Although not a true story, you may have had a similar experience as you try to live love and caring for others not just at Christmas but every day. We don’t always see our actions as living our faith and being the hands, feet, and heart of Christ.
Christmas Eve day, I was having lunch with my parents. It was good to be home from university for the Christmas break. My cell phone rang. “Merry Christmas,” I said, into my phone, expecting one of my friends to return the greeting. Instead I heard the familiar voice of Rev. Margaret from our church.
“Merry Christmas to you, Richard. Welcome home,” Rev. Margaret said. “I’m calling because I need you. I serve on the hospital auxiliary. Our regular Santa is sick. We need someone to be Santa for the children’s ward at the hospital tonight. We don’t want to disappoint the children. You used to enjoy taking part in the plays when you were in Youth Group. Would you help us out, please?”
Me? Play Santa? I thought. Now that’s a joke. Just last week, I had entertained my friends with a long rant on the whole Santa thing. In my mind, all Santa did was teach our already privileged children greed and selfishness. Besides, I wasn’t bothering with church anymore. Oh, I still believed in God. I hadn’t forgotten everything. I just didn’t need that church stuff, so why didn’t I just say “No, thank you,” and hang up? Well, even though I’m grown up, it’s still hard to say no to Rev. Margaret. I like and respect her. Besides, how could I say no to a bunch of sick kids stuck in hospital on Christmas Eve.
I hesitated just long enough for Rev. Margaret to break the silence with, “Please Richard, you’re really needed.”
“All right,” I said grudgingly.
I could hear the relief in her voice as she responded. “Thanks so much, Richard. Just think of this as fulfilling God’s calling.”
Yah right, I thought.
“I’ve the suit here at the church office. Could you come over now and get it?”
“Yah, sure. See you in a few moments.” I clicked off the phone and groaned as I shoved it into my pocket. When I vented my frustration with my parents, Mom grinned.
“You’ll be fine,” she said. “You’re great with kids.”
“Yah, right,” I mumbled as I threw on my coat and headed to the church.
At six thirty, dressed in that scratchy Santa suit, and determined to get this ordeal over as quickly as possible, I stood listening to the muted babble of voices and laughter on the other side of the heavy doors of the children’s ward. I clenched my teeth, pasted on a big smile and pushed on the doors.
“Ho, Ho, Ho…Merry Christmas,” I hollered above the din.
“Santa,” one of the little kids yelled.
Excited, pyjama-clad children swarmed around me, hugging my legs, reaching for my hands, pulling at my sack.
I winced inside. “Ho, Ho, Ho…slow down, children. There’s enough for everyone,” I said, while my brain registered, See they’re even greedy here at the hospital.
Although the parents helped, it still took nearly an hour to speak with each child, answer their questions and give them their gift from the hospital auxiliary.
I thought I was doing fine until the last child, Anthony, a boy about eight years old scoffed, “You’re not Santa. You’re too young.”
A deafening silence fell. How had they heard him in the midst of all this noise and confusion? I wanted to say, “You’re right. This whole thing is ridiculous.” I looked at the littlest faces turned up at me, their lips quivering. My love for children and desire to please spoke for me. “Of course, I’m not Santa. I’m one of his helpers. Santa can’t do it all alone, you know, especially tonight. He’s got toys to deliver all over the world.”
I could feel the relief come at me in waves as conversations, yelling and laughter started up again. Anthony, shook his head and walked slowly back to his room. Wanting desperately to give him reassurance of some kind, I followed.
When he reached the door, Anthony turned around and looked up into my eyes. I could see his desperation.
“Okay, Santa’s helper, if you’re real, do your stuff,” he spat at me.
Puzzled, I stepped into the dimly-lit room and watched Anthony, his spine stiff, march past his own bed, to a silent figure in the bed by the window. “This is Grainger. Grainger’s real sick and needs his mom. She’s not here.”
I looked down into Grainger’s sad and frightened face. My stomach lurched. The whole issue of greed and Santa became irrelevant. A lump rose in my throat. Picking up Grainger’s cold little hand, I thought, What am I doing here? I can’t fix this. I was sure the kid could hear the frantic running of my brain, as I struggled to figure out what to say. As a last resort, I prayed, “Help God. Rev. Margaret dragged me here. Help!”
The child’s lifeless voice broke into my prayer. “Santa, how did you find me?”
I just opened my mouth and words spilled out. “Hi there, Buddy. You’re in a tough spot. Did you think we’d all forgotten about you?”
Grainger nodded. A single tear slid down his cheek.
“Well, that’s not true. There’s Anthony here. He waited till I’d finished with all the kids out there, so he could bring me to you. You know what? I’m his Christmas gift to you from God. That’s right. God loves you and has sent me here tonight because you needed me. God does that, you know.”
