‘Twas the Night Before…

’Twas the season of childhood, deep in the past,
Where the memories flicker, but the magic holds fast.
A house full of sisters, where we all understood,
That the world was quite small, and the world was quite good.

I remember the school days, the best of the year,
When textbooks were closed and the holidays near.
We’d trade math for movies, and glitter for glue,
Making crafts for our parents with nothing to do.
The parties, the dances, the themes and the art,
An electric excitement that pulled at the heart.

That feeling of hope, like a hand you can’t see,
Holding you close in a warm mystery.
That longing for something you can’t quite explain,
Like the joy of the snow minus all of the rain.

I remember the tree farm, the cold on our boots,
Dad choosing a pine that still kept all its roots.
He’d plant them outside when the season was done,
Until the yard filled up and we ran out of sun.
Then came the cut trees, all decorated bright,
A beacon of hope in the dead of the night.

I sat in the window of a sister’s bedroom,
Watching the snow like a swirl of white gloom.
Through the glass it looked violent, a storm in the sky,
But open the sash, and it whispered a sigh.
A “violent whisper,” a silence so deep,
Before the world woke from its innocent sleep.

---

But growing up happens, and the magic gets quiet,
Replaced by the noise of the world and its riot.
I spent many years trying to find that old spark,
Navigating the mazes alone in the dark.
I stumbled on obstacles, steep and severe,
And wondered if “Christmas” would happen this year.

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But I realized the magic isn’t something you find,
It’s something you build with your heart and your mind.
I found my own kindness, I found my own way,
I kept showing up through the hardest of days.
I overcame challenges I thought would break me,
And watered the roots of my own little tree.

Now the green felt calendar hangs on the door,
But I’m not just waiting and wishing for more.
I’m building the safety I felt as a kid,
Proud of the work and the things that I did.
The “echo” of childhood is finally clear,
It wasn’t the season… it was me all those years.

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The roots are all planted, the circle complete,
I built my own table and earned my own seat.
So I look back at the girl with the snow in her sight—
You were right to keep going.
Merry Christmas, and good night.

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Copyright © 2025 Kimberly Beth Thomas. All rights reserved.

Author’s Note:

This piece comes from memory and from the kind of Christmases that felt softer, smaller, and easier to believe in. Life looks different now, and the holidays don’t feel the way they used to, but the moments that shaped me are still there. I’m writing this from a place of looking back with clarity, not longing. If you’re here reading this, I hope it feels familiar enough to step into and gentle enough to stay with for a moment.