Peter’s Christmas Revelation
There once was a boy named Peter. Peter loved Christmas and wished more than anything that he could work for Santa. He plotted throughout the year how he would get Santa to hire him. He only had one night every year when he could give Santa any resumes or notes. However, Peter knew, just like all children, that Santa sees you all year long. He was always careful to not do anything that might cost him his job.
When he turned eleven, his parents sat him down and told him that Santa wasn’t real. He couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be true. They had to be lying. He cried and tried to make sense of the shocking news. He determined that he would contact Santa that Christmas and make sure he was real. After all, he was eleven now; it was time he started his job.
The season came, and the days passed with excitement and anticipation. His parents had no knowledge of his plan. They thought he had accepted the news well and that it would be the first Christmas he would be “in the loop.” They never saw him plan his interview with the Big Man. They never heard him practicing in his room. But he made sure they didn’t know.
The night came, and Peter rose from his bed after his parents’ room door shut and the light went out. He crept along the carpeted hallway and came to the banister. The tree was lit, glowing in the night with holiday cheer; the presents that had been set out were under the tree, but those had been there since the previous weekend; the fireplace was empty, and the soot wasn’t disturbed. He wasn’t too late.
Peter made his way down the stairs, avoiding the creaky boards and keeping an eye on the fireplace. He took a seat in the chair facing the chimney and tapped his foot with anticipation. He licked his lips and prepared to greet his hero. His parents must be wrong. There was obviously a Santa. Peter heard noise outside and smiled wildly. He heard thuds, and then he stared hard at the fireplace.
With a puff of soot and a little cough, a man in deep red, white-rimmed clothes emerged from the improbable entrance. He shook his coat off and turned around. He wore a red hat with a puffy white ball at the end of the tapering fabric. His face was jolly, and his cheeks were rosy with the cold from outside. He immediately saw Peter.
“Little boy, you should be in bed,” Santa said with some reproach.
“Santa! You’re real. My parents said you were fake. I knew you were real.”
“Oh, they often do. I know why they do it. They were told the same thing when they were kids. But you need to go back to bed.”
“I came down here to ask for a job. I turned eleven this year, and I’ve always wanted to work for you. I want to go back with you to the North Pole and work for you.”
Santa considered for a moment. “Hmm. I suppose you could work for me.”
“Really?” Peter asked excitedly.
“Work as my secret influencer here in your town,” Santa explained.
“But I want to go to the North Pole!” Peter protested.
“I need you to help these people remember what the real reason for Christmas is. It’s not my holiday; I only serve people material gifts.”
“Whose holiday is it then?”
“Why, you know that!” Santa exclaimed, laughing jollily. “It’s His holiday, and He gives the everlasting gift.”
“I think I understand what you mean.”
“Now, go back to bed. When you wake up, there’ll be some temporary presents to remind you of the most precious gift you have.”
“Wait!” Peter said quickly. “My parents won’t believe me if I tell them I talked with you. Can you give me some proof?”
“It doesn’t matter if people believe you. You know I’m real, and you can only try to make people believe it, too. Some people just can’t believe something, even if you have proof.”
Peter sighed. “I guess that’s true.”
“Now go to sleep and wake tomorrow with new purpose.”
“I will, Santa,” Peter agreed, walking back upstairs.
As he passed the balcony looking down into the living room, he saw black boots disappearing up the chimney.
“Bye, Santa,” Peter whispered.
