God through the eyes of Santa

Seeking and Finding God Through The Eyes of Santa

by Vance Davidson

Some of you may not know that I have been engaged for 25 years in what I believe to be is a ministry that involves my serving as Santa for a variety of organizations as they have holiday gatherings. This ministry began for me some 25 years ago in Birmingham where I was a member of the Birmingham Exchange Club, a civic/service organization that sponsors an annual holiday party for children with special needs. These children often times had severe physical, mental or emotional challenges that precluded their visiting with Santa at the local mall or the other usual public places. Our Exchange Club sponsored the “Santa Sunshine Special” for several hundred children each year where they could visit with Santa, have their picture taken and receive a gift bag that contained lots of wonderful items—toys, books, games, and a sweet treat or two. There was entertainment of all kinds including puppets, choirs, face painting, lots of beautifully decorated Christmas trees and other holiday decorations.

The photo of each child with Santa was magically developed and placed in a photo button while the child was visiting with the jolly old guy. I alternated serving as Santa with a very good friend, Wayne Dutt, a CPA who loved children as I do. Imagine, a CPA and a Banker/Lawyer wearing a furry red suit and hat, long white beard and the hottest, most uncomfortable white wig you can imagine! But I have to tell you—it is all worth it. To see the sparkle and wonderment in the eyes of a child who faces challenges each day that we cannot imagine warms you to the core of your being. Their thrill at being able to visit with Santa and have a few private moments to spend with this very special character was evidenced by their repeated exclamations of “I love you Santa”, I am so glad I finally got to visit with you”, or their questions regarding the North Pole and Rudolph and did I really fly through the sky in a sleigh being pulled by reindeer were all expressions of their wonder and excitement. Children are wonderful and precious gifts—I believe they are truly a manifestation of God’s love for us and for the world—a young child’s anticipation of Christmas morning with a decorated tree with presents under it and stockings hung by the chimney, family gathered around to celebrate their love for one another and their hope for our world and its people are visible and outward signs of a loving and caring God.

Over the years as I have talked to literally thousands of children, I have been absolutely amazed at some of the discussions the children and I have had. Of course, there are a few moments spent discussing the latest and greatest toy or video game that seems to be a “must have” item but once we get those preliminaries taken care of, there is almost always an opportunity for us to discuss some things that really matter. This is the part that I really enjoy—having a chance to have a real discussion with a precious child about themselves—what they enjoy doing, how school is going, how things are between them and their brother or sister, the importance of sharing and being respectful of the rights of others.

I am reminded of the six year old who, after Hurricane Katrina, responded to my question of what he would like for Christmas by stating, “I have plenty of toys and games, so I would like for you to give the items you were planning to give to me to children who have nothing left because of the hurricane.” There was the five year old last week in Hayesville who said to me--“I need to tell you about my sister Hannah who is sick and could not come to see you tonight—she has been very good this year and I love her very much and I know that she would like to have a Barbie doll and some clothes for Christmas. Do you think you could bring her those things this year?”And there was the little eight year old girl who said that all she wanted was for everyone to get along and be nice to one another.

What do these stories of children and their visits with Santa have to do with Advent, the first season of our church year? I submit to you that they have a lot to do with Advent. During this Advent season we are focused on making ourselves readyfor the wonder of Jesus’ birth. Advent is, then, a hopeful anticipation of Christcoming into our world—and a reminder that he will come again. This most magnificent time reminds us of the most precious gift of all—God’s love for all of us in such magnitude that he sent his Son to share the good news with the world.The love, sharing, hope and caring represented by the birth of Jesus readily translates into the faces and lives of the children I see as Santa during the holidays. Anticipation, hope, love, gift sharing and doing for others are all manifestations of the love of God for each of us. These precious and wonderful children, regardless of theircircumstances, remind me in a bold and very direct fashion that my response to the call and anticipation of Advent is really a response to the unlimited gift of Grace in my life. God’s Grace for each of us is a gift beyond measure and one that does not need bows or pretty ribbon to be complete but merely an affirmative response from each of us that we will love God, love one another and seek justice for all of God’s children. I am reminded of this with each and every child that comes to me with wonder, hope and anticipation. As I look into their eyes and insert myself for a few brief seconds into their hearts and lives, I am seeking and confident that I am finding God in each and every one of these wonderful children.

My hope for all of us is a Blessed Advent and Christmas and that we each continue to find ways to serve the world and one another in ways that are pleasing to God. I close with a few simple thoughts………….

Live Simply……

Love Generously……

Care Deeply……

Speak Kindly……

Leave The Rest To God.

AMEN

A GIFT

by Sandra Burbank

In 2003...

Each piece of bubble wrap lay reverently around the tiny gift in the brown box feels like a flower placed on a grave. The loneliness washes over in a weak low-tide ripple. A gray sigh slides off her lips. She raises her head, eyes straying from her package-to-be. Her hands become still, but not her heart. It flutters and her attention rushes inward to that place to take full stock of the feeling brooding and coiled there. Then, the slithery thing slinks off into the shadows of consciousness like some wild, scared creature that won't come too close or stay too long. It has happened too many times; the brief experience causes no new excitement, no fear of a larger, more painful encounter. There are no new cuts or bruises from the old familiar beast.

