I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her. On the way, my big sister dropped the bomb, ‘There is no Santa Claus’ she jeered. ‘Even dummies know that!’

My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her ‘world-famous’ cinnamon buns. Knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true.

Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me ‘No Santa Claus?’ she snorted… ‘Ridiculous! Don’t believe it! That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let’s go.’

‘Go? Go where, Grandma?’ I asked. I hadn’t even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun.

‘Where’ turned out to be Kirby’s General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. ‘Take this money,’ she said, ‘and buy something for someone who needs it. I’ll wait for you in the car.’ Then she turned and walked out of Kirby’s.

I was only eight years old. I’d often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, and the people who went to my church.

I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath, messy hair, who sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock’s grade-two class.

Bobby Decker didn’t have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn’t have a cough; he didn’t have a good coat either. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat! I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm and he would like that.

‘Is this a Christmas present for someone?’ the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. ‘Yes, ma’am’ I replied shyly. ‘It’s for Bobby.’

The nice lady smiled at me as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn’t get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, ‘To Bobby, From Santa Claus’ on it. Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker’s house explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa’s helpers.

Grandma parked down the street from Bobby’s house and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk Then Grandma gave me a nudge. ‘All right, Santa Claus’ she whispered ‘get going.’

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.

Fifty years haven’t dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker’s bushes.

That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were, ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team. I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside, $19.95.

May you always have LOVE to share, HEALTH to spare, and FRIENDS that care…

And may you always believe in the magical ideas of loving, sharing, and caring behind the name of Santa Claus!

I do not fear admitting that I am anti-war. I find no shame in wishing fervently that our instincts as human beings would drive us toward reconciliation and mutual respect, far quicker than they still drive us to retaliation and bitter enmity.

That said, I know what it is to wear a uniform and stand within a body of men and women dedicated to service. I admire anyone who is willing to compromise their safety and security, in the belief that their actions will contribute to the greater good. At this time of year, I am also saddened that this kind of service has no “time-out” period, no “pause’ button, no vacation.

As we begin decorating our homes, and shopping for gifts, let’s take a moment to remember the thousands of men and women who are in Afghanistan, Iraq, and many other parts of the world not called “home” to them.

also remember those who won’t come home at all, or not how they’d wish:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CYAneQMvEuw]click here for info on this project

And last, let us think of some small way we might show our appreciation for those who do their best to make our world a better place:  To the soldiers serving far from home; to the nurses and doctors on call; to the police and fire crews waiting to respond to the inevitable; to the teachers spending that extra time to help students end the year on a high note; to the parents who struggle valiantly to bring joy and cheer to their children, even in the face of financial hardship…to these and all the others who think of someone else as much as or more than themselves, I say “God Bless you, one and all”.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Holidays. However you celebrate, may this season bring you equal opportunities for joy and reflection.