The Star – A soldier’s poem to his family

nativity scene with star

When I look out on this desert here

Lives torn apart by war and hate

I remember a story I was taught in Sunday School

About this baby Jesus who was really cool

Wise men travelling from miles afar

Were led by a bright shining star

To an infant laying in a lowly cattle shed

A bunch of hay for his bed

Shepherds were watching their flocks by night

When they saw the most awesome sight

An angel appeared before them who said have no fear

I bring you news of great joy

To you this day will be born the King of Israel

A saviour, Jesus your Immanuel

Kids, that means God is with us

That no matter what you do if you say to God you’re really sorry

With Him that means end of story

Because you see, Bobby, Darrin and Sue

God really does love you

He sent the best gift He could give

That a world filled with hate and fear

Would feel God’s love really near

While He lived upon this earth

He told many how they could have new birth

If they would say, Lord, I feel so bad for all I’ve done

Could you please give me the gift of Jesus your Son?

I’m tired of my life filled with sin

I want You to dwell within

He died for me, for your mother and all of you

For all the bad things we do

Bobbie, Darrin and Sue, I want you to know how much I love you

Now, you be good for your Mom

Do your school work, chores

Don’t forget to say your prayers

Daddy will soon be there

Darling, I long to feel your touch

I miss you,  oh so much!

What would I do without you in my life?

How did I get so blessed that you became my wife?

Well, darling, Bobby, Darrin and Sue

I must go now

Your father’s hungry and has to get some chow

Don’t forget the story I told you about baby Jesus

And tell it to your friends

About how the best of gifts God sends

Pray that one day all the hate in this world would end

Everyone would treat each one equally as brother, sister, friend

We would all put down the weapons of war

And fighting would be no more

This poem sits upon a bookshelf in a frame with Private First Class John Smith’s photo. There is a small red cross below the father’s picture that his wife put as an image to go with the poem. Just as the father is finished writing it it he is killed by ISIS gunfire. The poem is picked up by one of his buddies as he takes it from where it is laying beside him with blood spattered on it. It is the last in a collection of poems for Prayers and Poems from the Garden.

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