Gift for the Giver

He sat inside looking dejectedly at the dark cold white world outside. The snowflakes falling like wispy feathers did not enchant him anymore. Nor did the silent sounds of the night. What had for all these years seemed a calm and serene journey through a magical world had slowly lost its magic.

With each passing year.

And now, he could not bring himself to rise. He simply did not believe in the spirit of Christmas anymore.

Christmas that had started with magic in the air, uniquely enchanting sounds, and smells, was changing shape into something monstrous. The spirit of giving was giving way to something that was never Christmas.

The socks of today were no longer content with small cherished gifts from the big jolly man.

They demanded more, so much more. More and more that was not his to give from his remote home in the cold Northern tip.

And so he sat, listless.

He would have sat that way forever… and ever… if not for that tiny little voice, he heard… the voice that came like a sparkle of magic in the air, lighting up his spirit with Christmas cheer.

He pulled himself up, dusted off his hat and called for his faithful stead, who had been waiting faithfully for their master.

“Mama, will Santa come tonight?” a sweet voice whispered.

“Oh, of course, he will sweetie. Are you eager to get your present?”

“No, mama, this year, I have a surprise for him.”  The same sweet voice again.

“Sweetie, you got Santa a gift?”, the mother whispered back surprised.

“Yes, I drew him a picture to make him go Ho Ho Ho!! He is always cheering us up with presents. He too needs a good laugh; don’t you think?”

With that, he set forth. As he sailed through, the wind blew at his long white beard, widening his smile of anticipation at the present waiting just for him in that little red sock in a humble home by the lake in the nondescript town.

The magic of Christmas remained. In creatures great and small.  Spirits bright and beautiful.