It is very early on Christmas morning. Mark is still asleep. Soon sounds of presents being opened and the wonderful smells of Christmas dinner will fill our home. Guests will soon arrive with holiday cheer and good wishes. Now, in the quiet of Christmas morning, I am still reflecting on the message of our Christmas eve service. God blesses us, especially when we are most in need of assurance that He is with us. As I sat in the pew, looking at the lights and holding my candle and singing Silent Night, I heard my grandmother’s alto voice singing, I thought of my parents. My dad would listen for his cue to “fall on your knees,” and my brother would tell me to sing quietly so as to not disturb others with my less than stellar voice. Cookies and presents awaited our return from church. Our family did not regularly attend church. We did usually make it to the Christmas eve service. It was something I loved to do. I am grateful that we have found a church home where we feel welcome. I love to go to church, especially on Christmas eve. I love, not only the message, but the carols and the lights. Larry Kent, our pastor, makes it meaningful and manages to send a new message every year-he retells an old story in a new way each year. Last night’s message made me rethink a story I have retold many times. I realized that God spoke to me in a simple tale that took place a long time ago.
The year was 1987. Mark and I had just managed to move into our home. In September we bought a house that no one else would have thought of buying. It was a small farmhouse on the Little Miami River that had-are you ready for this- no running water. Yes, an outhouse and a pump. When I called the real estate agent to inquire about the property, she said “One bathroom-detached.” To a city girl, I had no clue what that meant. Mark said, “That means outhouse.” The house was built in 1886. It was a shell of a house-chigger infested, no water, peeling wallpaper, no central heat, a “Dorothy style” storm cellar. With nothing but blind faith and a very small amount of money, we bought it after convincing a small neighborhood bank to give us a loan. Mark quit his job and dove into full time renovation. By the week of Christmas, we had water, a roof over our heads, and little else. There were sheets of paper covering the doors to the new bathroom, mice, and no kitchen. We had a microwave and a TV-just the Dayton channels-and a bed. It was a humble beginning to a great adventure. We moved our things out of storage the week of my Christmas vacation, vacating the horrible motel that we had been living in during the renovation.
Having left the cramped comfort of our motel, I was excited to live in our new home. We planned to go to Springfield to my parents’ home on Christmas morning. On Christmas eve, we got a small tree and told the boys not to worry, Santa would find them. We dined on Lean Cuisine Turkey Dijon meals and store bought cookies. The boys were a bit confused, but, Mark and I did our best to remain cheerful. After we ate and the boys settled in to play with some toys, I decided to take a walk on the road. Our road is very dark and parallels the river. There are no streetlights. The enormity of our undertaking got the better of me. It was the first Christmas I did not go to church with my family. It was the first Christmas eve I spent with my new family in this run down old house. I missed our traditional and somewhat overdone Christmas eve. I gave in to the sadness and admit that I began to cry. Feeling sorry for myself, I walked down the road questioning my decisions to take on this “home” and this huge responsibility. I even missed my old apartment at Harper’s Point. My dog Sunny and I walked down the road and when we were in front of the next door neighbor’s house I heard a resounding, “Ho Ho Ho.” I turned to face the hillside, in total darkness, I quietly said, “Santa?” I had heard it along with the sound of sleigh bells…. I really did. For that moment, I believed… really believed, that Santa existed. Out from the darkness came a reply. “No Susie, it’s me, Eddie.” He was laughing. It was the 20-something son of the older couple-the Cranes- who lived next door-our new neighbors. He was dressed as Santa to take a gift to the neighbors on the other side of their house and then to greet the many grandchildren of the Crane family. He walked down the hill to say hi and saw that I had been crying. We had only been in this house a few days, so I did not really know Eddie or the Cranes. He asked me what was wrong, and I sheepishly told him I was feeling alone, missing my family and questioning our decision to live in this run down old house. After a few minutes, he asked if it would be okay if he found a few gifts under their tree and brought them to our boys, who still believed in Santa. That was just what I needed. I ran up the drive and told the boys to get ready for a visitor. You get the rest, Santa came to our house, the boys were happy, we got to know our new neighbors and happily went to sleep, looking forward to Christmas the next day with my family.
The “rest of the story…” God sent me what I needed, when I needed it. God works in our lives in the most interesting ways. When you least expect it, God shines his light on you. If you don’t pay attention, you may miss it. I have told that story before, but, never with full awareness that it was God who sent Eddie at just that moment. Eddie is now with God. He was taken from us far too soon. The Cranes are also gone, with Eddie in Heaven. No doubt they have told that story more than once. It is a story of faith. I did not fully appreciate it until last night. I believed again, just for a moment, in Santa. Now I know that it was God who sent “Santa” to me to make me again filled with the childlike wonder of Christmas. May you have that belief this Christmas and know that God is shining his light on you.
