A Communist Christmas

As I watched my daughter’s tiny face inspect the mysterious box, I was overcome with the memories of Christmases past. How could an intangible recollection hold such a physical presence, wrapping me in a warm glow while simultaneously strangling me in an icy dread, especially on Christmas morning? Christmas morning. It wasn’t like any Christmas…

In God We Trust

I may as well have been standing before them stripped naked. That’s how exposed I felt. The soldiers had announced their arrival with a loud pounding on the front door of our home. A few days prior, my husband and I had begun the official paperwork requesting permission to leave the only country we had…