The Spirit of Christmas

By Ken Regan

Its the week before Christmas, and Bertram, the angel in charge of spreading Christmas spirit, is back on earth in the guise of Santa Claus. His mission is to help Richard Garrison through his crisis of turning fifty by getting him to mentor Bobby, a young boy whose father is away, serving in the military. Will his plan come together by Christmas morning? Not if Richard keeps forgetting to deliver the present he needs to give to Bobby.

From the author of A Christmas Miracle Comes to Holy Nativity comes another uplifting tale filled with laughter, warmth, and all the magical elements of the Christmas season.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Oct 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781973604242

Ken Regan

Now turning gray himself, the author has spent a lifetime exploring the spaces in between black and white. He has written over 10,000 poems, many of which have been published in previous collections.

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Copyright © 2017 Ken Regan.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-9736-0425-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-0426-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-0424-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017915695

WestBow Press rev. date: 10/4/2017

CONTENTS

Chapter 1   First Encounter

Chapter 2   Some Quiet Reflection

Chapter 3   Where Else Would Santa Claus Be?

Chapter 4   A Step Into Unfamiliar Territory

Chapter 5   Snow Day

Chapter 6   Grandma

Chapter 7   Christmas Shopping

Chapter 8   Christmas Eve

Chapter 9   Christmas Comes At Last

Epilogue     A Heavenly Conversation

CHAPTER 1

First Encounter

DECEMBER 18

I t all started with the tree—that Christmas tree. It stood inside the card store window—small, bright, and beautiful. The white lights drew him in. Before he knew it, he was inside the store. He stood for a while looking at the ornaments, before he finally noticed the slips of paper hanging on the branches. He couldn’t resist taking a closer look at one of the pieces of paper. He took a quick look around. No one in the store seemed to be paying him any attention. He took one of the papers closest to his hand and looked down without moving his head. There was something handwritten on the paper, but he couldn’t quite make out the words. He tried to discreetly hold the paper a little closer to his head but accidently pulled it off the tree. He took another quick look around. No one else caught the accidental vandalism.

Oh, well, he thought, it’s already off the tree. I might as well see what it says. He held the paper closer to his face. A name and an address were printed in blue ink on the paper.

Bobby Bowen, age 8. 2343 North Almy Avenue, he read, slightly out loud. He began to ponder its meaning. He decided to put the paper back on the tree, or at least lay it at the base of the tree. But before he had a chance to do anything with the paper, a woman appeared at his side. He had noticed her before, standing behind the counter helping a customer. Now she was smiling at him.

Thank you for participating in our Give a Toy for Christmas campaign, she said brightly.

Huh? was all he could muster in reply.

This will explain the procedure, she said, handing him a printed flyer with the words Give a Toy for Christmas emblazoned in bright red at the top.

He tried to take in the rest of the flyer, but the woman kept talking, keeping him from concentrating on the words.

We’re trying to make sure every child in our community has a little brighter Christmas this year, she continued. Your help is certainly appreciated.

He was beginning to regret ever stepping foot inside the door. But, No big deal, he thought. He could buy a toy for a kid in need. He didn’t mind a little charity now and then. So once I buy the toy, what do I do then? he asked the woman. Do I have to drop it off at the house myself, or can I have it delivered?

Oh, no, she replied cheerily. You don’t have to do any of that yourself. It’s really easy. You just drop it off at St. Peter’s with the name and address of the child attached to the wrapped present. It’s all explained in the flyer.

St. Peter’s?

Yes, that’s my church. It’s right here on Main Street, two blocks down. The address is right here at the bottom of the flyer. See?

Church?

Yes, St. Peter’s. She gave him a curious look. I’m in charge of this year’s annual Christmas campaign. This is my store. I’m trying to reach a bigger audience this year, reach out to the community. We put up a tree in the church every year. But this year we have trees in several shops along Main Street as well. It’s such a worthwhile cause.

I’m sure it is, he said without emotion.

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He got out of the store as soon as he could. But it wasn’t easy making a graceful exit after walking into what felt like a trap. He began walking and passed several stores before coming to a waste receptacle. He stopped in front of it and looked at the piece of paper, which was now crumpled up inside his hand. He knew what he was going to do but was trying to find some justification for his action. Thus began an internal debate.

