by Sandra Byrd
“Welcome, welcome,” a woman said as she handed us a bulletin.
We walked partway down the aisle and then squished into the center of one of the rows. We sat next to another family with kids. In fact, there seemed to be a lot of families everywhere.
I closed my eyes as the lights dimmed, and when I opened them again the room blazed with candlelight. Five thousand miles away from home I felt . . . at home. I looked at my mother, my father, my sister. They looked comfortable. At home too.
Ushers came down the aisle and handed us each an orange with a ribbon and a candle. I looked down at my bulletin to see what all of this meant.
I looked at my orange. I touched where I thought Seattle would be on this globe. Then I traced my finger along the orange skin till I landed at what should be London. I made a tiny mark with my fingernail. I was in London now. This was my very own place in His universe right now, and no matter where I was, I could orbit Him. He moved me here, and He placed me here to do good. And He promised He would be with me too.
As we began to sing “Silent Night,” I knew I was home.
On the way back from church, Louanne asked, “Does Father Christmas come tonight? Or tomorrow morning?”
A nervous glance passed between my parents.
Chapter 52
Christmas morning I was the first person up. In past years that would have been so I could scope out the gifts under the tree. This year it was to give my gift. I tiptoed downstairs and avoided the middle of the third stair and the right side of the fifth one, and I skipped the last one altogether. I’d already figured out the squeaky spots.
“Come on, Growl,” I whispered to the dog, who was huddled near the back of his crate. Nothing doing. He just stared at me.
“Okay, then, Giggle,” I said. With a self-satisfied smirk on his dog face, he obeyed.
Anyone who says dogs don’t understand English hasn’t met this one.
I took him outside and then dragged him into the downstairs bathroom. I could tell he was worried. What was I doing? This was unusual!
“Bath, boy,” I said. My gift to Louanne this year was to get Giggle looking his best. If she couldn’t show her dog, at least her dog could look like a show dog.
Giggle started to whine, and he looked like he sorely regretted obeying. I fed him the first of about a thousand dog treats to keep him quiet. I’d purchased some dog shampoo—Dr. Ruff’s organic dog wash. “Contains an enriching native blend of organic herbs, lemon-scented tea tree, rosalina, kunzea, and eucalyptus oils. You and your dog will feel fantastic!” the bottle promised.
At the moment, up to my elbows in suds, I wasn’t feeling fantastic. Growl was desperately trying to paddle in the four inches of water I’d put into the tub. He couldn’t, so it just splashed all over me. Then he started whining again.
I finished rinsing him off and then burst out laughing. With all his fur matted down, he looked like a rodent, not a dog.
He glared at me. He knew who I was laughing at.
I towel-dried him off and got the blow-dryer out. Apparently Growl was afraid of the blow-dryer, because he began to pass gas every time I turned it on.
Great. Locked in a small bathroom with a flatulent dog. Not exactly how I’d planned my Christmas morning.
Eventually he stopped. I brushed him out, trimmed his nails a little, and lightly sprayed him with a dog misting product I’d found at Boots. The final touch: a bow tie. I attached it to his collar.
“You look quite smart indeed,” I said in my best British accent. He preened in front of me, and we went to wake up Louanne.
“Giggle!” she cried as he leaped onto her bed. He ran over and licked her cheek. “What happened to him? He looks great!” She buried her nose in his fur. “And smells great too!”
“Merry Christmas from me to you,” I said. “And you can keep the organic dog wash and lavender-scented dog mist.”
Louanne jumped out of bed. “Come on downstairs. I have something for you, too.”
Mom and Dad heard the ruckus and came downstairs to meet us. After making some cinnamon rolls and coffee, we gathered in the living room and opened the rest of the gifts.
“I love the cookie sheets!” Mom said. “I’ll use them all through the year—and also for next year’s cookie exchange.”
“And maybe now I’ll understand British football,” Dad said as he planted a kiss on each of our cheeks.
I opened a small package from Louanne—five different colors of nail polish—and thanked her for it.
“I think there are two presents in the kitchen,” Mom said. “Louanne, why don’t you go and get them?”
Louanne jumped up, grabbed the gifts, and ran back into the room. “They’re from Father Christmas!” she said as she handed mine to me.
Father Christmas’s handwriting looks an awful lot like Dad’s, I thought, but I said nothing.
“You first,” I said to Louanne. She tore into the box and lifted out a dog leash and collar.
“Oh, this is good,” she said, but I could hear the disappointment in her voice.
“Isn’t there anything else in the box?” Mom asked. Louanne lifted up some tissue paper and pulled out an envelope. She opened it.
“It’s a registration for the junior dog showing!” She jumped up and down and raced around the room.
I looked at Growl. You poor fool. You have no idea what’s in store for you.
“Savannah, your turn,” Dad said.
I held the package on my lap for a moment. I tried to steel myself. I was sure it was a jumper—sweater—to replace the one I’d shrunk. Probably in some color that worked if you were, well, older, but not for me. Like mustard. Or chive green. But they meant well, and I’d smile and put on my best happy performance.
I slit open the tape on the sides of the box and then carefully took the paper off. I lifted the lid and took a piece of tissue paper off the top.
“BLACK ZIP-UP BOOTS!” I grabbed them, one in each hand, and pulled them out. “Patent! Very, very stylish.” I hugged both Mom and Dad. “But how did Father Christmas know?”
They each shrugged their shoulders but I noticed that Louanne grinned. I smiled back at her. She must have put that in her letter she’d had me deliver to Father Christmas, who then had e-mailed the information to my mom and dad.
“I’m going to take Giggle out for a walk,” Louanne said. “Will you come too, Dad?”
“Sure, sweetheart.” Dad put on his jacket and then opened the front door. As he did, something fell away from it.
“Something was propped against the door,” Dad said. He picked up the package and read the label. “It’s for you, Savvy. It says it’s from Father Christmas.”
He looked so puzzled I knew he wasn’t playing dumb. And when I read the writing, it wasn’t Mom’s or Dad’s.
I sat down on the couch and unwrapped the gift. Inside the box was a pen. An actual Times of London pen! I carefully set it next to me on the couch and then opened the note.
It’s not a Wexburg Academy Times pen, but maybe the next best thing. I’ve been Father Christmas a long time, and I think I’m able to judge character by now. If I’m not wrong, I’ll be seeing you next year. And by that time you’ll have that good friend and that guy, you’ll have found a way to help others, and you’ll have a ministry, too. See you then!
FC
“That was nice,” Mom said. “Good thing Louanne put our return address on her letter, eh?”
And that he’s a postman, I thought, but said nothing.
Mom stood up. “I’m going to get another batch of rolls in the oven.”
“Come on.” Louanne pulled Dad out of the door. “Let’s help Giggle practice!”
I waved good-bye to them and headed upstairs. I popped a few Smarties in my mouth and then placed my new pen in the center of my desk. I opened my laptop and kissed the screen saver with supercute Ryan and the baseball team good-bye before I deleted it.
Then I inserted one of the newspaper team that
had been handed out for publicity. Everyone was there: Hazelle and her lipstick; Melissa and her grapefruit-scented hair; Rob, with his hands in his pockets; and everyone else. Jack, smiling that smile, front and center. And I was in it too. Way, way in the back. Not even noticeable really.
Yet.
Your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. MATTHEW 6:4 (NIV)