{"id":4653,"date":"2015-12-24T07:31:56","date_gmt":"2015-12-24T14:31:56","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/?p=4653"},"modified":"2015-12-24T07:31:56","modified_gmt":"2015-12-24T14:31:56","slug":"santas-secret-wish","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/santas-secret-wish\/","title":{"rendered":"Santa’s Secret Wish"},"content":{"rendered":"

It’s the time of year when gifts are exchanged. Bell ringers thank strangers as they put coins in red kettles. Stores beckon shoppers promising warmth and great sales. Friends gather, sip good cheer. And if you’re lucky, you’ll receive a holiday card or two.<\/p>\n

It’s also the time of year for solicitations . . .\u00a0 in the mail, on the internet, over the phone. . . “Our need is great. Won’t you give?”<\/p>\n

We can’t possibly share our money with everyone who asks. But we can share kindness, broad smiles and stories that invite us to pause, and reflect the meaning of the season.<\/p>\n

‘Twas the night before Christmas here and there, someone is reading, reflecting and nodding.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Santa’s Secret Wish by Betty Werth<\/h4>\n

\"Santa<\/a>On Christmas Eve, a young boy with light in his eyes
\nLooked deep into Santa’s, to Santa’s surprise.
\nAnd said as he nestled on Santa’s broad knee,
\n“I want your secret. Please tell it to me.”<\/p>\n

He leaned up and whispered in Santa’s good ear.
\n“How do you do it, year after year?
\nI want to know how, as you travel about,
\nGiving gifts here and there, you never run out.<\/p>\n

How is it, Dear Santa, that in your pack of toys
\nYou have plenty for all of the world’s girls and boys?
\nStays so full, never empties, as you make your way<\/p>\n

From rooftop to rooftop, to homes large and small,
\nFrom nation to nation, reaching them all?”
\nAnd Santa smiled kindly and said to the boy,
\n“Don’t ask me hard questions. Don’t you want a toy?”<\/p>\n

But the child shook his head, and Santa could see
\nThat he needed the answer. “Now listen to me,”
\nHe told the small boy with the light in his eyes,
\n“My secret will make you both sadder and wise.<\/p>\n

The truth is that my sack is magic. Inside
\nIt holds millions of toys for my Christmas Eve ride.
\nBut although I do visit each girl and each boy
\nI don’t always leave them a gaily wrapped toy.<\/p>\n

Some homes are too hungry, some homes are too sad,
\nSome homes are desperate, some homes are bad.
\nSome homes are broken, and children there grieve.
\nThose homes I do visit, but what should I leave?<\/p>\n

My sleigh is filled with the happiest stuff,
\nBut for homes where despair lives, toys aren’t enough.
\nSo I tiptoe in, kissing each girl and each boy,
\nAnd I pray with them that they’ll be given the joy<\/p>\n

Of the spirit of Christmas, the spirit that lives
\nIn the heart of the dear child who gets not, but gives.
\nIf only God hears me and answers my prayer,
\nWhen I visit them next year, what I will find there<\/p>\n

Are homes filled with peace, and with giving, and love
\nAnd boys and girls gifted with light from above.
\nIt’s a very hard task, my smart little brother,
\nTo give toys to some, and to give prayers to others.<\/p>\n

But the prayers are the best gifts, the best gifts indeed,
\nFor God has a way of meeting each need.
\nThat’s part of the answer. The rest, my dear youth,
\nIs that my sack is magic. And that is the truth.<\/p>\n

In my sack I carry on Christmas Eve day
\nMore love than a Santa could e`er give away.
\nThe sack never empties of love, or of joys
\n`Cause inside it are prayers, faith and hope. Not just toys.<\/p>\n

The more that I give, the fuller it seems,
\nBecause giving is my way of fulfilling dreams.
\nAnd do you know something? You’ve got a sack, too.
\nIt’s as magic as mine, and it’s inside of you.<\/p>\n

It never gets empty, it’s full from the start.
\nIt’s the center of lights, and of love. It’s your heart.
\nAnd if on this Christmas you want to help me,
\nDon’t be so concerned with the gifts `neath your tree.<\/p>\n

Open that sack called your heart, and then share
\nYour joy and your friendship, your wealth and your care.”<\/p>\n

The light in the small boy’s eyes was glowing.
\n“Thanks for the secret. I’ve got to be going.”
\n“Wait, little boy,” said Saint Nick, “Please don’t go.
\nWill you share? Will you help? Will you use what you know?”
\nAnd just for a moment the small boy stood still,
\nTouched his heart with his hand and whispered,<\/p>\n

“I will.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It’s the time of year when gifts are exchanged. Bell ringers thank strangers as they put coins in red kettles. Stores beckon shoppers promising warmth and great sales. Friends gather, sip good cheer. And if you’re lucky, you’ll receive a holiday card or two. It’s also the time of year for solicitations . . .\u00a0 […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"sfsi_plus_gutenberg_text_before_share":"","sfsi_plus_gutenberg_show_text_before_share":"","sfsi_plus_gutenberg_icon_type":"","sfsi_plus_gutenberg_icon_alignemt":"","sfsi_plus_gutenburg_max_per_row":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[104],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4653","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-guest-bloggers"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p43Dj8-1d3","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4653","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4653"}],"version-history":[{"count":13,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4653\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4691,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4653\/revisions\/4691"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4653"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4653"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4653"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}