It's the little things...

Truth becomes cliché simply because it is truth. Money truly can't buy happiness, Love IS all we need, and bananas are gross (ok, maybe that's just me). A cliche is true everywhere all of the time.

Santa, without argument, is a walking cliche. This red-suited symbol of Christmas cheer represents joy, peace, and all our hopes for a better world.

And he is that way because of one other cliche...

"it's the little things that count"

See, it's the subtleties if a look or a smile that make a kid believe. Nervous kids become calm from a simple question about a favorite toy or something on their shirt. I could bring out an entire circus of delights and they won't have as much positive effect as a 3 second debate about fast vs slow race cars.

I have been preparing a sermon that uses the text from Matthew about the wise men. It's only found in Matthew and, admittedly, it's odd. Magic men from a far off land following a star to the place where the son of God is born.

Hmmmm....

There is a ton of research on who these guys were and what star this was. They were clearly astrologers, probably told by the biblical Daniel about the coming Messiah and what to look for, but you would be amazed by the amount of research done on this star. Candidates include supernovas, comets, and the alignment of planets.

People are again looking for something big...but they can't find it.

I've come to believe that the star these men saw was tiny...almost unnoticeable unless you were looking for it. The text says it showed up with the morning and led them across the sky. A small, but not insignificant star chosen for the greatest task in the universe

That sounds more like the God I've come to know.

In my life I've stopped looking for the supernovas. I'm enjoying the subtleties of the still small voice that seems to guide my life and leave good things in my path.

It's the little things that make all the difference...and it's the little things that will lead us to him.

domino effect

"I used to try to anticipate every outcome, but I've come to realize God is sovereign and I need to leave that part in His hands" - Santa

The children dressed in their finest chancel-wear would give any children's choir a reason to quake in their Granamals if the contest was based on cuteness alone. That is, if there was even a contest (or they still made Garanamals). I guess what I'm trying to say is that the choir they called "joyful noise" was causing people to smile well before the first note left this wiggly crew.

As they began to sing, we noticed some unusual movement from the front row. It seems that one little girl, unwisely placed next to her slightly older brother, had taken to elbowing him...causing the aforementioned smiles in the congregation to turn to chuckles and the choir director's smile to fade completely. Of course this encouraged an escalating volley of elbows and an increasing shifting of the front row till one final blow by sis caused brother to go down and nearly the entire front row with him. Needless to say, it was hilarious.

It's called the domino effect.

It works positively and negatively. In Santa land we can be fast and efficient, all the while giving people an amazing experience with Santa that so many have said was their "best ever". However, when something happens, it has an effect on everything. It could be a troublesome parent or a difficult photo session or a team member that doesn't work their spot or one that doesn't even show up. People in these situations aren't considering the others in their world or how we as humans are so dependent on the other humans we travel with to keep up their end of the bargain.

If they don't, dominoes start to tumble. And we spend the next season of our lives trying to play catch-up.

There is, of course, an ugly flip-side to this. It's easy to become so consumed with responsibility that it eats our soul, inspires an obsessive paranoia, or simply results in burnout. This is when we can feel the weight of the world on our shoulders and our knees start to buckle.

This is, I believe, where this whole idea of God being "in control" lives. I don't see God as some kind of puppet-master relieving us of our freedom to choose - even to choose to make a mess out of things. I do believe that God sees miles down the road and asks us to just make the next good decision that lies in front of us and trust him with the results. He knows what our situation...and our hearts...require and is working to get us all there.

We just need everyone to play their spot well.

The things we do while on this rock with billions of others really do matter. Kindness breeds more kindness. Peace breeds more peace. Hate breeds hate and indifference...well, that's just the worst.

Jesus taught us that Love breeds more Love. It may not be the way we thought, but the way the dominoes fall is in the hand of God.

Our call is to put love into the world. he will make sure it comes back to us and spreads and multiplies.

We might have to get knocked down a few times on our way there.

I don't believe?

Last night I had my first non-believer come through the line to visit Santa. His name was Ian and the matching sweater vest he wore with his little brother told me that he was here under duress, but willing to endure the charade to keep mom and dad happy. Ian might have been a skeptic, but he was a stand-up guy.

