Recently, an unwanted cold snap blew in that tested every fiber of my being and made me wonder why in the world I was working in a barn full of cows in rural America.

I could have a nice, cushy day job somewhere in Kansas City, for heaven’s sake, where my family could be living in some suburban neighborhood or some cute place in the country with ONE acre and a dog. My worst fear on a below-zero day would be de-icing my windshield.

Hmm … that sounded really good to me.

Pushing the cart of straw down the aisle while bedding the cows, I thought of the day ahead of me: the dishes that needed to be washed, the caramel corn that needed to be made for a school Christmas party, the column that needed to be written and, of course, the uniform that needed to be washed for the basketball game. My day was just starting, and I was drowning already.

Thinking about Christmas made it even worse. The presents, the wrapping, the baking, the wondering how I would make a smaller budget stretch – it was enough to make a grown woman cry!
But as I bent over between the cows to shake out the straw, I heard on the radio Christmas greetings from some soldier in Iraq. I don’t know why it caught my attention, but as I stood up, I silently listened to one soldier after another tell their loved ones how much they missed them and to have a Merry Christmas.

With the “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” melody playing in the background, it was just too much for this tired farm wife, and I began to cry.

Call it what you want – PMS, the emotion of the holiday or just plain fatigue – through my tears I began to think about my selfishness and my blessings. Here I was having a full-blown pity party while wives, mothers, fathers and children were waking up that morning without their soldier – again.

They would spend Christmas wondering how their soldier was doing and communicating via the Internet, while I had the blessing of hugging and kissing my loved ones in person.

These soldiers would be on duty Dec. 25 in some foreign land, eating who knows what, sleeping who knows where, wondering if they would walk around the corner into an exploding bomb … while I would have the privilege of cooking a hot meal and putting it on a beautiful table, with a sparkling Christmas tree nearby and hands to hold while praying.

I had all my chicks under one roof: safe, unharmed, within reach to hold and within earshot to tell them I love them. I had sons to help in the barn if a crisis cropped up, a daughter to teach the Christmas cooking traditions, a husband who read the Christmas story out of the Bible and wonderful memories to enjoy with those who created them.

Did I have a new home, fantastically decorated with fresh greens, with a fire glowing in the corner? Nope. Did I have a new car waiting in the driveway or a new diamond ring under the tree? Nope.
Were my Christmas cards sent? My shopping done? Lots of beautiful gifts under the tree? A new velvet dress ready for all the Christmas parties? No, no, no – and no.

But I do have my family, and one more thing I need: A Savior who was born in a manger, who came and sacrificed Himself, just for me, so we could be together forever. I have Jesus; do you?

Readers with questions or comments for Melissa Hart may write to her in care of this publication.