I like today’s John Kass column, even if I have religious issues:
Chicago Tribune
December 24, 2005Tonight, may this message shine bright
by John KassFor all the children who should be loved always, but especially on this wondrous night, with our arms around them and a long good-night kiss on the temple, a kiss more precious than anything wrapped in a box.
And for all the parents who linger in the doorways of the bedrooms, watching the sleeping shapes.
For all the babies who aren’t loved, and are forgotten, and who may grow up with a hard crust around their hearts because someone neglected to plant those kisses and give those hugs.
For those who’ve lost their children, or are losing them and can’t find strength. For the children who have lost or are losing their moms and dads.
And for the crazy uncles who will drink too much tonight and tell wacky jokes and dance in the kitchen, then put on the red suit and sneak back inside to surprise the kids.
For the wise aunts who will make sure the coffee is strong so the crazy uncles sober up.
For the men and women of all the choirs who’ve been practicing for months, gathering on weeknights after work in empty churches, so that on this night they may carry us with their harmonies.
For their voices that gently invite us to humble ourselves, so that we may ask for help to begin scraping away any bitterness that has taken root over the year.
And for the friends and relatives, uncles and aunts and cousins and grandparents, who don’t wait for tonight to begin building the family. All year they’ve been building it, with their concern and love.
They’re there on a Thursday afternoon in June, on a cool morning in November, when they drop by just to see if you’re OK. Sometimes they call first. Sometimes they don’t, and simply show up when you need them.
So this night is for them, and tomorrow too, because they’re always ready. They’re family, whether by friendship or by blood, they’re family by the acts of family.
For those who are far away and who can’t come home. And those who’ve been distant and wonder if they’re still welcome. The door is always open. Just reach for it and see.
For those who keep their sense of humor. For those who are patient and kind, and who count to 10 when they’re angry, and can forgive.
And for those who’ve made bad choices and know it, and hope to repair what’s been broken. Tonight is the best night to begin. Tonight is the night that is all about hope.
For the old guys at the end of the bar with their smokes, nursing their beer, half-watching the TV, grateful that there is a warm place for them to be, a place with people, even strangers, around them.
For the old women alone in their rooms, awake in their beds, remembering these nights past and the laughter of children, nights when it wasn’t so still, when there was too much to do and hungry guests to feed.
For the person at work who laughs too hard at bad jokes and is eager to help, yet is stepped over and can’t understand why.
For the shy ones at work who would stun you with their grace and talent if you ever gave them half the chance.
For all the people working on the night shift tonight.
For the families of police officers, firefighters and paramedics working tonight, and the cops, firefighters and paramedics themselves. They’re the ones who run into danger to help us.
For everyone in hospitals praying for dignity and relief, the doctors who take special care of them on this night and hold their hands, the nurses who enter the room later and pull up a chair, listening to quiet confessions.
And for the clergy who struggle with belief, yet find it again and are renewed.
For all the sailors on ships, especially sailors on watch on the bridge, staring out into cold, black water, remembering brightly lit rooms.
For all the men and women of the U.S. armed forces who protect us with their bodies, and for the members of the intelligence services and the foreign service who are overseas and at risk always.
For their families who wait for them.
And for the dead, for those who mourn them.
For our nation, and for our leaders of all political parties and their families.
And for all of you whom I’ve offended with thoughtless, clumsy and hasty words and strident tone on bad days.
For those of you who’ve allowed me to visit four mornings every week, and those who’ve written or called. I can’t adequately express my thanks. But please let me say thank you, again.
And for everyone who has kept hold of what is important:
It is a message, brought to us by that perfect child born in the manger in Bethlehem so very long ago.
It is all about love.
And I hope it comes to you and comforts you and remains.
From my wife and our sons, from my mother and brothers and their wives and children, from all of us to you and yours:
Merry Christmas.
