“Hurry, girls, come see what Santa left for you last night,” we heard Daddy call from the living room.

Wanda and I jumped out of bed and ran down the hall, squealing with laughter.

“Santa came, Santa came!” I held Wanda’s hand as we giggled.

I was five years old and Wanda was only three when we experienced our first memory of a Christmas morning with presents around a glistening Christmas tree. We stopped and starred at the tree. Never had we seen so beautiful a tree or so many magically wrapped gifts — all for us.

This was an article I wrote that was recently shared on Maureen Miller’s blog, Windows & Wallflowers. It was an honor to share this story about my siblings and me. I hope you enjoy just a little bit of my story. To read more, please check out my book, The Glider, available on Amazon.com.

“I remember vividly the day they took you away from me. It was the third time authorities removed us from a horrible situation and sent us to separate foster homes. As a five-year-old boy, I stood there feeling helpless as they loaded us in the cars and sped away down the long dirt road, never to return. Nighttime was the scariest for me. I cried myself to sleep many nights as I repeated your names in my mind, fearful I’d forget.” 

Arise Daily Devos