A House Visit from Santa
By Lynn Jarman
The chill in the air that Saturday morning in November of 1986 seemed to portend the storm that was about to descend upon our family.
I viewed the world through our living room window and watched the sun’s warmth flow over the top of the Wasatch Mountains and melt away the cold frosty blanket before me. Pleasant memories of holidays past filled my mind — holidays spent with family. I could hear my wife and children playing in a distant room. Joseph would have his 6th birthday in December and Josh was 20 months old. Thanksgiving was a couple of weeks off, but the magical anticipation of Christmas was already stirring in our home.
My father experienced a stroke just before Thanksgiving. After a short stay in the hospital, he was released to a nursing home. As Christmas approached, we were excited by the news that Dad could spend Christmas Day at home. Family began planning ways to ensure this would be a wonderful Christmas for both Mom and Dad, but our anticipated joy was sadly snatched away. Dad passed away on Dec 23.
Dec. 24 was spent making funeral arrangements and calling family. When evening came, I was totally exhausted. I sprawled across the living room sofa and listened to the muffled sounds of my wife and children in the distance.
Sadness swept over me and settled like a heavy blanket on my body and soul. I found myself praying for strength, praying for my mother, my wife and my children. Where was the joy in this Christmas? I thought of the Savior and the joy of his birth, but I also thought of the sadness accompanying the atonement. Solitude engulfed me.
As I felt completely isolated in my sorrow, I heard the jingling of bells, distant, but unmistakable. I focused on the sound. It was coming nearer, louder and louder. The sound was outside my very house. Still, I could not seem to move from my reclined position on the couch.
A knock at the door startled me. The bells were still ringing. They sounded like Santa bells. I forced myself to the door and there, on my front porch, stood a man all dressed in red with black boots, and a red cap with a white fur ball at the pointy end.
“Merry Christmas!” he exclaimed, but I couldn’t respond. I stared in dumb awe at the sight. He winked at me and laughed as he entered my home.
“Let’s see. I’m here to see Joseph and Joshua. Are they home?”
His eyes twinkled. They really did twinkle and his laugh was pure joy.
I hesitated and finally stammered a response, “Yeah … yes, I’ll get them. Please wait, I’ll be right back.”
I was asking Santa Claus to wait while I retrieved my children! If I was dreaming, it was a wonderful, exhilarating dream that I wanted to enjoy completely. I rushed my family to the living room where Santa was waiting to greet Joseph and Josh. His smile and warmth won over my two boys immediately. He spoke in a soft voice filled with love as he looked in their innocent faces and wondering eyes.
Suddenly he rose from the couch, wished my wife and boys a Merry Christmas and headed for the door. As he passed me, he briefly paused, reached back to shake my hand, smiled and whispered, “Merry Christmas.”
Then, as quickly as he had arrived, he was gone.
I looked at the excitement in the faces of my two sons, and in that instant, I felt the true joy of Christmas. I knew its true meaning.
I understood the greatest gift that we give each other is the gift of love. I hugged my family and knew that this would be a Christmas I would forever cherish in my heart. I had prayed for strength and what I received was a miracle of love.
I don’t remember what gifts were exchanged that Christmas, nor do I recall much about gifts exchanged on Christmas days in the following years, but I will always remember the Christmas when my fervent prayer was answered by a visit from Santa, who brought the gift of love to our home.
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Santa Claus doesn't exist.