MY CHRISTMAS SICKNESS

Tis the season to celebrate Jesus' birth.
My friends all surround me in their seasonal mirth.
Christians are preparing all over the earth,
And I just can't get with it, for all that I'm worth.

The people are gathering, their parties to enjoy,
They expect all the trimmings and gifts to employ.
But I sit back and moan, a regular killjoy,
And pout like an ornery, misguided schoolboy.

If I meet you at the market my hand I'll extend.
If you bring up the season I'll try to pretend.
For no disrespect or bad news I intend.
I'm afraid all my bad thoughts I'll have to defend.

So I sit back and think on the Christmas aspect,
And I know that I desparately try to connect
To this ongoing notion to which I object.
It's the idea of Santa Claus! And I have no respect!

I watch as the children all dance for joy.
I see in the church the sweet-sounding choirboy.
But the Santas and their reindeer I just want to destroy!
I've an attitude problem with which I'm annoyed.

This Scrooge-like behavior I'll just have to amend.
Up from this pit of mud I must ascend.
And even the Santa's I'll try to befriend!
Oh my. Does this restoration truly have no end?

I'll sing like an angel, my flaws to correct.
They'll look at me strangely, but they'll never suspect
That I once was a grouchy old gal, and deflect
All the others who growl and show disrespect.

And once I've accomplished this drastic makeover,
I'll let the love of God in my life really take over.
And then I believe that I'll finally discover
That love that He gives me will really spillover.

So, Santas, I'm ready to meet face to face.
Between you and Jesus you'll find there's no race.
I've banished resentment; there's simply no trace.
I've been healed of this malady, and it's all by God's Grace.