The girl from 313 and I celebrated early Christmas last evening. Our gift exchange was short and sweet. We bought each other a few feet of a deep-water well somewhere in a dry and thirsty land. Last year, Norma and I gave each other a chicken, a rabbit, and a goat. World Vision is our Santa. His reindeer never weary or get lost.
Speaking of Santa, here’s a Christmas story:
My first interim was a 16-month hitch with Emmanuel Baptist in Virginia, Minnesota. As Christmas approached, an idea hit me and I maneuvered myself into the Sunday school program.
We were living in Cotton, just down the road from Virginia. Our long-time town Santa had died leaving his uniform and beard with his son Larry Peterson, a good friend. I plotted with Larry, telling no one in the Emmanuel congregation.
The church was full. I sat on the platform in an old-fashioned rocker while the kids performed their songs and recitations. Suddenly, with a lusty Ho! Ho! Ho! Santa appeared. He marched down the center aisle, tossing candy. From my rocking chair I called out: Santa, what on earth are you doing here? This is a church! Santa replied: Hey, it’s Christmas, the time for giving and good cheer. Get up here, I commanded, I’ll tell you about Christmas. Santa came to the platform and sat on my knee as I told him about Jesus, the first Christmas gift.
Old Grandpa Lloyd