I felt joy when I looked at my firstborn son.
We wrapped him in a blue blanket and took him home
through the Kansas snow.
I called him “Little Precious”
when a nurse brought him to me. Greg was
the first but three other children came after him,
each bringing its own beaming joy to my young heart;
their first smiles were reasons to be glad; their first blowing of spit bubbles
from tiny puckered lips made me laugh; they could sound like cars or airplane
engines accelerating for missions like those that took their daddy half way around
the world from us. I felt joy when he returned safely to us; exhilaration beyond
explanation when he winked his way back into the graces of the wee ones who had
forgotten him in those long months.
Love is joy and joy is love.
God is love and He is in all the joy I have known, causing my heart to refresh because
of past joyful times. Complete joy comes from weaving threads of laughter onto a
background of love-patched fabric in such a way that only the brightest colors show.
© 2013, Freeda Baker Nichols
I wish the whole wide world a Merry Christmas as I post this poem on Christmas Eve,
here in the USA. I’m happily looking forward to all my children being home this Christmas.