CHRISTMAS DAY 6 - MUST BE SANTA

I’m not much of a shopper, so today as I ran a few errands I did my best to avoid the crowds. But as I stopped to grab a bite to eat I heard a “discussion” of a mother and child over a candy cane – the mom wanted the candy cane until after dinner, and the child pleadingly explained, “But SANTA gave me this Candy Cane!”

   That’s when I realized that I haven’t seen a Santa Claus yet this year. I’ve avoided the malls, refused to do Black Friday at all, and ditched-out at the end of the Ward Christmas Party last night to go to the David Lanz concert.  So, so far, no Santa.

   Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m much more into the Christ-centered Christmas than Santa and Rudolph. And I started a bit of Christmas decorating today, but although the tree is up it is starkly bare. The Nativity, because it’s ceramic and delicate is still in the Storage Room – and is usually one of the last pieces that I do (so it doesn’t get bumped). But this year I’m struggling a bit with getting excited about Christmas, and I wonder how much of that is because I haven’t done some of the standard Christmassy-type things – including seeing Santa.

   Not that I plan to go sit on his lap, and heaven knows I don’t need another candy cane – but there a special association between Santa and Christmas for me. Maybe not some “creepy fat guy with poor fashion choices breaking-and-entering” as my vision of Santa – but certainly a kindly gentle person that gives selflessly and without judgment, now that’s the type of Christmas Tradition that I can get behind.

   So this weekend as I finish decorating at my house, you’ll see a few Santa’s placed around – maybe even near the Nativity. Because as today’s story demonstrates, Santa and Christ can both be examples of how we should live our lives.

A CHRISTMAS ADVENTURE -- anonymous

I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: “There is no Santa Claus,” she jeered. “Even dummies know that!”

   My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her “world-famous” cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so.

   It had to be true.

   Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. “No Santa Claus?” She snorted….”Ridiculous! Don’t believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let’s go.”

   “Go? Go where, Grandma?” I asked. I hadn’t even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun.

   “Where” turned out to be Kerby’s General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars.

   That was a bundle in those days. “Take this money,” she said, “and buy something for someone who needs it. I’ll wait for you in the car.” Then she turned and walked out of Kerby’s.

   I was only eight years old. I’d often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself.

   The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, and the people who went to my church.

   I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock’s grade-two class.

   Bobby Decker didn’t have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn’t have a cough; he didn’t have a good coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!

   I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.

    “Is this a Christmas present for someone?” the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.

   “Yes, ma’am,” I replied shyly. “It’s for Bobby.”

   The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn’t get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.

   That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, “To Bobby, From Santa Claus” on it. Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker’s house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa’s helpers.

   Grandma parked down the street from Bobby’s house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk.

   Then Grandma gave me a nudge. “All right, Santa Claus,” she whispered, “get going.”

   I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma.

   Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.

   Fifty years haven’t dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker’s bushes.

   That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were – ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team. I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside it of $19.95.