2002-01-01
Good Morning Dear Ones,
Today, I would like to so something different in honor of our Lord’s birth. I hope you will enjoy this little story. Although it is fictitious, I write it in honor of my own uncle who really did go home to the Father this year.
THE MECHANICAL SANTA CLAUS
I climbed up the steps of my aunt’s Victorian house, a place our family always gathered in to celebrate Christmas. It was decorated with garlands cut from the pine trees in her yard and sprigs of holly. Passing through her front door was like taking a very comfortable walk into the past. She hadn’t changed a stick of furniture since she and her new husband had bought the place over 65 years ago. It had been well worn then, but they had fixed it up, raised their children there, and kept it in apple pie order ever since. Everyone was gathered in the living room opening their gifts from under the colorfully decorated tree, and the warmth from the fire in her fireplace pervaded the whole room. Yet, I was having trouble getting in the Christmas spirit. Even Aunt Grace seemed to be forgetting her grief of the past 10 months and was swept away in the children’s excitement as they opened their gifts. Christmas music played from the old turntable in the corner. If it hadn’t been for my mood, a person could have said everything was perfect.
I had bundled into my heavy jacket and gone outside after enjoying the wonderful home-cooked meal Aunt Grace had made for us. This was to enjoy a moment of quiet time and the snowy Currier and Ives view from her front porch. But, it hadn’t made my mood lift. I supposed all the hustle and bustle of baking, shopping, and wrapping gifts had gotten me tired. Yet, something was leading me to delay joining the others. Instead, I found myself climbing the stairs to Aunt Grace’s often musty garret. This place had fascinated me all my life. As a child, I had spent hours opening the trunks and dressing up in the old jewelry, hats, and clothes I found in some of them, allowing my imagination to place me in any story it conjured up. I felt like a child again as I passed into this room with its lace-curtained gable windows. “If only you could talk,” I thought as I picked up my uncle’s old mechanical Santa Claus. “The stories you could tell.”
This now-dusty old toy hadn’t worked for years. The mainspring of its clock work action had broken a long time ago. I sat down on the floor with my back against an old leather trunk with belts around it and made a decision that somehow I would find a way to replace that spring, clean, and oil the old Santa to bring him back to life in memory of my uncle, I reasoned, who had played with it when he was a boy. I drifted off to sleep.
“So, you wish I would tell you my story, “ a tinny voice in my dream said. I sleepily nodded my head in agreement. “Then, listen to this, because I want you to know it. Your uncle loved me from the time his mother gave me to him the Christmas he was four. He played with me a lot until one day a few years later he wound me up too tightly and my spring broke. He cried and threw me down on the floor in frustration. That’s when I told him something he needed to know. There are times when you have to be brought to brokenness, so that you will be willing to listen to the truth!” I thought, “that’s a strange thing for a broken Santa to say.”
“Be careful what you think,” the tinny voice said.
“How can you know what I’m thinking?” I blurted out loud.
“I just do. I know what’s in your heart too. You’re a good person, and that’s why I’m willing to tell you the truth just like I did to your uncle. He was headed for a life of materialism, but God didn’t want him to live that way. I called to him to come back as he started to leave the room the day I broke, and he did. Then, I told him that God loves him and so do I. He was eight then and hadn’t thought much before this about God. After that, we talked often about the Father and about His Son too. That’s when your uncle decided to begin to believe in Him. From that day on, he lived according to his faith in God. He chose not to repair me, because he wanted to remember how he had been brought to brokenness so he could come to faith. I know you have been sad today, but I want you to remember that God loves you too. Your uncle always knew how much you loved him, and so does the Lord of your life. When you wake up, don’t forget this lesson. Go downstairs and enjoy celebrating the Son’s birth with the others. Help them not to forget the reason for this special day of the year.“
“I will,” I said. “And, I’ll come up here to visit you often. I guess I won’t fix you either, and that way I’ll always remember the message you had for me.”
The End
I hope you will find these citations useful in your devotions during the next week, while I am with my family:
- JER 33: 14-16
- IS 60: 1-3
- IS 40: 1-5
- MT 1: 18-23
- LK 2: 1-7
- LK 2: 8-12
- LK 2: 13-14
- LK 2: 15-16
- LK 2: 17-19
- Mat 2: 1-5, 7-11
- JN 1: 1-5, 10-12
- REV 22: 12-13, 16b-17, 20
- JN 1: 14, 3: 16
PRAYER: O Lord, thank You for Your wisdom in sometimes bringing us to brokenness, so that we will open our hearts to the messages You have for us. We are grateful that You love us so much that You were willing to have Your Son shed blood on the cross, so that we might be saved just for having faith in You. Guide us to keep that in mind and to share it with others as we celebrate His birth and pass into the next century. Your presence in our lives blesses them abundantly. In Christ’s name, amen.
God bless each and every one of you this week and in the year ahead. You are never far from my mind or my heart. Peter sends his love too.
His Grace Be With You Always,
Lynn