A few years ago my wife made a Santa suit. She sewed the trousers, jacket and cap using a red textured fabric and trimmed them with a puffy white fringe. She bought a wide black belt and a white wig and beard from a costume shop. We added a pair of black snow boots bought years ago at K-mart, and the outfit was complete.
Other people borrow the costume on occasion, but she made it largely for me. She planned for me to walk into rooms full of children and bring them Christmas cheer. She made a Mrs. Claus outfit too so she could accompany me.
Problem is, I’m a most reluctant Santa. I feel silly saying, “Ho, Ho, Ho.” Strands from the beard slip into my mouth and make breathing difficult. And I’m nervous around children — they sense this because they’re nervous with me too. All in all, a lot of strikes against a potential Santa.
We know a single mom raising three small children. Christmas was going to be thin for them, so my wife decided they needed a visit from Santa. After lunch on Christmas Eve I put on the red uniform, sloshed through the rain and melting snow and showed up on their doorstep with a small frozen turkey and a basket of food. My wife went along in civilian clothes and took pictures. (She turned the event into a small scrapbook and gave it to them as a gift.)
The children were excited at first, but when this strange man entered their home, they grew more fearful and shied away. Only the eldest braved a picture with Santa, a slight smile on her face. Her blond hair complimented a little red dress with white fringe. When asked what she wanted for Christmas, she said, “A hamster.”
I gave out candy canes and said Ho-Hos as convincingly as possible. My wife did most of the talking, though, and I stood by as a silent Santa. She said to me afterward, “There aren’t many children who get a visit from Santa in their home on Christmas Eve.”
When we arrived home our dog Jazz, unhappy with a stranger in her home too, barked at me till the red suit came off. Then Santa folded back into his old brown suitcase for another year.
Later that evening I shared a pew with the same mom and her three children at a Christmas Eve service. Two dozen lit candles of many shapes and sizes stood on the altar, their light waiting to join sixty hand candles during Silent Night. The girl in the red dress sat next to me, but I doubt she suspected anything. Or at least, she didn’t let on. Her mom smiled at me and mouthed the words, “Thank you.”
Love can call on us to do uncomfortable things. When an introvert like me puts on a Santa suit, it’s a spiritual exercise in love of neighbor. Almost in spite of myself, I brought a smile on Christmas Eve to a little girl in a red dress. I learned there is a place in the world for shy Santas.
