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Christmas in a POW Camp

by Sgt. Robert Grimes


Silvery moonbeams infiltrate the boarded windows of my prison room, Falling gently across the faces of my slumbering comrades, Like ghostly fingers of an Omnipresent God splashing His love and benediction across the barren walls and into each sad and hurting heart.

The freshly fallen snow lies softly on the ground Reflecting the watch tower lights, and muffling the distant sound of Russian guns.

The night is dark; the cold intense And interspersed between the cannon fire, The Soundless silence is profound.

On such a night as this, O God, Thy Almighty Word leapt down From heaven’s height and make Himself, for us, a Royal Pawn. Tonight we celebrating His wondrous birth, (Though little celebrating there will be.)

I sit and shiver in my dismal room and think about my family-worlds away, find how I miss not being there tonight.

I think about a stable cold and damp where long ago a Mother birthed her Son, Then suddenly I feel a flood of warmth, a glow that emanates from deep within, And I am filled with love and heavenly peace, the love and peace that only He can give.

I make my way back to my lonely bed and realize that Christmas is not “things”, Not tinsel, toys or trinkets we can buy, it is spirit and an attitude of love.

His Love became the primal stone cast into the sea of human love and we are ripples going outward endlessly.

Nor all the tyrant’s hate and deeds of war can stop this gentle force, nor take away or change what I believe. Though I have naught–yet I have all, His Love this Christmas Eve.

Sgt. Robert Grimes