’Twas the Night Before Christmas… and the Door Didn’t Stay Locked

Most people picture Christmas as safe by default.

Doors get locked. Lights go off. Kids fall asleep. The house goes quiet. There is a subtle assumption that nothing bad is going to happen tonight, because it is Christmas, because it is late, because it feels like a night the world should leave alone.

But responsibility does not take the night off.

If you own a firearm for home defense, you already understand this. Not in a dramatic way. In a practical one. You lock the door not because you expect trouble, but because preparation is part of adulthood. You keep a firearm not because you want conflict, but because some decisions cannot be outsourced when seconds matter.

That quiet understanding rarely gets talked about. It does not show up in holiday cards or movies. But it is there, in homes where preparation is handled calmly and without ceremony.

That is what this poem is about.

’Twas the night before Christmas, the house settled down,
Lights low in the hallway, no stir, not a sound.
The kids were asleep, doors closed up tight,
The kind of deep quiet that only comes at night.

The locks had been checked, the alarm set just right,
Not from panic or fear, just a habit of life.
In the dark of the bedroom, close but concealed,
Sat a tool meant for one thing, protection made real.

A Glock by the bedside, simple and plain,
No polish, no drama, no flair to explain.
Chosen for function when seconds run thin,
When the night goes wrong before help can come in.

Down the hall, secured and kept out of sight,
An AR-15 waited through most every night.
Not staged for a fight, not thirsting for sound,
But there if a door ever came crashing down.

No movies replayed. No hero in mind.
No wish for a test of that serious kind.
Just the quiet resolve every parent understands,
That safety sometimes rests in capable hands.

Home defense is not anger, nor standing your ground.
It is judgment made fast when no help is around.
A door forced too hard. A shape in the dark.
A moment where instinct must follow its mark.

The plan was rehearsed, though never out loud.
Call when you can. Stay aware. Stay calm.
Strong enough to wait if waiting is clear,
Ready to act only when danger is near.

So the night moved along, uneventful and still,
The best kind of night, and always the will.
For most mornings should come with coffee and light,
Not stories that start with a noise in the night.

And that is the truth, plainspoken and fair,
About guns and protection and being prepared.
The goal is not action, or proving one might,
But keeping the family asleep through the night.

Most nights should end like this one did. Quiet. Uneventful. Forgettable.

But owning a firearm means understanding what happens if a night does not go that way. It means knowing the law before you ever need it. It means understanding not just what you are allowed to do, but what happens after a defensive decision is made.

That is why I wrote Arizona Guide for Gun Owners.

It is not about tactics or bravado. It is about real-world responsibility for people who keep firearms for home defense and personal protection in Arizona. What the law says. What it does not say. What comes next if you ever have to act.

If this poem resonated, the book was written for the same reason. Quiet preparation. Clear thinking. And fewer regrets on the worst day of your life.