Now, where did that come from? I thought, and took a deep breath. “What do you want for Christmas Grainger?” Now, that’s a totally insane question, my brain nattered. You’ve nothing to give this sick kid that he would want. Keep your mouth shut.
Grainger’s smile was weak and never made it to his eyes. “I …I…want…to be able to ride my bike again and play with my friends,” he said, his voice muffled by the blankets.
Now what do I say to that? I don’t even know what’s wrong with this kid, I thought.
Young Anthony piped up, “Santa doesn’t fix people, Grainger. He only brings gifts.”
Thanks for rescuing me, I thought and reached into my pocket. I pulled out my new I-pod. “Fool,” my brain shouted. “All you have on there is the classical stuff from your music history course.” I handed the i-pod to Grainger. “You may not like the music on this,” I said, “but someone around here will be able to load anything you want on it, games, music, whatever.”
“Wow,” both kids said in unison.
“Anthony’s right, Grainger,” I continued. “Santa doesn’t fix people. Santa brings joy and laughter.” My voice petered out. Silence surrounded us. I roused myself. “Guess, I’d better get going…Merry Christmas,” I said and backed out of the room.
Whew! I’m glad that’s over, I thought. As I turned toward the hospital’s big double doors and freedom, I felt a light touch on my arm.
“Santa,” a pretty young nurse said, “I realize you’ve been here a long time, but we’ve one more child that needs you. Please come this way.”
Obediently, I followed her along the hospital corridor thinking, maybe I can get a date with her. We stopped at the door with a big red stop sign, and the words, “Quarantined.”
“You’ll have to gown up and wear a mask,” she said. “This little one is infectious. I hope you don’t mind.”
Already overheated in false beard, wig and red velvet suit, I struggled into the gown, booties, gloves and mask.
“Her name is Alyssa,” the nurse said. “She’s five. Her parents had to go home to the rest of their children. She was asleep when they left. Now she’s awake and afraid Santa won’t find her tonight. Just talk to her for a moment, please.”
I pushed open the door. “Ho, Ho Ho…Merry Christmas,” I said, my voice as bright and happy as a hushed voice could manage.
Alyssa, sat up. A huge smile filled her face. “Santa, you’re here. You found me,” she sang out excitedly.
“Of course, I found you,” I responded and reached down deep to the bottom of my nearly empty sack. There wasn’t much left. My fingers touched a soft body. This’ll do, I thought. Whatever it is, she’ll be able to cuddle it. I pulled out a small, stuffed baby doll. Even its head was soft. Alyssa squealed with delight. “Here’s someone to keep you company tonight,” I said. “I’ll leave the rest under the tree at your house. I’m sure your parents will bring your gifts here tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Santa…Thank you…” Alyssa cradled the tiny doll in her arms. She looked up at me, her face serious. “My Mom said you wouldn’t forget me, just because I’m in hospital. She said she asked God to make sure.”
I grinned and thought, this is the first time I’ve been an answer to prayer. “I have to go now, Alyssa, I’ve a long journey tonight. You do as the doctors and nurses tell you.” I patted her head. With my plastic glove I couldn’t feel her black nappy hair, but I knew she could feel my touch.
“Merry Christmas, Santa,” she said and lay back down her little body. She looked lost in the austere hospital bed.
“Merry Christmas,” I answered. I picked up a bright pink blanket that had fallen on the floor and tucked it around her. “There now, you’re ready for sleep. “
“MMMM,” she said and cuddled down with her doll, her eyes heavy.
The hospital’s revolving entrance door creaked as it spat me out into the cold winter evening. I guess that wasn’t so bad.
On the way home, I drove past the church. Both sides of the road were lined with cars. Automatically, I slowed down and parked about a block away. Glancing at my watch, I hurried to the door, knowing the service had already started. I stood at the back with several others. They looked at me with surprise. Oh yes, I thought, I’m Santa Claus. Oh well, there’s no reason why Santa can’t come to church.
Rev. Margaret was just finishing her message. “… Our Christmas story tells us that in Jesus, God came into the world needing our love. Every time we give and receive love, gifts and kindness, we figuratively kneel at the manger. May God Bless us all, tonight. Amen.”
The opening chords of “Joy to the World” filled the church. I sang, my heart soaring, “Joy to the World, the Lord has come.”
Tonight, I have been to the manger, I thought. I brought joy to Jesus through the children. That’s what I was doing at the hospital. Thank you, God for asking me to be Santa.
(An excerpt from “Can I Hold Him? Christmas Stories for All Ages by Janet Stobie)
