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The full moon shining on the newly fallen snow transformed the snow-draped countryside into a winter wonderland. Our bob-sled glided noiselessly along, the rhythmic beat of the horses' feet as they plowed through the snow, the creak of the harness as they leaned forward and an occasional snort as they cleared their nostrils of the frosty air were the only sounds heard this crisp December night. It was Christmas Eve, and we were on our way to the Old Country Church that was so much a part of my childhood. I loved that old church. There were so many things to interest a child, like the front door. In damp weather it stuck, I wondered if that was a warning that we must keep the Ten Commandments or the gate to heaven might be stuck when it was time for us to enter? And was one commandment more important than any other? It was all-confusing to a little girl. I'd ask my mother - she would know. Just inside the entryway a rope dangled through an opening in the attic. I was always tempted to give it a yank and ring the big bell anchored on the roof but only adults could do that, it seemed that children couldn't do any of the fun things! The next door led into the sanctuary; in the eyes of a child it was huge. There were no stained-glass windows, no carpeted floors, and no padded pews in this sanctuary. The gray walls were cracked here and there and in one corner of the high ceiling a section of the wallpaper was loose and seemed to sag a bit more every Sunday. In the center aisle leading to a raised platform in the front of the room, one board creaked loudly when stepped on. I always hoped that everyone in my family would avoid it. At the first squeak everyone already seated turned - in unison - to judge the family entering. Were they all there? Did the girls have new dresses? Was the boy's hair combed? Was that a new hat the mother was wearing? It was embarrassing. My brother and sisters always scattered to sit with friends but I stayed with my mother. Our place was in the front pew and my father joined us after he had tied the horses to the hitching post. A pulpit on the platform held an open Bible; here the preacher began his sermon. Speaking gently he as- sured everyone of a heavenly home awaiting those who kept the Ten Commandments and lived by the Golden Rule. When he felt he had everyone's attention his voice rose sharply and he began pacing back and forth, de- scribing a place they would spend eternity unless they repented and changed their ways. I certainly didn't want to go to the place he described! My mother wouldn't let me say the word! Every time he passed the pulpit, he banged it with his fist. I was always afraid he would knock the Bible to the floor. That would be worse then letting the flag touch the ground. I snuggled up close to my mother and wished my father would hurry in. Finally when everyone appeared to be thoroughly frightened, would repent of his or her sins and change their life style, he returned to the pulpit and quietly finished his sermon. Then came the part of the service I liked best. Mrs. Bradstreet played the piano and everyone sang those beautiful old hymns - "In the Garden - Sweet Hour of Prayer" - Although many voices were probably off key - to me it was heavenly music, as if the angels were singing. Now, childhood is long gone but those precious old hymns are still in my mind, and memory of the words and music often lull me to sleep after the cares of the day. I wished that the horses would hurry; tonight it would be entirely different. The children would say "pieces" and sing songs. There would be a manger scene with the shepherds, the Three Kings, and Mary and Joseph. The baby wrapped in swaddling clothes would be lying in the manger. I was always sorry there was no room at the inn for Mary and Joseph but my mother said that it was supposed to be that way. I didn't under- stand. Entering the church, I could hardly believe what I saw. The cracked gray walls and loose wallpaper magically disappeared in the soft glow of the kerosene lamps placed about the room. On the platform a tree reaching almost to the ceiling sparkled with gold and silver tinsel threaded through the branches. At the tip of many branches, holders containing lighted candles added to the Christmas spirit. (I was too young to be concerned but many adults were probably nervously expecting to see the tree burst into flames.) An angel at the very top of the tree appeared to be unconcerned about the danger. Beneath the tree were many brightly wrapped packages and among them a doll. Not just any doll but the very one I had seen in a store window. It was love at first sight. I had pointed her out to my father and told him I just had to have her. (Usually I got what I asked for). I was surprised when he said I was too little to have such a big, fragile doll, when I was older I could have one like her. I protested there would never be another one like her. I had to have Her! But no amount of coaxing changed his mind. We walked away, the doll stayed in the window. And now here she was under the tree, and tonight some other little girl would get her. I felt a tear trickle down my check. Oh well, I'd get one of the packages; I'd pretend I liked whatever was in it! My father hadn't come in and it was time for me to say my "piece." I hurried up to the platform, said it as fast as I could - I didn't forget a word. When I jumped off the platform and nearly fell in my haste to get back to my mother, the people all laughed, I thought they were rude. When the children sang "Silent Night," the program was over. Suddenly there was a sound of sleigh bells and someone shouting. "Whoa Dasher, Whoa Dancer." The door burst open and "Ho-Hoing" and stamping snow from his boots, down the aisle came Santa Claus. He stomped on the squeaking board and it made a loud noise. I thought he should have been more careful - he did the same thing last year! And where did he get that coat? It was exactly like my father's! Was there a Sears Roebuck store at the North Pole? I thought the only store there was Santa's workshop. There were several things I didn't understand about Santa Claus. In the city, how could he be at so many different street corners at the same time? He would be on one corner ringing his bell and asking shoppers to put money in the kettle to buy gifts for poor children, then on the next corner he was doing the same thing at the same time! That wasn't all. In every department store, there he sat inviting children to sit on his lap and tell him what they wanted for Christmas. I wouldn't sit on his lap; he didn't keep a list of the toys the children asked for. If I told him he would only forget. Yet, maybe I should have told him about the doll! Going directly to the tree he picked up each package and called out a child's name. I kept waiting for him to call my name. But something was wrong! All that remained under the tree was the doll and I didn't have a pack- age! My family had warned me that I had to be good before Christmas or I wouldn't get a present. I had been good, Oh, there was that time I drew pictures with my red crayon on the wallpaper and said my sister did it. But I told her I was sorry. It just wasn't fair! My name should have been on a package. I hid my face in my mother's lap to hide the tears. A tap on my shoulder caused me to look up; there was Santa right in front of me, holding the doll. Instinctively I held out my arms. With a "Ho Ho Ho" he gave her to me. The rest of the evening was a blur. I remember only being in the sled on the way home, holding my doll and thinking that never in my entire life would I ever be so happy again. That doll now sits in my curio cabinet, the aura around her reflecting memories of a very happy childhood. On this Christmas Eve, many years later, as my clock ticks away the waning hours of the 20th century, I relive that special Christmas Eve - a ride in a bob-sled with my family to an Old Country Church where Santa... "Wearing a coat exactly like my father's"... Erased from my mind forever any doubt that there really is a Santa Claus. |