As he and I had a friendly debate on the truth of Santa Claus it started to snow. "See, now it's snowing! Tell me this isn't magical!" With eyes wide he searched for the answers...leading to a conversation about snow machines, painted cotton, etc., that concluded in Ian questioning his doubter status.

See, even if there is a logical explanation for things, it doesn't make it any less magical.

That same day, Santa was visited by a family for whom, 10 years ago, had seen their own Christmas miracle. The little girl in the family, who is now 16, had crawled up on Santa's lap and made an unusual request. Her new baby brother, just three days old, was in the hospital and doctors weren't sure if he was going to make it. This six year old girl wasn't asking for a Barbie or a pony; she was asking Santa to heal her little brother. Deeply moved, Santa called over the mother and with, I'm sure, some breach in mall protocol, said a prayer of healing right there in the mall.

10 years later the little boy is right in front of me, alive and well, with parents who believe in Christmas miracles

Is there a logical explanation? A medical reason why we were witnessing this reunion? Probably. But I can tell you from being a wittiness that day, it doesn't make it any less magical.

Sometimes you get to the end of your day and wonder what all the work was for. Last night I got home spent, lonely, and with more questions than answers. But I would be wrong to see the questions and not believe. Not after seeing what I've been able to see in my life.

Sometimes a man lays himself down and belief is all he has.

There is much more work to do. I'm on my way in to Santaland again. I'm a purveyor of magic. Most believe I sell photos and frames.

All of us who work today will tell you the same thing...we sell faith.

Believe.

safe in my stroller

Let me begin by saying that when it comes to making kids feel safe and loved, Santa is downright magical. Kids can enter Santa's space unsure and leave with a smiling photograph to prove the victory. However, there are some children for whom no amount of wooing or comfort will move them. Often they are fine observing Santa from the safety of a stroller or parent's arms. Santa can expend all his Christmas cheer and there is no moving this child. They will leave without an embrace by Santa.

Now, we know that Santa is good and that an experience with Santa leaves you feeling as warm as a yuletide fire. However, for whatever reason, there are those children for whom the fear blocks reason and they miss it. All I know is that there was an invitation from love and fear blocked it

I think we are like that more that we would like to admit. God promises love, but, for whatever reason, we want to stay in our stroller. There is a God who calls us to step out on faith, jump up in his lap, and read our wish list, but the fear is just to overwhelming.

I've been there.

When you are wounded by love or made to feel somehow that it's your job to make it happen, trusting a good thing is not always easy. God knows our hearts and what is written on our "list" and is dying for us to crawl up into his lap and read to him. Because of our fear we often choose to stay someplace that is more familiar but is far less than our hearts' cry.

The risk of snuggling into the red suit is huge, but then it's his job to love the fear from us.

He has more that Christmas magic to offer.

It's My Job

This entry is so overdue...but I need to tell you why.

Santaland is busy.

Really...it's crazy. I love doing it, but it takes up almost every spare moment I have. Take this entry for example, it's been brewing since the first week we opened. I had been working on building the santa set for a couple of days before Santa was to arrive, but I was at the day and there was still a ton to do to prepare. I had stock to get out, people to hire, schedules to put together, equipment to set up, and paperwork that was just screaming to get done.

It was all on me.

By the time we opened, the set looked great. Velvet rope lines guided excited families in, lights twinkled to announce Christmas magic, the red carpet was down, Santa's couch was as soft and supportive as a prop couch can be, the merchandise was out on display, camera was focused, my team was uniformed, and corporate was happy.  I had worked my fingers to bleeding to create this world and guess who moseys right in to the cheers of the crowd?

Well...it wasn't me.

No, no, here comes the big guy down the escalator, dressed in his traditional red coat (which I had to exchange myself for a better size, mind you) to the adoration of the crowd. He walked right in, singing, I might add, and took his throne ready to receive children.

Christmas had officially begun and no one knew my name.

