On the calendar in the United States, you mark lots of significant birthdays — Martin Luther King Jr., George Washington. On my day, it says Christmas, but not everyone realizes that it’s my day.

A lot of people think that the day is all about presents. I got presents when I was born, and I think it’s great that you want to honor each other with gifts like that. However, it hurts when people don’t notice the little nativity scene remembering me in the background.

Even on Facebook, you’re reminded of each others’ birthdays. You might feel bad when you don’t get a text message or a call from a friend to say ‘Happy Birthday,’ because that means that they forgot about you on the one day a year you are honored.

I want you to honor me every day of the year. However, I really want you to remember me on one of the days that was created just for me.

I don’t need an invitation to the parties that you are having, and I don’t need a Christmas gift with my name on it under the tree. I don’t need you to write out a place card and put out a table setting for me at the dinner table.

I am already there at all those times.

However, as I stand by and watch you celebrate and have fun on a day off of work and school, please don’t ignore me. Please don’t banish me to the corner or banish me to a church. Invite me in, into your hearts and your minds. Tell me ‘Happy Birthday.’

I’m always here for you. Remember me.


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