Santa Claus Has Come to Town

Thanks to Old Man Winter, our holiday plans have already been canceled, and Christmas is still three days away. We were all set to spend the weekend with my aunt, but the weather, and unexpected car repairs, rearranged our schedule. The kids were disappointed, of course, but at least they're getting old enough to understand that even Dad can't control everything. My mom was planning to meet us there too. Not getting to see Grandma, and the presents she brings, is what upset them the most.

So we all moped around the kitchen table, trying to make the best of it. It was about 8:30 and we had already recited our family mantra, "Everything happens for a reason," when the phone rang. It was Grandma - she had decided to come to our house instead of her sister's, even though it meant an eight-hour drive. "Tell the kiddos Santa Claus is coming to town," she said. "And she'll be there about 10:30." (I'm sure there's something sacrilegious in that statement, but the kids' excitement drowned out my penchant for 'Santa correctness'.) "I feel like Santa tonight," she continued. "I'm jolly, fat, and wearing my red jacket. Not to mention that I've got the Saturn sleigh loaded with toys and goodies." The kids howled and jumped up and down! "Grandma (hidden meaning - and the presents) is coming!!" they squealed.

Sure enough, Santa and her elf, my 17-year-old brother, "Uncle Michael", blew in right on schedule. They piled bags and boxes under our barren Christmas tree, while the kids made a joyful noise. Clapping and squealing, they hugged Grandma and danced around. She had done it again. Turned their sorrow into joy and their gloom into glee.

I adored their smiling faces and found myself wishing that all heartache could be so easily transformed into holiday happiness. Like my husband's 30-year-old friend, a husband and father himself, who had cancer surgery Wednesday. Marriages crumbling under the weight of infidelity. Children in foster care whose parents are prisoners, drug addicts, or just uninterested - only a sampling of the shattered families that won't be magically glued back together just because it's December. This is my grandpa's first Christmas in heaven. It's been 10 Christmases since my dad died, and it still hurts. I'm used to the hollow place that his death created, but the holidays will never be quite the same.

So... I'm learning that Christmas isn't always merry, that tragedy is no respecter of the calendar. But I've also learned that good people always give, especially at Christmas time, that love really is more powerful than.. well, anything. And, that given enough time and the healing salve of compassion, even the most tragic circumstances can give birth to hope and peace. With that in mind, I do what I can... comfort the grieving, give to the needy and hold sacred the blessings of this year. An unlikely Santa and little happy feet are at the top of my list!