that is, keeping Christmas.

Are you willing to forget what you have done for other people, and to
remember what other people have done for you; to ignore what the world
owes you, and to think what you owe the world; to put your rights
in the background, and your duties in the middle distance, and your
chances to do a little more than your duty in the foreground; to see
that your fellow-men are just as real as you are, and try to look
behind their faces to their hearts, hungry for joy; to own that
probably the only good reason for your existence is not what you are
going to get out of life, but what you are going to give to life; to
close your book of complaints against the management of the universe,
and look around you for a place where you can sow a few seeds of
happiness--are you willing to do these things even for a day? Then you
can keep Christmas.

Are you willing to stoop down and consider the needs and the desires
of little children; to remember the weakness and loneliness of people
who are growing old; to stop asking how much your friends love you,
and ask yourself whether you love them enough; to bear in mind the
things that other people have to bear on their hearts; to try to
understand what those who live in the same house with you really
want, without waiting for them to tell you; to trim your lamp so that
it will give more light and less smoke, and to carry it in front
so that your shadow will fall behind you; to make a grave for your
ugly thoughts, and a garden for your kindly feelings, with the gate
open--are you willing to do these things even for a day? Then you can
keep Christmas.

Are you willing to believe that love is the strongest thing in