They err who thinks Santa Claus comes down through the chimney; he really enters through the heart.
~Charles W. Howard
The opulence took my breath away. Long tables draped in ivory and gold filled a room lit by a hundred candles. The smell of turkey and pumpkin pie filled the air as a huge fire crackled in the fireplace. Ah, Christmas Eve.
I smiled at the irony. Three different projects had failed that year and we were careening toward bankruptcy. I’d miscarried and was still deeply mourning. Our own Christmas dinner would be a turkey roll from Walmart. But, the saddest part of all was explaining to Matthew, Mary and Katie that Santa would not be coming that year.
At ages eight, six and three, they were unfazed by my warnings. “Don’t worry, Mama,” they’d assured me. “Santa won’t forget us.”
The warm pajamas and used books I’d hidden away would not compare to the bounty they had received in the past.
So when my friend invited us to dinner and a visit from Santa at her house, I was grateful. As we dressed up, I’d told the kids that a visit from Santa was worth far more than presents and that they were the lucky ones of all the kids in the world.
Dinner was wonderful. Good food, fine wine, and the companionship of people with open hearts. And, when Santa came, even I was excited.
This was no store Santa either. His white beard and round belly were all home grown. And his eyes twinkled with a light that came from his pure, loving soul and radiated clear around the room. Indeed, this was really Santa.
Eight-year-old Matthew took one look, ran to hide and had to lean on us to make his way back to meet the jolly man. Six-year-old Mary, on the other hand, leapt into his arms. And the jolly old man caught her with an open belly laugh that assured her she was right where she belonged. “Oh, Santa, it’s you!” she cooed as she gently stroked his beard.
But, despite the wonder and joy of the moment, I could not hide my sorrow at our plight. This should have been a time of joy for my children, and all I could think of was what was lacking. I tried to get Santa aside to explain our situation before he talked to the kids.
But, I never got the chance and as Matthew sat reciting his list Santa promised and promised and promised, then left to “begin his evening rounds.”
Soon, we said our goodbyes and piled into the car for the five-minute ride home through the snowy streets. The DJ on the radio announced that Santa had been spotted over our town.
Mary squealed and looked up at the sky as she searched for her new friend.
But as Mary cheered, Matthew cried, “Oh no, oh no, OH NO!”
“Honey, what’s wrong?” we asked.
“He’s here and I’m not asleep!” Matthew began ripping at his clip-on tie as he wiggled out of his shoes.
“It’s okay. He knew you were at the party,” I consoled.
“No. He told me to be good and go to bed tonight. I’m up. I’m being bad! He’ll never come!”
“But, remember,” I said, seizing my chance. “You got to see him tonight, and he gave you your truck. He may not be able to come to your house too; he has so many other children to see tonight.”
“Silly Mommy,” laughed Mary in the midst of all the chaos. “Santa always comes.”
“But, honey…” I began as we pulled into the driveway, and then there it was.
“Look kids,” Steven pointed. “What is that?”
“Santa!” they yelled.
And it was. For there, on the deck, was Christmas. A big red sled sat by the front door. Propped up inside were trucks and telescopes, Barbies and plush toys… and magic. For the second time that night, a scene had taken my breath away.
There, in the cold and snow, we knelt down to explore the miracle. Tears flowed down my cheeks as my babies shrieked and giggled in wonder. Clearly Santa knew my kids and had brought them each a special, personalized treasure.
Then, shy Matthew, who had been so afraid to see Santa at the party, ran out into the middle of the yard, lifted his hands to the sky and yelled, “I love you, Santa Claus!”
The next morning, when the tree held warm jammies and a book, the kids were thrilled. They declared it the best Christmas ever.
Today, it is still our favorite Christmas.
It was a lesson in faith, and simple joys, and sharing. It was a gift that our family now “pays forward” every year.
Maybe it was only a few gifts tucked into a sled. But for me, it was the truth of the world. It was the spirit of Santa. And, it changed me forever.
~Susan Traugh
