Peaceful Stories

 

I remember my first Christmas party with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"

My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her world-famous cinnamon buns.

Grandma was home and the cinnamon buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus!" she snorted. "Ridiculous! Don't you believe it. That rumor has been going around for years and it makes me mad, plain mad. Now put on your coat and let's go." "Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second cinnamon bun.

"Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car."

Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's. I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy and who on earth to buy it for.

I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school and the people who went to my church. I was just about thought out when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair. He sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's second grade class.

Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out for recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough but all of us kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough and he also didn't have a coat. I fingered the ten dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat. I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm and he would like that.

"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly as I laid my ten dollars down. "Yes," I replied shyly, "It's ... for Bobby." The nice lady smiled at me. I didn't get any change but she put the coat in a bag and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons and write, "To Bobby - From Santa Claus" on it. Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially one of Santa's helpers.

Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house and she and I crept quietly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "Get going."

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded the doorbell and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did and there stood Bobby.

Forty years hasn't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering beside my Grandma in Bobby Decker's front yard. That night I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: ridiculous. Santa was alive and well and we were on his team!

Author: Carol Laycock

(Personal Note: The truth is, while I can't prove that Santa Claus really does exist - neither can I or you prove that he doesn't. One thing for sure however is that Jesus really does exist and He wants us all to always be kind to each other. As long as believing in Santa doesn't dim our belief in Jesus then perhaps how we personally make reference to the spirit of Christmas is inconsequential.)