We have run a lot of Letters to Santa over the years but this is the first time we have ever run some of his replies. Here are some of my favorites . . .

Dear Santa Claus, I think that I have been very bad this year. Do you want to know some things I did? O.K. I’ll tell you anyway. First of all, I have been planning to dominate the world. I’ve done other bad things also. That is the worst. Now, I will name some things that you will get me (or else). I want a giant machine gun to blow up the world with. I want a big evil Barbie doll. I want my own elf. If I don’t get these then I will be extremely mad. So mad that I will blow up the world anyway. So Santa Claus, the world is doomed no matter what.

Hugs and Kisses, Rianna Dear Rianna, I think it’s time to see your doctor about taking you off the Ritalin.

Calmly yours,, Dr. Santa ***** Dear Santa, My mom and dad told me I’m spoiled and that I should think about the poor kids in Indiana because they don’t have any toys and I should be thankful because I have toys and food and a nice house and they told me I should give all my presents to the poor children in Indiana but I don’t think that’s fair so maybe you could just bring me the toys from my list and give those kids all my old toys. Can you do that Santa?

Sin Celry Chris Eck Dear Chris, While I agree that we should all feel sympathy for any child born in Indiana, I believe your mother actually said India — unless she didn’t, in which case she’s probably a moron. In any case, don’t feel bad for the “poor” children of India. While their standard of living is still far below that of the “developed” world, they are catching up rapidly. By about the start of your second marriage (it will fail, too) India will have surpassed the United States in wealth and standard of living. You see, while all you Americans sit around complimenting yourselves about being number one, the people of India are actually educating themselves in real courses such as Microbiology and Quantum Physics—as opposed to made-up subjects like Creation Science and Hip Hop Culture. But don’t worry, even as your standard of living slides inexorably toward the gutter, you’ll still think you’re number one — even if you don’t know the difference between India and Indiana.

Thanks for caring! Santa **** Dear Santa, Please, don’t be mad but my grandpa hit one of your reindeer with his car last night and even though he said it hurt his car more than his car hurt it I don’t think it’ll be good in time for Christmas Eve. My dad said you can borrow our dog Stinker if you need to because she’s as big as a horse. I don’t think Stinker can fly but she’ll try her best.

Sorry, Sam Dear Sam, Don’t worry. Your grandpa didn’t hit one of my reindeer. Unfortunately, he did hit a jogger—despite his claim that it was a deer. I’m afraid the police will trace the incident to him by early Christmas morning. Just as you’re all opening the gifts I’ve left for you, they’ll arrive to arrest him for manslaughter.

Enjoy the presents! Santa **** Dear Santa, Hi! I want a puppy for Christmas. How do your elves make gifts? I hope I have been a good boy. I love my parents. Do you? Please come to my house. Do you like puppies? I hope I can see you!

Your friend, Henry Sellers Dear Henry, What an unusual question. Do I love my parents? To be honest, I really hadn’t thought of them in years. Most people assume I’m an orphan thanks to the efforts of a publicity agency I hired back in the 1950s. They suggested going with the whole orphan thing as a way of mythologizing my past and creating an aura of mystery about my origins. The truth is that I did have parents. From an early age they trained me in the art of toy making. But did they ever let me play with the toys I created? No. They made me give them all away. Did it make me bitter? You bet. Did I take on the role of toymaker to the world in an attempt to win the favor of two nasty parents who ultimately would never be satisfied no matter how many toys I made and gave away?

Now that I finally look at it that way, I see that what I’ve been doing is merely an attempt to gain the love of parents whose love was never attainable in the first place. There’s no point in me making and delivering all of these toys. I see that now. Finally, I’m free of these onerous task. And I owe it all to you, Henry. Free at last, Santa PS: Whenever children ask me why I no longer bring them toys, I’ll say it’s all thanks to Henry Sellers of Evanston, Illinois.

—CC—

Here We Go A Caroling . . . Or Do We?

It seems like Christmas caroling, like may other things, has almost become a thing of the past. As a teenager our Sunday School classes went caroling every December. It was a lot of fun and the homes that we went to were always so appreciative.

It has been a lot of years since those days and I don’t remember the last time I have seen a group of carolers.

I have always enjoyed Christmas music and would probably play it year around if my coworkers would allow me to. They do allow me to start playing it in the office December 1st and continue until Christmas day.

The music of Christmas sets it apart from all other holidays. Beloved, ageless hymns speak of a holy birthday and faith, while cheerful tunes tell of the sights, sounds, and smells of Christmas. But what about the stories behind the songs? Here are condensed versions of the origins of five of my holiday favorites.

* “Silent Night” was written when the organ malfunctioned on Christmas Eve in 1818. Joseph Mohr, the assistant priest at St. Nicholas Church in Oberndorf, Austria wrote the words, then persuaded his organist to set them to music for guitar and voice.

