Why do we say "every day is Christmas"?

There's a saying in Christian circles:  "Every day is Christmas!"  Yes, all 356 days,every year.  These poems remind us why.  (They were among my late father's favorites.)




                                                 Three Gifts

                               I was given three gifts to open:   

                                      a manger
                                      a cross
                                      a tomb.
                        Each one had fleetingly held in its grasp
                                the Fruit of the Virgin's womb.

     I opened with first one and found it was filled:
          little Baby's first cry,
          a young mother's soft sigh,
          eager shuffling of shepherds around her;
               stable smells, bleat and bray,
               mixed with stray bits of hay,
               echoed murmurs of deep weary wonder...
                                But the manger held Him no longer.

                                       I opened the second one, finding it filled:

                                       bitter bite of the thorn 

                                                                       sound of flesh being torn,                          

     and the echo of nails being driven.

                            faith of soldier and thief,
                             a veil ripped, pitch-black grief,
                             and the plea that this sin be forgiven...
                                    But the cross held Him no longer.

               
    I opened the third gift and it, too, was filled:
         linen shroud laid aside,
         faint aroma of spice,
         stone unsealed; Death's Defeater rejoices!
                                         glory's fierce blinding light,
                                         radiant beings in white,  
                                         and the echo of clear angel voices...                                    

                                   But the tomb holds Him no longer!

Each gift has its place
in the mystery of Grace,
like footprints the Timeless One leaves us to trace,
sacred sequence unfolding Christ's passion for Man...
Peace secured, He now sits at his Father's right hand.
                                  
                                                                                                                                                                                                                          -Becky Rhon
                           ************************************

                          






Gift Exchange
                                                                                                     

                    Not big enough    
                    to wrest the ugly pins from Your wrists,
                    I wrapped my hands
                    around Your wounded feet
                    and clung to them,
                    with the despairing thought,
                    "There's nothing I can do
                     to validate Your pain."

                                            "Yes, my Child, there is.
                                             We'll have a gift exchange."

                               My heart heard Yours
                               but didn't understand.
                               I asked You to explain.

                                            You give to Me
                                            your sorrow, your sickness, your self, your sin;
                                            in return,
                                            I'll break the chains they hold you in."

                                My heart heard Yours
                                and struggled to understand,
                                to say,
                                "At what price, Lord?
                                How must You pay?

                                              "Open your hands."

                                         I pried my fingers
                                         from Your bleeding feet, and stared

                                         at the warm red-velvet agony
                                         that stained my hands, unspared.

                                As liquid Freedom
                                flowed into me from You,
                                my heart heard Yours
                                and understood...I knew!
                                              Your blood!
                                              Your wounds for my wounds,
                                              Your Life for my life...
                                                         Your blood...
                                                          no greater gift!
                                                          no greater Love!
                                                                                                        -Becky Rhon