Merry Christmas, From the Dog Years' Someone is going to die Saturday. A baby will be beat with a belt. Someone will steal a check from a old man's mailbox. Someone will use the word, "nigger". Or say that they wished that Bush would just drop a bomb on Iraq, or the whole desert, and just get it over with. A mom is going to keep her cancer from her kids this Saturday. She'll sit with her hands on her lap during dinner and smile when it's mentioned that this meal is the best one ever. Someone will drink for the first time in ten years this Saturday. His family will look the other way when he steps out to the garage for the sixth and seventh and eighth and ninth time. He'll have a fever that night. And want to die. But, someone will keep hope close on Saturday. Someone will look past all the evil and cruelty and see something better. They'll see possiblity, see a chance, however small. Someone will remember that, ultimately, we aren't here for ourselves. We are here to make this world better, to make our fellow man better, and that this will, in turn, make us better. This Saturday, someone will pray that all the bad will cease. Someone will tell God that they can't bear anymore. They'll ask for it to end. Somewhere else, someone will ask for someone to lift up, ask for a load to bear. Remember to lift with your legs, and not your back.