Christmas I remember best: How should we really come to Christmas?
But sure enough I heard some voices, and from my room I tip toed down the hall and peaked around the corner and there was Santa talking to my mother just like last year. As I watched I saw Santa put a large package under the tree, wish my mother a Happy Christmas under the circumstances, and say good night. I quietly slipped back to my room and tried very hard to go back to sleep.
The next thing I knew was my mother saying to me, “wake up sleepy head, it’s Christmas.”
There was no hesitating to jump out of bed and headed for the living room running to see if the package I saw Santa put under the tree was for me. There were a few other presents under the tree, but not too many because Christmas just was not the same that year.
I found the mysterious gift and asked my mother if it was for me. She shook her head, yes. I could not open it quick enough and when I finally got it opened there inside was my stuffed kitty cat. I cried and screamed with happiness. I knew Santa had delivered it to me.
But how did he know?
When I had seen Santa at the store all I said when he asked what I wanted him to bring me: “Nothing, I just want my mother to be happy.”
As for the apron I gave my mom, she was happy to have a new one and wore it until it was faded and worn out. It was some a few years after that I realized Santa has helpers, and on that particular Christmas his name was Mr. James.
If anyone tried to talk me out of believing in Santa I would stand my ground. After all I had seen him twice on Christmas Eve in my very own home putting presents under the tree.
And so Christmas is coming again with all its color and joy. Its magic and wonder, its spirit of goodwill and warmth. But how do we really come to Christmas? What it means to us depends on what we bring to it, not only in gifts and outer display, but in the inner offerings of love and faith that abide in the heart.
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