A Cup of Christmas Punch

The house was crowded. Christmas music softly bounced off the walls. The outside lights glowed softly in through the window blinds. The smell of casseroles and all manner of baked goods drifted through the air. Children chased each other around adult feet and between legs pushing their way through the packed halls. Cousins, brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews all giggled with laughter and small shouts. They were anxious to tear the paper off of any box with their name on it, but it was not yet time to do so. Adults filled the kitchen, laughing too but with bigger, longer laughs that filled the home. They sat close to the food so they could continue to snack on the finger foods and refill their cups with punch even though they had already eaten and knew full well they were stuffed. Jokes were made but only listened to by some. Several different conversations all echoed over one another. Some sat, and some stood. The teenagers awkwardly sat in their own corner. They felt as though they didn’t belong; too old to run and yell, but still intimidated by adult conversation. They would be content to be left to their own devices and drink their punch, so long as they could keep their back to the wall. The commotion was nearly overwhelming. Each member of the family had his or her own agenda. Things to do. People to great. Traditions to upkeep. 
Except for little Timmy. He sat with his legs crossed in front of the tree. The lights twinkled and blinked and reflected off the ornaments. He had seen quite a few Christmas trees in his short span of life thus far, but never like this. He had herd many Christmas songs in his five years, but they never had sounded so sweet. He looked over his shoulder and saw his family, people he knew and loved. He had never watched them like this before, and for that, he was sorry. Each face had a story. And each voice had a laugh. Not one was without flaw, but Timmy loved them. Each and every one. He would even die for any one of them. Because he loved them. No other reason. He turned and adjusted his posture, clasped his hands, and bowed his head. He prayed for each of them. That God would protect them and that he would help them to live and love. To do the right thing everyday. He thanked God for putting him in this family above all others. And as Timmy prayed, a tear fell on his folded hands. Amen. He smiled a thankful smile and looked back up at the tree.
“Hey Timmy?” Hey turned around to see Grandpa smiling there with two cups of punch, one in each hand. “Do you want some punch?” Punch? That sounded good. He reached out to accept the offer. “Thanks Grandpa,” he said with another thankful smile. Grandpa slowly sat down on the floor with Timmy. “Merry Christmas, Timmy.” “Merry Christmas, Grandpa. I love you.” “I love you too, Timmy,” he said returning the smile with one of his own. They both sat there together and watched the tree twinkle and blink while sipping their punch.



Merry Christmas, Guys. Don’t take it for granted.