Santa's Helper

I love the Christmas season and all it brings with it. Many of my fondest memories include Christmas family traditions – but my favorite memories are from when I was a child.

Growing up, Christmas usually meant a house full of brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents with lots of presents and good food. I remember the heightened levels of excitement, anticipation, and curiosity about the presents under the tree. In my mind, I was always a good girl and was delighted at the thought of opening all the gifts I knew I deserved.

When I was eight years old, my Mom asked what I wanted for Christmas. I told her I wanted a perfect little blonde haired doll with her own carrying case. About a week before Christmas, two identical boxes appeared under the Christmas tree – one addressed to me and one to my little sister.

I remember looking at those two gifts for hours – shaking, examining, wondering, and perhaps even obsessing over what was inside. Two days before Christmas, Mom walked across the street to visit our neighbor and I found myself alone in the house.

Curiosity got the best of me. As she headed out the door I made a bee line for the two identical boxes under the Christmas tree and carefully opened the one with my name on it. There was a perfect doll settled in a perfect little carrying case. But my perfect little doll wasn’t quite perfect. She had brown hair. I double-checked the tag to make sure I had the right box. It clearly said, “To Cassie, From Santa.”

As I carefully rewrapped the gift, I couldn’t take my eyes off the other box with my sister’s name on it. After checking to be sure Mom was still across the street, I opened my sister’s gift. Sure enough, there was “MY” perfect little blonde haired doll all snug in her perfect little carrying case.

What to do? Santa had obviously made a mistake and gotten my blonde doll mixed up with my sister’s brown-haired doll. I had heard about Santa's helpers so I decided to become one then and there. I rewrapped “My” doll and switched the tags on the boxes. Mom was still across the street. Perfect!

On Christmas morning, I was a bit nervous when we opened our gifts. My sister was thrilled with her brown-haired doll but that curious look on my mother’s face made me wonder. Had she talked to Santa? No one said anything and all was well for me and my perfect little blonde haired doll.

While Santa is giving his presents, God gives us his presence.


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