The Night Santa Forgot Christmas

“Will you be our Santa?”

Rita is in charge of the Whispering Pines Village Christmas Party. She glows with an energetic, bubbly, joy that makes you smile. Once I mentioned she must be one of Santa’s elves and her eyes lit up as she giggled and said, “Oh yes, that’s me.”

She went on explaining the details and responsibilities of Santa. “Now toward the end of the skit, Santa and Mrs. Claus will drive up in a golf cart…” I know, it’s weird. But this is Florida in a park full of snow-birds.

My wife made a comment or two.

I was still pondering the original question.

Will I be Santa?

I love Christmas. I love Christ. I long to show the Spirit of Christmas all year. I love to share that Christmas is about presence—not presents. That the best Gift isn’t wrapped in paper…but, skin.

Santa is fun. Santa is jolly. Santa is loud and has a big belly like a bowl full of jelly. I’m quiet. Don’t particularly care for crowds. And my belly isn’t—well, I’d have to use a pillow.

The bigger question. Can I be Santa and hold fast to my faith? Perhaps. Maybe I could show that even Santa knows, the real meaning of Christmas.

“Sure” I said, good intentions lifted my smile.

The big plastic tote held everything for Santa and Mrs. Claus, with a few elf items to boot.

It took Roxy an hour to comb out Mrs. Claus silver wig.

The house filled with giggles at the grandkids impromptu costume party.

I watched and smiled and thought about how Santa would introduce Christ at the Clubhouse.

Finally, the night came. I was Santa. The cell phone rang—that was our queue.

We slipped into our disguise and flew with a golf cart’s clatter to the clubhouse. We must’ve taken too long, because when we arrived, Chief Elf Rita, was standing outside, arms crossed, foot tapping.

She led us with haste and just before she opened the door said, “Come on now, ho-ho-ho.”

In that instant I became another man. I let out a laugh and a hearty, “Ho-ho-ho.”             

Words were said about being late and was Santa stuck in a chimney. I failed to stick a pillow under my shirt so some wanted to know why Santa was so skinny.

“This was your first Christmas present.” I shouted above the cackle of a hundred and something snowbirds.

The silver haired kids, went silent, their faces showed their question; what present?

  I smiled. “Patience.”

The room erupted with laughter. I ran around and pulled candy from a big red sack for good boys and girls. I shook hands and patted backs and told more than a few, they were very, very, special. (It may have been mentioned a time or two that the piece of candy represented the North Pole’s version of coal.)  

Then, I sat in a rocker, like all good Santa’s do. Next to me were two tables piled high with presents.

One by one, Mrs. Claus handed me a gift, that I would hand to a smiling golden-year child. More than a few wanted to sit on my lap, for a picture with Santa.

Somewhere in the midst of all the fun and laughter, I forgot.  I didn’t even realize, until it was over. But when all the gifts and candy had been given, the hot Santa suit removed, the lights to the clubhouse turned down and I sat alone in our living room, the only sound was the clock ticking, the only lights were from the Christmas tree…it dawned on me. I remembered, what I forgot.

My good intentions had fallen short. I never said a word. I just laughed, shook hands, hugged necks, had fun.

Oh, how I wanted to say:

Behold, this is Christmas:

Emmanuel; God with us.

Presence, wrapped not in paper…but, skin.

I so wanted to share:

The power and holiness of Christmas is best seen in its simplicity

…a Babe in a manger.

I’d read the Christmas story so many times I could recite it by heart:

Mary, a virgin, brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling clothes, and laid Him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.

There were shepherds in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were so afraid.

The angel said unto them, “Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. This shall be a sign unto you; You shall find the Babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.”

Suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.”

For unto us a Child is born,

Unto us a Son is given;

And His name will be called

Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God,

Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

 (Isaiah 9, Luke 2)

It would’ve only taken a moment. Two minutes maybe three. To cap off the evening. To wrap it up with a meaningful bow.

 How could I forget? It can’t be blamed on spiked eggnog or anything of that sort. Yet, in the midst of mirth, memories get murky. It’s too easy to get lost in the hustle and glitter.

I stared at the Christmas tree lights until they went blurry.  My eyes were watery and I was on my knees. “Lord, I’m sorry. I forgot You.”

Somehow, the scene replayed.

As I shook hands, patted backs and hugged necks, I could feel Jesus reaching out to them, showing them, telling them, they were so very special, valuable, precious.  

Then, these words:

“Not by power, not by might,

not by eloquent words or speeches,

but by My Spirit.”

Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks. The words aren’t as important as the thoughts and intentions of the heart from which they spring.

Shaking hands, patting backs and hugging necks, may be nothing more than a polished politician’s means to your money. Or, it could be the loving touch from a Father’s heart to a dear child He loves so much.

LORD, I pray for all who read this and all who were at the Christmas party, to be aware of Your loving, awesome, touch.

Merry Christmas