Greetings Dear Reader,
As I close out my celebration of the actual Christmas season
I will leave you with this story. It is
true. It is one of my fondest Christmas
memories. Please share your thoughts
with me Dear Reader…
For a few years, when I was younger, I got to be a
professional Santa Clause. I was hired
by a city as their official Santa to come to parties, appear in the
Thanksgiving parade, enjoy spreading cheer for children of all ages. I also held audience for children at the city
park. I and my two hired elves would
appear every evening at the city’s giant sled from six o’clock until nine
o’clock to welcome children who wanted to tell Santa their Christmas wishes.
The children would line up and my elves would assist them up
onto the sled. It was a very busy time
with children showing up no matter how chilly or drizzly the weather
became. Both of my elves were college
girls who wanted the paycheck but did not get the importance of what we were
doing. They would do the job well but at
any lull the two suggested that we stop early or take a break.
Christmas Eve arrived, my last night at the sleigh, with the
steady drizzle and the temperature hovering around forty five degrees. My elves informed me upon arrival that they
were anxious for nine o’clock to arrive so that they could go to a Christmas
party a friend was hosting. We were very
busy from six until eight as children from several nearby churches convinced
their parents to bring them to see Santa after Christmas Eve services. By eight o’clock the streets were empty.
Both girls wanted to quit early and used an invitation to
their party to tempt me. I reminded them
that we had an obligation to the city and any child who showed up during the
next hour. They pouted and shivered and
we waited. They asked again after half
an hour had passed if they could go, assuring me that no one was coming. At eight-forty, just as the drizzle turned
into real rain, an old station wagon pulled into the parking lot adjacent to
the sleigh.
A woman and a child got out of the car and made their way
toward the pavilion housing one sleigh, a vindicated Santa, and two obviously
disappointed elves. The woman and child
hurried through the rain stopping just under the pavilion but outside of the
circle of light cast by the lamps on the sleigh. The mother bent over to speak to the child
for a moment, all I could catch was an excited, “Yes I am sure,” from the
child.
The mother made her way to the sleigh while the child waited
outside of the circle of light.
Hesitantly she mounted the steps and informed Christine, the blond elf
that she needed to speak to “Santa” privately.
Christine motioned her forward and I assumed my jolliest demeanor for a
concerned parent. Her concern was well
founded as she faced rejection to protect her child.
“Santa,” she began, “my daughter, Amanda, insisted that we
come to see you. We live just down the
street and she has been watching you for the last two weeks every evening. I have put her off but she has become
desperate and I do not want to disappoint her at Christmas. We waited until it seemed everyone else had
gone.”
I heard the concern in her voice but had not yet caught the
full impact of her fear. “Of course I
wish to see your little girl.” I assured her, “Santa loves all children.”
“That is nice,” she said, almost angrily, “but you do not
understand. Early this fall there was a
fire. My daughter was badly burned on
her face, chest, and arms. It is very
unpleasant to look at and her mask, to help heal the facial tissues is quite alarming.”
She hurried on, afraid that she could not finish. “If you do not wish to see her I will
understand. I will explain and she is
quite bright so she will understand.”
Her words allowed me a way out of the unpleasantness but her heart was
begging me not to reject her daughter.
I leaned toward her from my Santa’s throne, ready to
dispense Christmas kindness without hesitation.
“You send Amanda to see me. I can
handle it and she will get her wish.”
Tears came to the mother’s eyes as she turned back toward
her daughter. She went back outside of the circle of lantern light and bent
over to speak with the girl. All I could
make out was an insistent, “But Mom, I want to talk to him alone.”
The mother nodded.
Without the slightest pause the little girl rushed forward. Angie, my red haired elf involuntarily gasped
as Amanda approached and then turned away, more embarrassed at her response
than troubled by what she saw.
Amanda climbed the stairs and rushed over to me. Except for the bandages, scar tissue, and
leather mask, she was no different from any other six year old who plopped down
on my lap. She looked up at me, wonder
in her lash-less eyes, and belief in her heart.
I greeted her, “Hello Amanda. What can Santa give you for Christmas this year?”
She looked deep into my eyes and asked for the one thing she
truly wanted. “Santa, my mom has been so
sad since I got burned. She thinks it
was her fault but the doctor and the fireman both said it was not. Please Santa, make my mom happy again. You do not have to bring me any toys or
candy. I just want my old mom back.”
She stopped talking and waited. She waited for what every child longs to hear
when they are on Santa’s lap and really believe. She wanted me to say “Yes.”
Not wishing to deceive her, I hedged. “Amanda, you seem like a very good girl. I will see what I can do. Now, send you mom back here to talk to
Santa.”
Through the burned skin around her eyes shown to bright
green orbs filled with hope and determination.
I believed that Amanda would not carry many internal scars from her
ordeal. Her mom made her way hesitantly
back to the sleigh. She started to thank
me and I waved her silent. She then
asked the right question, “What did Amanda say she wanted? I hope it is something small as we have
little enough after the fire.”
I smiled broadly, “I assure you that you can afford Amanda’s
gift and you still have time to get it.”
For the first time I saw the hint of a smile on the face of
the mother so I continued. “Amanda wants
her mother to be happy and stop thinking that the fire was her fault. She wants you to stop blaming yourself. If you give her that you will grant her
Christmas wish.”
Tears ran down the mother’s face as I saw her resolve to
abandon the guilt she felt. She
whispered a thank you and turned back to her daughter. Just as she moved outside of the sleigh
light, but before the rain drowned out their voices, I heard the mother say to
Amanda, “You are right Amanda; the fire was not my fault.”
Amanda stopped in her tracks and turned to look at me. The damp air carried her small voice back to
me so clearly. “Thank you Santa.” It was my turn to cry as I pondered on the
giving spirit of a little girl who had every reason to be unhappy.
Wishing you joy in the journey,
Aramis Thorn
Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer
who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a home
owner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure
store.”
(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
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