Wednesday, December 24, 2003
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Wednesday, December 24, 2003 |
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The reality of Santa Claus By JOHN HATCHER I was afraid of Santa Claus. Don’t get me wrong. I was very much appreciative of the toys he faithfully left for me year after year. But you see, I never met the man. For probably a host of reasons, my folks never got me to the spot where Santa was making personal appearances. One such time I was a young lad of four or five years. It seems that the family was making a drive into the metropolis of Columbus, Georgia, for the annual Christmas Parade which would be climaxed with Santa’s float. We made a stop to filler up with gas (two dollars worth that is) and had headed into the inner city — when all of a sudden my Daddy thought he could run a signal light and get us there all the quicker. Our car hit another car and caused the right front headlight to look right out into the woods. Daddy exchanged some information with the man and we headed home. Did we have auto insurance? Nope! It was years later that I understood what my Mama meant when she said as we drove home, “Well, that was our Santa Claus.” I didn’t remembering seeing “no” Santa Claus. I do remember that man in the other car. He came to our house faithfully for several months picking up a monthly amount from my Daddy. With the help of sledge hammers (to which our present day cars would not stand a chance), the right fender was pushed back into some semblance of shape and the headlight shined out front once again. Later when I was in the third grade, we had a blooming intellectual on the street, Rusty Walters. He told Wayne Payne and me that there was no such thing as Santa Claus. I vehemently defended a faith in Santa. After all I had known from personal experience he had left me some pretty neat stuff for the last several years. I also contended that just because you can’t see him when he does his work, doesn’t mean he isn’t real. It was a year or two later when I had my own bedroom. Mind you, we were not well off and when there are five children in the house, you have to make certain concessions. Of course, I didn’t know I was making a concession. It was just the way it was. It was Christmas Eve. My parents had already stopped believing in Santa Claus. But I was in my room, all alone, on Christmas Eve. I couldn’t get to sleep. I was thinking to myself, “What am I going to do if Santa makes his way into our house through my room.” My room had an outside door. My heart was pounding and it continued to pound as I went to sleep. Whatever happened that night, I wasn’t disturbed and Christmas Day was a wonderful day. So I grew up and became a man by someone’s definition. As pastor of a local church, I thought it would be really cool if Santa Claus could come to our Children’s Night at Christmas. He agreed to come and was more than happy to read the real Christmas Story from Luke 2 albeit the bright spotlight focused on him caused his eyes to read the story as it had never been heard before or since. I suppose you could say that was the first time I really met Santa. And, what would you know, he was in church. A couple of years later I discovered one of the greatest joys one could have. I borrowed a Santa outfit from the church’s wardrobe and dressed up like Santa Claus myself. Imagine that, I was finally Santa Claus. Rather, I looked like Santa Claus. We invited a single parent mother and her three children to celebrate Christmas Day. It was on that day that no doubt ever remained about the existence of a Santa Claus. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus because I know him personally. And I no longer was afraid. John Hatcher is pastor of Outreach International Center, 1091 South Jeff Davis Drive, Fayetteville, Georgia 30215. 770-719-0303 |
