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Saturday, December 24, 2016

THIS IS WHAT IS MEANS TO BE AN AMERICAN

This is the true meaning of Christmas and this is a true story about real Americans. 

In Lancaster, PA, volunteers from the Church World Service, an international non-profit service that takes in Syrian refugees, go shopping and provide newly arrived refugee families with a home, food, furniture, clothing, toys for children, basic kitchen supplies, and then a job. 

In this NY Times story, volunteers shop at Walmart to supply a family with last minute necessities. Another volunteer drops off a full dinner for a family of refugees so that when they come to their new home, they will have a home cooked meal waiting. Pajamas and soccer balls sit on twin beds in childrens rooms covered with local sports teams blankets and sheets. A sign in Arabic says "welcome home". 

This is what is means to be an American. A country of immigrants who understand what it means to be a stranger in a strange land. For unless you are a native american, all of us are children of immigrants. 

This is what the meaning of Christmas is. To help a neighbor, a brother, a sister, people you don't know, united only by the belief we all share this small blue planet, we all breathe the same air, we all want peace and health and happiness for our family and opportunities for our children.  

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.
Luke 2:11. 


Happy Christmas (which is the proper greeting in our England) 

and Happy Hannukah. 



2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Merry Christmas and Happy Chanukah.

Does anyone know who is taking over for Cardone Ely?

Anonymous said...

My Best Opening Never Given. The trial was scheduled to start Dec. 19 but client accepted a plea to time served. Crime-burglary of an occupied dwelling- occurred in the pre-dawn hours of Dec. 26. Client, a PPRP and HO, was facing a 30 year min/man if found guilty.

Twas the day after Christmas
And in the dark before dawn
A prowler was stirring
In Elliot's back lawn.

The stockings were hung
By the chimney with care
Never imaging that after Santa
A prowler would appear.

Their baby was nestled
All snug in her bed
While visions of sugar plums
Danced in her head.

When out on the lawn
There arose a small clatter
Angela looked out the window
To see what was the matter.

When what to her wondering eyes did appear
But a small thin prowler
Messing with things
She held dear.

A red gas can was touched
A small ladder was moved
That Juan was the culprit
Will not be proved.

The moon on the breast
Of the freshly cut lawn
Shed no light on the man
Since it was still before dawn.

The prowler spoke not a word
And disappeared in a flash
But not before Elliot
Tossed the ladder through glass.

Sit back and listen
Mere speculation will be abound
Concrete evidence of guilt
Cannot be found.


The reasonable doubt
You can count endlessly:
No fingerprints
No DNA
No pictures of a broken car window to see.

So sit back and watch
As they try desperately
To pin this on Juan
But in the end you'll return
A verdict of NOT guilty.