He had never meant to take the paper in the first place. It had fallen off by mistake. He hadn’t known what it was for. But what about the little boy? It wasn’t a big effort to buy one lousy toy. But to bring it to a church? That was the main problem. He hadn’t stepped foot inside a church since … He let the thought go. He had no desire to go any further down that path. The woman had said there were a number of trees around the town. Each kid’s name was probably on each tree, so they would get multiple presents. So this kid would get one less. And they probably collected extra toys anyway, just to make sure every kid got something.

His conscience still tugged at him, but he couldn’t stand in front of the trash can all day. He lifted his arm to toss the paper.

Oh, you don’t really want to do that, do you?

He looked around. Who said that? People continued to walk on by, oblivious to his presence. Only one other person was standing nearby. Santa Claus.

Santa Claus? How had he not noticed the man in the long white beard and fancy red Santa suit? It’s hard not to notice a Santa Claus. But the other passersby seemed to take no notice of him. In too much of a Christmas rush, he supposed.

But was this guy talking to him? No, he couldn’t be. There was no way anyone would know what he was about to do. Still, the words were enough to stop him in his tracks. He found himself staring at the short, slightly portly man in front of him, looking past the white beard to the twinkling blue eyes staring back at him.

Were you talking to me?

The man came a little closer. Yes, I was. His voice had a jolly rhythm that danced with every word.

What did you mean?

Oh, Richard, you know what I meant. There was a gentle chuckle behind his words.

What? Wait. How did you know my name? The puzzlement was written plainly on his face. Do I know you? His name was Richard, but how did this Santa impersonator know that?

I know you, Richard. The man stood right beside him now. And there’s a part of you that knows me.

Who are you? Richard was totally confused.

I’m the Easter Bunny. There was now more seriousness in the other man’s voice.

Huh?

Come on. Who do I look like? I’m Santa Claus. Duh!

You’re kidding me now, right?

Yes, of course, the man said, to Richard’s relief. But not really.

I don’t understand.

Of course you don’t, the man acknowledged. But let’s get back to what you were about to do.

What I was …

The paper in your hand. The man looked down at Richard’s clenched hand, still holding the paper.

You mean … Wait, hold on a minute. There’s no way you could know about … Unless …

Unless? the man asked in an encouraging voice.

Unless you were really … you know.

Go ahead. Say it.

I can’t.

Sure, you can.

No, I …

Come on. You know you want to. The man’s tone was enticing.

You’re …

Yes?

Santa Claus.

Ta-da! The man raised his arms and waved both hands.

You really are Santa Claus, Richard gasped.

What are you, five? The man’s voice now had a grumpy quality. No, I’m not Santa Claus.

I am so confused now. Richard looked all around, half-expecting to find a hidden camera setting him up for an elaborate prank.

I know. I know. There was now a more patient tone in the man’s voice. This happens all the time. Look, can we sit? My feet are getting tired. I’m not used to all this standing. I’m more of a floater.

A floater?

You’ll get it in a minute. Let’s go over to that bench. The man pointed to a nearby empty bench, and the two walked over and sat down.

This is better, the man said as he sat back. His feet dangled above the sidewalk pavement. It is a little cold on the backside, though.

Look, you need to tell me what’s going on here. Richard’s exasperation was showing. You’re starting to rattle me.

Okay, okay. Don’t get rattled. You shouldn’t be rattled. You should be somewhat at peace now.

How do you reckon that one out?

My, that’s a rather odd expression. For the first time, the old gentleman seemed to be caught off guard.

"It’s something my friend Lee Nager always says. Supposedly, it’s a line from a movie … A Hard Day’s Night."

Ah, yes, the Beatles. Good group.

What I mean is, why should I be at peace now?

Yes, yes. I see. Well, you see me as Santa Claus right now. Correct?

Yeah.

Well, I’m appearing to you in a form you can identify with, a form you should find comforting.

Go on. Richard’s confusion was growing by the minute.

This is not my real form. You couldn’t handle my real form.

Which is …?

I’m an angel.

An angel? Right. Thus the floating instead of standing.

Yes. Now you’re getting it.

What I’m getting is a headache.

More specifically, I’m the Spirit of Christmas.

The Spirit of Christmas, you say? Hmmph. Is this like a Dickens thing? Am I about to get haunted by other spirits?

You’re referring to Charles Dickens, no?

Richard nodded.

"Ah, yes, A Christmas Carol! The old man rubbed his soft white beard. Wonderful story. He got the idea from me, of course. Didn’t give me any credit, though. But that’s the nature of this business. We’re not in it for the glory, you know."

"No, of course not. Listen, this has been real … something. I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but this is all a little too … nutzo for me. I’m just going to be on my way. But you have a really nice day.