There are always plenty of presents underneath my Christmas tree. But this year I ask the Lord for more than earthly glee. Dear Lord I ask you to package the strength to endure, the end of the year is near, weeks remaining, four. Keep me from wanting to scream after every horrible dream, from needing to cry because you had to die, from wanting to hide since I lost my pride. Santa is way out of his league, my dear. I need the blessing of my Jesus to make it through this year.