Boomer’s Journal:

The Night After Christmas

     By Tom Anselm

I wonder what Santa is doing today? Let’s sneak up to the North Pole and look in on the old guy.

There he is, sitting in his high-backed chair, woolen-stockinged feet up on a stack of pillows. Huge logs are sizzling in the hearth. Mrs. C. has just brought him a crock of steaming vegetable soup. (He is watching his cholesterol, you know.)

“Here you are, dear. Your favorite after-work dish. My, you look a bit more weary than usual this year,” said the concerned woman.

The bearded man looked up. “Have I ever told you that your’re the prettiest gal in the Artic?” he grinned, as he spooned up a bit of the broth. Then, he wrinkled his brow.

“Well, my dear, things have changed down there, and not for the better. I mean, there is so much wealth, but still so many children hungry and dying from disease. And those people still have not found a way to have “Peace On Earth”, as the angels sang when my good friend was born so many years ago.”

He sighed, chewing on a sweet carrot, and gazed into the flames. “I thought by now they’d have figured it out.”

Mrs. Claus sat down on the cushions, placing her hand softly on her husband’s knee. The only sound was the rattle of the windows from the constant low winds. They rested quietly, both lost in their thoughts. The woman spoke first.

“Every year,” she began, slowly, “you come home with a lovely story that warms my heart. Was there something that happened this year, something to share?”

Santa set his empty bowl down, and smoothed his beard. He leaned forward and took her small hand in his much larger one.

“There was this one child,” he whispered. “She was asleep on a white comforter by her tree. It was a small tree, in a tiny walk-up apartment in… in…you know, I don’t recall just where, exactly. I suppose she had snuck from her bed to wait for me. I was oh, so quiet, but just as I placed a baby doll under the tree, it said “Mama”, and she awoke.”

“Hello, Sanna. Is that for me?” she said, eying that dolly. “Why, yes, sweetie,” I said. “This is yours for being such a good girl for your mommy.” She smiled, then a tear came to her eyes. She suddenly seemed very sad.

“Sanna Cwas? I …I don’t have nuttin for my mommy” she said. So I reached down into my bag….you know I always keep a few surprises for just such emergencies…and we picked out a small crystal snowflake ornament. Her eyes glistened, and not from tears.

“I wuv you, Sanna,” she said as she reached up, softly kissed my cheek, and fell back asleep, her mother’s gift by her side.”

Mrs. Claus smiled at the story. She picked up the plates, and patted her husband’s hand.

“You know, Santa,… that little girl is just one of millions of children who carry the hope of the future in their hearts. And these are the ones who will one day bring healing to that crazy old world down there.”

Santa rose from his chair, his weariness lifted. He walked to the kitchen and gathered his wife in his arms.

“You’re right, of course. As usual. In the love of children dwells the hope. Merry Christmas, Mrs. Claus.” “And the same to you, Mr. Claus,” said his wife. “Now, let me go and help me dry these dishes.”

And so it was.

I hope you had a chance to experience the joy of Christmas through the loving heart of a child.

A Happy and Blessed New Year to all.

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