BY STEVEN RAY BOWEN
Body
This reminiscing comes from Dec. 5, 2008.
We all know each other pretty well by now, especially having a three-year journey through the summer of ‘73. We’re not quite through with some reflections on that, either. But before the holiday season is over and back in our rearview mirror, we have to take another glance or two at it. We’re all reluctant to let it go. Who’s to say we have to, right?
So, today, here’s a little reminiscing. Actually, this is a case of reminiscing about reminiscing.
But I don’t care how many years we take this journey, the scenery never gets old.
Each year, when cold December rolls around, a particularly nice thought comes streaking across my mind like a reindeer-driven sled darting across the sky.
Santa Claus is coming to town.
I can tell because even this week out here in Texas, snow started to fall like big pieces of cotton diving down out of the sky. We were in the middle of class and one of my young students said, “Look, it’s snowing!” I looked outside, and then I knew:
Santa Claus is on his way.
I can tell because of some of the cravings I’ve been getting the last few days. I’ve had powerful urges for some hot chocolate with marshmallows and for some of that hot, spicy apple cider you only get this time of the year. I’ve even had the urge to get a cup of one or the other and build a fire, prop my feet up, and watch “Home Alone.”
And just today, I was wishing “It’s a Wonderful Life” would come on. Why is it that I never get that urge on the Fourth of July?
I’ve been thinking about certain toys from the growing-up years: slinkies, toy train sets, and bicycles with streamers in the handlebars. And B.B. guns. Could we go back there again, just for a day?
Whenever my heart’s radar starts picking up Santa, I always think about my brother Wayne, because he’s the one who foolishly tried to tell me there’s no Santa Claus back when I was nine. He sure turned out to be wrong on that one.
And I think about a lady my daughter Rachel and I saw asking for money on the side of the road one year down in Waco, Texas. When we stopped and gave her a dollar or two, she said she was trying to get to Oklahoma to see her kids before Christmas. A Christmas never comes now that I don’t hope she made it home that year before Santa Claus came. I sure hope she isn’t standing on the side of the road anymore, either.
There’s something else that tells me Santa Claus is heading home soon: I’ve had this unexplained urge to gather my family all together and head to Georgia to spend some time with Grandma. Oh, I know: She’s been gone now for six years, but that doesn’t take away that desire to go home and sit at her table for the holidays. Of course, it was always Christmas time at Grandma’s.
If all those signs aren’t enough to convince you that the white-bearded fella’s plane is in the air, then you just need to listen. Do you hear what I hear? Ah, I know you do.
“Awaaaaay in a manger, no crib for a bed. The little Lord Je-sus laid down his sweet head …” That’s still my favorite of all, and I think it’s my grandson Connorman’s favorite, too. The other day, I heard him through the phone, belting it out as he prepared for his little pre-school holiday program.
And listen for my second favorite song of this time of the year: “Sil-ver bells … sil-ver bells … it’s Christ-mas time, in the ci-ty …” I’d better stop now, or I’ll be getting watery-eyed. It’s too early for that. Santa is still a few million rooftops away.
There’s one more thing. Of all the stories we get to share throughout the year, it is the one story during this season that I most enjoy. It’s the greatest of all, streaming all the way from the small town of Bethlehem at a crowded inn. Oh, I can’t tell it yet, but don’t be surprised when you open up the Saturday paper in a couple of weeks and have it waiting on you.
So, this December, I hope you’ve already started seeing the signs and hearing the sounds around you. If not, I’d better remind you of a few things.
Slow down just a bit.
Fix you a smooth, marshmallowy cup of hot chocolate.
Sit by the fireplace in your housecoat and slippers and flip through the TV ‘til you run across a movie starring Mr. Jimmy Stewart. It won’t be long before you hear that sleigh whistling a joyful tune in the air. When you hear it, you’ll realize that I was telling you the truth.
Yes sir, Santa Claus really IS coming to town.
Coach Steven Ray Bowen served as a teacher and basketball coach at Red Oak High from 1998-2012 and recently spent two years teaching and coaching at Ferris. He and his wife Marilyn (the “amazin’ blonde”) served many years with the Church of Christ of Red Oak at Uhl/Ovilla Roads, but now spend time evangelizing in several states in addition to Coach’s work as a writer and author, including the writing of the ongoing novel/memoir here in the Press. Call or text (972) 824-5197, or email coachbowen1984@gmail.com, or see frontporchgospel.com.