Back to work, the brain says. It's best to keep busy. What a joke. It's best to let sleeping dogs and feelings lie, undisturbed, unprovoked. Keep covering the little gift, protecting it as best you can from shocks and knocks. Close the box flaps. Rip off the tape. Make fast all the loose edges and corners. Seal them.

What is this thing inside the box, lying deep in the wrapping that it is so worthy of protection? A gift, a present, she thinks too sharply. So what? That is all it is, says the brain. That's all it can be. How can it be anything more? Can it say anything? No, it can't say a word. It lies there dreaming in a nest of bubble wrap. How ordinary. It lies there with no hopes, no expectations that things will be better, brighter because of its existence. It just is. It doesn't ask, doesn't question. It doesn't wonder how someone can stop loving. Nor does it ask when does one cease being another's sun and moon? No, of course it doesn't think about how it must have dawned that day when a loved one must leave or forever be like one of those little plastic images in a glass globe. It doesn't invite consideration of whether it was sanctuary or prison left behind.

It's just a tiny gift, lying in the darkness waiting, waiting for . . . what? She hopes it will be lifted form the security of the cushions, lifted to another pair of younger yet somber eyes, to the smile on the other's mouth, perhaps to a brief laugh of pleasure. Maybe it will be adored, placed close to her so she can lay eyes on it and reach out to it during the day. Maybe it will be cherished for a while, a source of beauty and comfort.

Is that too much to ask? Can such a tiny gift be responsible for so large a task, so great an undertaking? Will it be loved forever and ever? Will the once and most-favored gift, now dusty and neglected disappear one day in a cleaning frenzy; dropped into the trash?

She muses, finishing the address on the box. She ends the visit inside for good now and in closing the heart's door, she rests with her hand on the invisible knob. What does it matter what feelings attend when the box is opened? Yes, yes, it matters. She can't be sure, that's all. . . . not of this or of that . . . certainly not of even the next moment in time. It's just a little gift . . . . so fragile. Let it go. Let it go. Let it be, only a strand of love, just that and no questions asked. Just silence. Just acceptance. Just wait.



2008 A GIFT

Light pours through dusty windows. She empties dresser drawers of their contents to lighten the piece for moving. Her husband wants the room bare of furniture and framed hanging pictures for painting. Lingering over faded school pictures of earnest children, she empties the next drawer. In the very bottom and back is a small package, wrapped for mailing with an address long out of date and memory. Recognizing her own handwriting, she knows that it was the gift that was sent and returned unopened with the stamp, "Addressee Unknown." The name brings back the longing and pain of the moment the package was shoved there. A stain is all that is left of the tear that had dropped on the label.

Sitting down on the floor, she takes the package from the drawer and cradles it in her lap. She hardly remembers what is inside but she remembers why. She remembers how it came to be here instead of gone. Tearing through the taped paper, she exposes the box and turns it over to read the words printed on the side. Oh yes. Now she remembers and smiles just a little. She knows what it is, the intent and its unfulfilled purpose.

She opens the box and gently moves aside bubble wrap that cushions the gift. It has lain here forgotten and untouched for years and yet, it is unchanged. It never made it. It never was held, never was cherished, never brought the joy for which it was created. On the other hand, it never fell to be broken to bits, trampled under foot or lost either. Here it is, still a beautiful and precious promise, waiting for something and someone to release it from the dark. She draws it out and holds it up.

How can a gift be a gift if it is never received? Wrapped up, lying in a drawer, it remains like a note played before the chord. It seems an anticipation and preparation without completion.

She lays the wrapping and box on the floor and stands. Walking to the window she holds the gift up to the sunlight. Even though the windows are dusty, the light is enough. Immediately, the sun beam is fractured into spectral colors, released to dance around the walls, ceiling and floor. The gift was intended to be a reminder of a promise made long ago, but no less a promise because of the time elapsed. Now, more is needed. The gift can no longer be boxed and contained. It needs to be given freedom and held on high.

She too had waited, wrapped up in darkness as had the gift. She had waited and wondered if and when she would open. But she tired of waiting in darkness and quiet despair. When she couldn't hold it together any more, she gave up. She surrendered and fell. She stepped off into space and flung her arms wide to embrace whatever was there. She felt release and relief. She fell like a star from the heavens not to tragedy, but to grace.

With grace, she was met by the promised miracle of light and truth. Just like the gift held up to the sun after its long anticipation, she also reflected and refracted. Her course had been altered and broken into uncounted fragments. Seen through another lens, she became the promise and light. She had made herself vulnerable to breakage and trampling but in the process had opened her heart to the miracle. Once more she reflected on the words that were impressed on her heart one lonely, quiet day about a miraculous gift. She believed that expectation had led her to fall into God's grace.

The miracle was promised and the miracle had happened and it would come again in different forms, from different directions in full glory. Here in this almost empty room, she recognized it for what it was. It was a gift and a promise, meant to be placed in the hand of the one for whom it was intended.

Someone came up the steps. She heard the words she loved. "Where are you, Mom?" She turned to the loved one who had made the long trip back and simply said, "I have a gift that I've saved a long time for you." Holding it up to the light, the gift began to fulfill its promise once again and so doing, she passed it on.