Now, logic (and a healthy dose of arrogance) might step in at this point, borrow the mic, and announce that actually I was the one who made all of this happen. I was the one who built this set and prepared all of this. Santa just showed up. Maybe they want to rethink who they are getting their picture taken with? After all...I was the one responsible for the Christmas magic, aren't I?

I would be wrong.

See, my job was to create a world. The world I was here to create wasn't a world where I would be noticed or celebrated. My job was to make ready a space where children of all ages can come and be with Santa and where Santa can do his work. It's not about me. It's about the meeting between a hopeful heart and a loving heart.

My job is to make Santa visible.

My job is to remove any obstacles between the needy and the giver.

My job is to get out of the way so that magic can happen.

I realized that this is my job in my "real" life. I'm a christian minister. My job isn't to act in such a way so that people note what a great speaker I am or how funny I can be or how compassionate I am. No, my job is to build space where people can see Jesus. See, if I can get children, again, of all ages, in to see Jesus, then magic (or grace) can happen. My job is to work hard, sweat, bleed, pray, and do whatever it takes so that when a hopeful heart needs a loving heart there is nothing hindering the meeting.

My job is to make Jesus visible

My job is to remove any obstacles between the needy and the Giver

My job is to get out of the way so that grace can happen.

I like my job.

Michael, this is Santa

As I come into the holiday season I am so not where I thought I was going to be in any area of my life.

I’m not sure what I thought it would look like exactly, but there I was, walking into the mall alone looking at an empty space where it’s my job to bring Christmas; using all my strength to not cry or scream. When my cell phone rang I didn't recognize the number and was not interested in finding out who in Georgia wanted to speak to me.  A minute went buy and I checked the voice mail to hear a southern accent on the other line say:

“Hello, Michael? This is Santa.”

People have asked, when they find out that I’ll be moonlighting at the Santaland if I’m going to be Santa. Besides the fact that this long, tall, drink of water to whom they speak would fail at pulling off a convincing Santa, the mall hires “Real-bearded Santas” for their holiday celebration. What this means is that there are men who, in July on the beach, have children come up to them to say hello to Santa. They are the real deal.

I was about to find out just how real. 

He was in the mall and wanted to meet me and I told him I was on the set. There was no mystery whom I was meeting as I spied Santa coming down the hall past the Williams and Sonoma. He had it all. Long white beard, rosy cheeks, and the self-admitted bowl full of jelly. He reached out his hand with an unusual grace and reintroduced himself as Santa (in case I was unclear) and we proceeded to chat. 

I had a million things to do and felt the weight of it all in my chest, but I couldn’t not stop and engage this man. I don’t know it was his compassion or my need for what he represented, but I found myself talking about real life with Santa Claus.

As I sat with this man, our conversation interrupted by children who wanted to come and hug Santa (who, by the way, was dressed in a sweater and black leather jacket like some badass elf), I discovered that he was also in professional ministry and found himself in an unexpected life. This was a man whose story I knew was going to tangle with mine. 

As he described his “Santa Ministry” I got the sense that this was more than a moment in time where life wasn’t the way I wanted it to be, but that I was here for a divine intersection. This was not going to be just a job for me, a way to bring Christmas to my boys, but it was going to be a place of soul battle and healing.

When a man is angry or afraid or lonely or in pain, there is some element of control that he feels he still has. I was broken, moving through all the stages of grief like a freight train, and God wanted to meet with me. The recognition of the loss of control that faith (and healing) requires can be terrifying and I felt my heart race as it became clear that I was supposed to be here. I was alone, but God is showing up like I asked him to.

I should have know for me he would show up in a long white beard. Ironic really.

I never actually believed in Santa as a kid. My mom really tried, but I wasn’t having it. It didn’t make any sense to me so I didn’t believe. I’ve never been anti-belief, but it was just not for me. Six months ago I was the Easter Bunny. As I searched for the risen savior through my whiskers, I found myself allowing belief to take up residence as I was exposed to child-like faith on a daily basis. 

This season there seems to be another search, only this time it’s the risen savior searching for me - through a whole different set of whiskers. 

I wonder if I’ll let myself be found this time.

It’s not just Santa who is calling me today.