* “O Little town of Bethlehem” was birthed in 1865 when Phillip Brooks was touring the Holy Land on Christmas Eve. He gazed at the shepherd’s fields, looked at the town, and attended a local worship service. Three years later, he merged his memories of those events into the enduring song.

* “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day” was born of the despair of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. As the Civil War threatened to tear the United States apart, he grieved that evil seemed to be overcoming good and that strife had devoured peace. Then he heard the church bells ringing and penned this song declaring God’s faithfulness.

* “We Three Kings” was written by John Henry Hopkins in 1857. Although the Bible actually reveals little about the men who traveled from the East to visit Jesus, Hopkins blended the Scriptures, church tradition, and legend. He immortalized in song these visitors from the east referred to in the Bible as “magi.”

* “Angels from the Realms of Glory” was written by Scottish-born James Montgomery in the 1800s. Montgomery was dismissed from seminary because of his love for poetry. He became a newspaper editor in London and was twice imprisoned for writing controversial opinions. “Angels from the Realms of Glory” was written for his newspaper column.

—CC—

One of my favorite Christmas stories is shared by Stephanie Thompson. She writes ...

“Okay, that’s the last of it,” said my fiancé, Michael, as he stacked the final box in my entry hall.

I surveyed the tattered, dusty containers with anticipation. Enclosed were Christmas decorations from Michael’s childhood. It was a part of his past, but to me it signified our future together as a couple. We were doing all sorts of holiday activities in unison— parties, shopping, and now decorating.

In a few months, we’d be married. I was eager to create some Christmas traditions of our own. I yearned for meaningful practices, significant and unique to our family. Opening those crates was better than Christmas.

“Look at this,” Michael exclaimed over each ornament and figurine, excitedly telling me the story behind each one. His eyes shone as bright as the twinkle lights on the two-foot-tall ceramic Christmas tree. “Mom made this,” he said soberly, a little wistfully.

Michael’s mother died when he was nineteen, so these boxes had sat in storage the past nine years. We’d made our way through several big boxes and now came to a smaller box. A nativity scene hid inside.

“Mom always put that under the Christmas tree,” Michael told me.

I carefully unwrapped the Mary and Joseph figurines and the carved wooden trough that served as a bed for the Baby Jesus. Stuffed deep in newspapers was an open barn. I placed it on the floor beneath the tree and arranged three wise men, a shepherd boy, a lamb, and a cow, all facing the manger. All the pieces were there— except the Baby Jesus.

While unpacking, I’d thrown the wrappings back in the box. I double-checked each paper, hoping to find the missing piece. But my search proved futile. Jesus was gone.

“Honey,” I called to Michael who busily arranged Santa’s toy shop in the dining room. “I can’t find Jesus.”

Michael put a hand on my shoulder. “Excuse me?” he asked playfully.

“The Baby Jesus for the nativity—He’s not here,” I explained, rummaging through more wrappings.

Michael’s expression changed. “It’s here. It has to be. We had it the last Christmas Mom was alive.”

Hours later, all the boxes were unpacked. Baby Jesus never appeared. Michael sadly suggested we pack the nativity scene back in the crate.

continued Page 14 “No, no,” I said. “I’ll find a baby that matches tomorrow.”

We kissed goodnight and Michael went home.

The next day, I stuffed Jesus’ bed into my purse and headed to the hobby store on my lunch hour. Amazed, I couldn’t find a Baby Jesus there. After work, I searched for Him at several other stores. I discovered that Baby Jesus wasn’t sold separately. I considered buying another nativity and using the Jesus in Michael’s, but all the babies I saw were too big for the bed.

Michael came over for dinner a few days later and I broke the news to him. After we ate, I began repacking the nativity figurines in their box. Michael stopped me.

“I think we should leave it out,” he said.

“Honey, we can’t. there’s no baby,” I replied. “We can’t have a nativity without Jesus.”

Michael took my hand. “Stand back,” he said. We walked a few feet away from the tree. “At first glance, you don’t notice that the baby’s not there. It’s not until you look closely that you see the Christ child is missing.”

I cocked my head and looked at the scene. He was right, but I didn’t understand his point. Could he possibly be suggesting that as long as no one could tell the difference from a distance, it didn’t matter whether there was a Baby Jesus or not?

But they he elaborated. “Amid the decorations, shopping lists, and parties, Christ can get lost at Christmas.”

Thus began our first Christmas tradition, significant and unique to our family. Each year, we unpack the nativity set that has been in the Thompson family for three decades. We position the figures in their customary places, all except the Baby Jesus. The empty manger serves as a reminder for us not to let Christ get lost in the midst of celebrating Christmas.

We all need to make sure Christ does not get “lost” during this special time of the year.