It was Christmas and my middle child was nine. Every year, we did the same thing on Christmas Eve, but this year we mixed it up a bit. My oldest was 13, my youngest, the only girl, was three. It had been a good year and we were able to get them exactly what they had asked for. Chris, the oldest wanted a shotgun for hunting. Christian wanted a chopper bicycle more than anything in the world. He had talked about it since summer. My girl was three. She didn’t know that she wanted a brand-new pink Barbie Jeep. Christian was a sneaky child, and we knew we couldn’t keep a chopper bike hidden from him anywhere on the planet. So, we waited until the last minute to order it. It arrived on Christmas Eve. It was a rare Christmas indeed, because both of my parents and my stepdad would gather under the same roof for the holidays for the first time. My mom and I kept the kids out all day finishing up our shopping lists to make sure Christian did not see the UPS truck. His anxiety was heightening daily because for once, he had no idea what we were getting him for Christmas – not even a hint. Once the bike arrived, my stepdad put it in the back of his truck, and left before we got back, taking the bike to a designated drop off place to hide it until we figured out just how we were going to present gifts from Santa this year. There was a lot to Anna’s jeep, and it would take my husband, father, and stepdad hours to assemble it.
The Christmas routine that the boys had established for us over the years, was that the kids would go to bed early because they knew that once they went to sleep that night, when they woke up, no matter what time it was, Santa would have already come. Most of the time, our Christmases were at three a.m. but we didn’t mind. It was what made the holiday special. They were usually ready for bed as soon as the sun disappeared on Christmas Eve. This year, though, we had decided to shake things up a bit and have Christmas on Christmas Eve. My mom and I took the kids on a drive through our small town and through other small neighboring towns to look at Christmas lights. Anna, our three-year-old girl, oooohhed and aaahhhed and pointed every time we saw a brightly lit house. Meanwhile, back at the house, the three men were working diligently to get the jeep together and get everything placed just so around the tree. The boys were having a ball laughing at Anna – for the first hour. Then they began to grow anxious as they realized we were prolonging Christmas by not allowing them to be home in bed. They went from anxious to angry the second hour, and by the third hour, the sun had set upon their wrath, and they were mad sleeping in the back seat. Finally, the call came that all was ready, and we returned home.
They woke up still mad because we were making Christmas late. They stumbled out of the car and stomped into the house. The first thing they saw was Anna’s bright pink Barbie Jeep sitting in the middle of the floor. Chins hit the floor and mouths fell open. All anger vanished, replaced with an eruption of excitement like none we’d ever seen in any Christmas past. Chris rushed to his prized new hunting gun and Anna to her Barbie Jeep and Christian ran all over the house trying to find his gift from Santa. After he had searched high and low, he stood in the middle of the living room and exasperated, he shrugged, and said, “I can’t believe he left me nothing.” He was not accepting it. He was looking to us as if we needed to call Santa up and tell him a thing or two. We played along for a few minutes telling him he must’ve been on the naughty list. Christian was the middle child after all and was our little Dennis the Menace kid. He listened to us for a few seconds and then did what any smart nine-year-old boy would do.
He appealed to the higher court of Grandpa.
My dad, who was Christian’s favorite human on earth, began to reason with Christian.
“Well, let’s think this through Christian. Santa has never come and not left you anything and you’ve been growing and getting better every year. Even though you did have some hiccups throughout this year, there weren’t near as many as last year, right?”
Christian listened and calculated.
“Maybe, he brought you a gift so big, it wouldn’t fit in the house…”
Christians eyes got big. His mouth opened wide. He saw dad’s flashlight nearby and immediately he knew that he had not been forgotten.
“Come on Grandpa!”
I followed behind with the video camera and the whole army of us followed dad’sflashlight beam through the foggy night. We went all the way around the house and back to the front, where Christian stood, empty handed and exasperated once again. He threw his hands in the air once again in a giant shrug and crossed his arms. He shook his head and looked at all of us.
“I just can’t believe it,” he said.
“Well, Christian,” my dad said, “I just think you might be giving up too easy. It is dark and it is foggy.” Dad began moving toward the edge of the yard by the road. “Let’s just keep looking.”
He talked to Christian patiently as they approached the road. Then dad turned around and aimed his flashlight at the house.
“Now, let’s think about this. Where would Santa go first? Let’s trace his footsteps.”
“Grandpa! The roof! I see something! Shine it on the roof!”
There could not have been a more excited nine-year-old kid on earth that night, as when he saw his chopper bike propped up on its kickstand on the flat part of our red roof.
We have had many Christmas memories since then. We now create them with our grandchildren. But nothing tops that night.
I think our faith is something like the chopper bike. We know it’s got to be there somewhere. We know God wouldn’t forsake us. His Word says so. But sometimes, we have to look in unexpected places to find it. We can’t always find it at church. We can’t always find it in prayer. Sometimes, it’s just lost. But then as we go, we run into a stranger on the street, a person in the grocery store line or encounter some mystery in nature. Just like that bike that is forever embedded in my grown son’s heart, our faith will turn up.
We just got to keep looking and tracing the Father’s steps.
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