The Christmas I Remember Best

by Carolyn Jonas Harmer 

Deseret News, December 19, 1980

Christmas without Santa Claus? Even though I was 10 and old enough to know reindeer really couldn't fly Santa through the sky, I couldn't imagine a Christmas morning without bulging stockings by the fireplace.  But that was the year Mother had come home from the hospital with a new baby, only to find an eviction notice. We had one month to find a new home. Mother and Daddy borrowed what little they could and cashed in all our war bonds to pay the hospital and doctor bills, and after three weeks of anxious searching moved us into another home.

One cold night close to Christmas, Mother slowly explained that Santa had remembered us every other year, but this year he wouldn't be coming because other children needed him more. Daddy was working late every night to pay for our house, and there was simply no money left to help Santa Claus come.

Yes, how blessed we were to have a warm house when others had none, and boxes of still serviceable hand-me-downs from older cousins. And yes, how blessed we were to have homemade soup at night when other children went to bed hungry... And yes, how very blessed we were to have in our home a new baby to be Jesus in our little nativity play on Christmas Eve.

But still, Christmas without Santa Claus? Wasn't there even enough money for one toy? Mother had worry lines between her eyes and didn't answer our persistent questions.

The day before Christmas Eve, my brother and I walked the two miles into town to find a special present for Mother and Daddy, with the question still gnawing at us both, "What would Christmas be like if there was no Santa?" We had carefully saved the nickels we had earned from weeding the neighbors' yards and baby-sitting after school. But everything we wanted to buy cost more than we had. No wonder Santa couldn't afford to come. By the time we finally made our choice, it was dark. We used our last nickel to telephone Mother and let her know we were on our way home. Expecting her tired, quiet voice, we were surprised by her enthusiastic exclamation, "Run home as fast as you can. Santa Claus has come early this year!" Run we did, gasping out guesses as we waited for traffic on the busy corners. New shoes? A big box of candy? Could he possibly have left a toy for each of us? 

Mother was waiting at the door as we breathlessly dashed across the  yard and up the front steps. Smiling, she pointed to the corner of our bare living room. There, tied up in the biggest red ribbon I'd ever seen, was a new television set, the first our family had ever owned. Taped to the bow was a big

Christmas card which read, "Merry Christmas to a fine family. From Santa Claus. "  

Mother was sure the delivery man had made a mistake. Daddy, for the first time in his life was speechless. But we children simply accepted the fact that Santa had come just as he always had.  That was the beginning of the most memorable Christmas we ever had.  What had promised to be a bleak holiday turned into a day of  gratitude and  guessing and of wondering how we could make someone else feel as happy as we felt.  

We never found out who helped Santa Claus that year, but his unexpected Christmas gift left a warm glow inside all of us. Somewhere, someone had cared enough about our struggling little family to bring the Christmas spirit into our home more sweetly than I had ever experienced.

That year I stopped believing in Santa Claus as a round man in a red suit and white fur who brought toys to children. I began believing in him as a symbol of all those who love and give and reach out to bring the warm glow of Christmas to others. After that, whenever one of us asked Mother if there was a Santa Claus, she would just smile and say, "As long as you believe in him, he always comes."