Thank God For Christmas

Thank God For Christmas

By Paul McCann

So war came just before Christmas and they were told to leave their homes with only what they could carry . The town they had loved and lived in for so long  and was going to be invaded by foreign troops so they had to run quickly before they arrived . Some of the men folk stayed behind to defend their town  with wooden sticks against tanks and guns .  A foolish but very brave attempt to drive out the invading army however only one or two survived when the invasion was over . The town that once boasted tall buildings and tenement flats had been flatten , homes and schools , shops and factories that were filled with books , and furniture’s , provisions and products now just empty shells .

These who had left , were lucky to still be alive but they had little to hope for . as the war continued all over the country .

Many roads had long lines of refugees walking to find shelter in the camps where they could find water and food and medical help .

The roads were littered with empty tank shells and  dead bodies here and there . At times aircraft overhead dropped bombs nearby on bridges that were chosen to be destroyed . Somewhere , scattered all around the country and in other countries there were peacemakers pleading for the invasion to stop and the war to end .

It was Christmas Eve as a large group of refugees were approaching the camp . They were hungry and exhausted , traumatised and at unable to go any further . The doctors and nurses immediately went to assess the babies and injured . After everyone was fed and cleaned , some of the clergy their called to speak with the refuges and prayers were said for healing .

So many stories were being told of husbands and brothers who were lost and stories about their journey to the refugee camp . As the refugees were allocated a tent where they could to stay , news of ceasefire for Christmas arrived which brought some hope to everyone .

On a Christmas Eve long the war was being fought, as women and little children lay down to sleep in the refugee camp. 

Somehow , somewhere , a little miracle was happening . A hint of mercy , a light of hope , a reconciliation  had begun on the battlefields as both sides put down their weapons and peace had been sought to stop the war , if only for christmas , but maybe even permanently .

In the refugee camp a young child’s voice was heard singing , silent night , soon other people joined in until a choir of refugees were singing together 

It brought hope and peace for all who were there  . For a while the war was over and on the battlefields the spiders also heard the call and reached out to their enemy with thoughts of peace and love .

What a beautiful night in was there where fear chose not to exist and troops laid down their weapons and there was no more enemy .There was no more war .

The peace of Christmas had come came down to earth for a while and in the hearts of men , women and children they all said ,thank God for Christmas .

Everyone started to  share stories and they smiled as the remembered the Christmas  child . The miracle of Christmas had brought a light in the darkness and the hope of a lasting peace . Too many people had been killed  and too many guns of war had been  fired  and too much blood had been split . It was just one day now to Christmas and peace talks had begun.
The thought of Christmas in a refugee camp wasn’t fun for anyone but when they heard the news about peace and a ceasefire there was rejoicing and the  children embraced each other and their mothers embraced one another and love was shared every where .. The thought that life could return to normal again was the greatest Christmas gift anyone would receive..

An end to hostility and for all those dug in trenches and in tanks and planes they also wanted the same thing , Some troops had already gone  AWOL and it was no surprise if they would never return to the battlefields . On Christmas day white doves were set free into the sky and people prayred for a lasting peace .

Thank God for Christmas .

 .

By Paul McCann
The End