It is time to leave.

Not to Afghanistan,

Not to Iraq,

Not to South Korea

or Vietnam

or the Normandy Coast.

Death will be not proud.

I will dress in my browns,

infantry boots shined

and winter proofed.

The packages will come

over hill and over dale.

The chocolate colored

transport…wishing it was

a half track to keep me on track.

What started with a humble infant

has become an infantile rush

of pepper spray and crawling

under gates of splendor

to cradle a doll with no soul.

The Christmas spirit

has become a Currahee  hike

with a full pack on.

My band of brothers

brown down and down and down.

This begins another “peak season” at UPS where I deliver for the fat man with the deep contagious laugh.  The season very nearly kills me every year.  Sure physically it is hard but my soul gets delivered right along with the gifts.  The battle really is to keep the Child in view.  The mystery and miracle of the Greatest Delivery in all history from one far greater than Santa has to remain intact in the end.  I pray that we all might cradle the Child and what the Child represents.  Those who have given the sacrifice of their lives for freedom are far greater than my miniscule efforts for which I earn a living.  So when I get weary I will think of those (Jesus first and then many who have lost life and limb for the cause of freedom)who fought far greater battles.