Who lives behind Santa’s white, fluffy whiskers? Some say a
jolly old man with rosy cheeks and a round, cookie-filled belly. Some historians
would say he is a thin, somber German who secretly places trinkets and things
inside tiny wooden shoes. For my team and me this Christmas, Santa looked a
little different; well behind the whiskers at least.
On the first day we arrived to South Africa, we met a bubbly
family named the Hoffmans. They are fostering one of our toddlers for a bit
before he goes to his adopted family. When this family first met my team, I was
off finishing up a few business chores and discussing logistical aspects of the
month with our contact.While I was gone, my teammates were chattering away with
them about the local church they attend and the Christmas events that were
coming up. One in particular, the Winter Wonderland event, was this upcoming
weekend. Now you must know that this event was geared towards children. They
explained that it would have a live Santa, Christmas face painting, gifts for
sale, and tiny Christmas train that you could ride, and a snow machine for the
end of the event. However, with my team knowing me so well, they knew that with
my Christmas fetish (some would say obsession) I would LOVE to go.
That night, they blind folded me, slid me in the back of our
ministry van, and drove me to the surprise location of this magical wonderland.
With my teammate Stacey firmly holding my arm, they led me to the door of the
event. After a few stumbles along the cobblestone path, they stood me in the
center of the doorway, peeled back my blindfold, and gave me a slight nudge
into the North Pole.
The twinkling Christmas lights met my eyes while the sweet
melody of “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year� flowed into my ear. As
silly as it sounds, one of my prayers was just answered. All the cheesiness of
the Christmas season was packed into one room, and I was standing in the center
of it with my toes ready to dance around the merriment.
The first thing that caught my eye was a tall man in a
velvet red suit and a puffy, white Christmas hat. He was walking towards us,
arms outstretched and words jolly.
“Santa!� I gasped, “We have
to get a picture with him!� I know, I know, I sound like an 8 year old. But I
was in Africa, and I wasn’t in a tent sweating to death. I was in a Winter
Wonderland meeting Santa and eating candy canes. Such is life.
We greeted him with big, warm hugs, and all the girls stood
around him for a picture. After we exchanged casualties, he found out we were
Americans, and started talking about his travels to the states and asking us
all about our trip.
We swapped stories, and found out some interesting tid bits
about the handsome, older chap named Gordon, disguised as Father Christmas. In the beginnings of his marriage, Gordon and
his wife Stella traveled throughout Eastern Europe for about twenty years
singing in a gospel band called Living Sound. They tiptoed through
post-communist regime proclaiming God’s truth and smuggling Bibles in and out
of closed countries. They some how found their way into writing the theme song
for the 1980 Olympics (Jimmy Carter eat your heart out) and after a long
process ended up being the first white people to adopt a black, African baby.
Her name is Taryn and she is now in her early twenties popping around the globe
just as her parents in their early years.
After the face painting and fake soapsud snowstorm (another
answered prayer), Saint Nicholas himself invited us out to dinner at this
amazing restaurant called Mugg and Bean. Through sipping tasty white chocolate
mochas and indulging in chicken fajitas, we learned about the life of our new
friend. He shared stories that made you laugh so hard that your sides hurt, and
gave you meaty advice that made you want to go home and journal by headlamp.
What a brilliant life this man has led. If you ask him, however, he will tell
you that the excitement of his life came from nothing that he did, but from the
provision and plans of the Lord. Him and his wife came to South Africa with only
two suitcases, and God literally provided the rest. A home filled with
beautiful furniture, a brand new car, a job, a baby, but most importantly, a
community, upon which he turned around and shared all of those blessings.
I couldn’t help but wipe away runaway tears from the corner
of my eyes at the blessing that this man was that night. Not only did he treat
us to a lovely meal, he adopted us for the month. He lives under the mentality
that God has provided him with everything he had ever needed, and now it was
his turn to pass those blessing along to someone else. From something as small
as taking us out for a cup of coffee to arranging for us to call our families
on Christmas day, Gordon (we call him the “G� J)
made it happen. That is family and blessings to me.
You see, it all comes down to something I call the “Blessing
Effect.� My team wanted to bless me that night by taking me to the Christmas
event, and in turn, we were all blessed by meeting Gordon, or Father Christmas
as he was first introduced to us. The man behind these whiskers was a cheery,
giving fellow who worked his way into our hearts and will remain a part of us
for the rest of our lives.
