Home For Christmas

I finished arranging the last of the ornaments on the Christmas tree. I pressed the switch and the bright red, green and blue lights lit the room, and the star topper sparkled.

The manger was arranged with Mary and Joseph beside the baby Jesus and the wise men holding their gifts.

My children were getting the milk and cookies ready for Santa Claus before going to bed and awakening to presents and my laughter, even though Hal wasn’t home.

I sat on the large sofa and sipped my hot cocoa when the doorbell rang.

My Hal, home from the war.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Sensitive Weather

It was the eve of the Little League finals. Bobby looked out his window and cursed the gathering storm clouds. He desperately wanted to pitch in tomorrow's championship.

The clouds, as all the wise men know, are temperamental. They especially don't take to being ordered about, by God or anyone else. Certainly not by thirteen-year-old boys.

When Bobby woke up the next morning, the clouds were no longer in the sky. They were stuffed into his bedroom. They chased him about for the rest of the week until he finally apologized.

"Next time, don't be so mean," the clouds insisted.