‘Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone, in a one-bedroom house made of plaster & stone. I had come down the chimney with presents to give and to see just who in this home did live.

I looked all about a strange sight I did see, no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree. No stocking by the fire, just boots filled with sand, on the wall hung pictures of far distant lands.

With medals and badges, awards of all kind, a sober thought came through my mind. For this house was different, so dark and dreary, I knew I had found the home of a soldier, once I could see clearly.

I heard stories about them, I had to see more so I walked down the hall and pushed open the door. And there he lay sleeping silent alone, curled up on the floor in his one-bedroom home.

His face so gentle, his room in such disorder, not how I pictured a United States soldier. Was this the hero of whom I’d just read? Curled up in his poncho, a floor for his bed?

His head was clean-shaven, his weathered face tan, I soon understood this was more than a man. For I realized the families that I saw that night owed their lives to these men who were willing to fight.

Soon ‘round the world, the children would play, and grownups would celebrate on a bright Christmas day. They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year, because of soldiers like this one lying here.

I couldn’t help wonder how many lay alone on a cold Christmas Eve in a land far from home. Just the very thought brought a tear to my eye, I dropped to my knees and started to cry.

The soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice, “Santa don’t cry, this life is my choice; I fight for freedom, I don’t ask for more, my life is my God, my country, my Corps.”

With that he rolled over and drifted off into sleep, I couldn’t control it, I continued to weep. I watched him for hours, so silent and still, I noticed he shivered from the cold night’s chill.

So I took off my jacket, the one made of red, and I covered this Soldier from his toes to his head. And I put on his T-shirt of gray and black, with an eagle and an Army patch embroidered on back.

And although it barely fit me, I began to swell with pride, and for a shining moment, I was the United States Army deep inside. I didn’t want to leave him on that cold dark night, this guardian of honor so willing to fight.

Then the soldier rolled over, whispered with a voice so clean and pure, “Carry on Santa, it’s Christmas Day, all is secure.” One look at my watch, and I knew he was right, “Merry Christmas my friend, and to all a good night!”