Thursday, December 24, 2009
Santa Claus forgave a little boy today


 I was sitting in church tonight, Christmas Eve of all
nights, listening to Pastor Robert speaking about the
life of Jesus. When it finally hit me, all of these
years I have been wrong. It was me. I was the one to
blame, not Santa Claus. All these years I have been
so mean to him and he didn't even deserve it. After
the service I walked my dearest friend Maria to her
car and gave her a good night hug. I then hurried
home. I knew what I needed to do. I had to get a
hold of Santa. I knew it wasn't going to be easy.
Years ago he stopped accepting my calls. So I knew
I couldn't call him. So I rushed the dogs inside
and jumped on the computer. Frantically I started
typing an email to him. It felt like my fingers
were moving a mile a second. I had to let him know
I was oh so sorry for all those years of unwanted
anger. But would he get my email in time before he
headed out to deliver presents?

Let me take you back a few years. I was 9 years
old. I was the worst kind of child. I was horrible
to my Mother, always talking back to her. I would
throw things at our dog Misty. I even harassed my
Grandfather from the roof of the house. Dropping a
tennis ball attached to a string and letting it
pound up against his window, then quickly pulling
it back up. I would pull the hair of the pretty
girls who wouldn't speak to me at school. I even
beat up poor Jason Clausen for no reason at all.
It was that very year that Santa stiffed me. I
woke up to no presents under the tree. I couldn't
believe Santa would do such a thing like that, to
me of all kids. The nerve I thought he had. I was
so mad. I wanted to cry but I refused. I didn't
want him to think he got the best of me. So it was
that very morning that I vowed I would make him pay.
So every year after that it was my mission to try
and make him feel as bad as I felt that one very
Christmas morning.

The following year we left out cookies and milk for
him, like we always did. Except this time I laced
them with exlax. I stayed up waiting with my brother
Jeff for Santa to come, Jeff just wanting to get a
glimpse of Santa. Unlike me, Jeff loved him. I just
wanted to see him eat those cookies, so I could laugh
at him. But of coarse we both fell asleep. Sure the
cookies were gone the next morning but I had no proof
to whether or not he had ate them. Jeff and I both
got presents. I was baffled. Santa had to know that
I was upset with him. Why would he give me gifts when
I felt this way towards him?

The next year fueled by even more anger because he
gave me presents. It felt like a slap in the face.
How dare Santa give me presents as if everything was
alright. Sure I was better behaved that next year, but
it wasn't because of what he did to me. I was hiding
at the bottom of the stairs. I had managed to trick my
brother into going to sleep. I told him we would take
turns waiting up for him. Little did he know I had no
intention of waking him up. I sat at the bottom of the
stairs with my bb gun, just waiting for him to bust out
of our chimney. I was going to pop him in the butt as
he bent down to leave us some presents. It was getting
really late. A few hours had passed by, still no sign
of Santa. All of a sudden my 6 year old brother Jeff
starts screaming for my Mom. I turn around and see him
running down the hall. Some how he woke up and
saw me with the gun and was scared I was gonna
shoot Santa. Well you can only guess what
happened after that.

Every year after that was the same. I would come up
with a plan to foil Christmas and every year my plan
would fail. Once I became an adult I was still full of
this bitterness in my heart for Santa. Every time
Christmas time came around I would complain about
everything affiliated with Christmas. It got so bad no
one really wanted to be around me anymore, probably
because my negative energy would bring them down. If
only I could take back all those Christmas' of not
living with the Christmas spirit inside of my heart.
So I sent off my email with so much desperation. And I
just sat there. Would Santa ever find it in his heart
to forgive me? I just knew I would never be right
without the forgiveness of Santa. I sat there for
minutes that seemed like days. All of a sudden it was
there. I couldn't believe it. Santa had written me back.
I was so terrified to open it. What if he told me he
couldn't forgive me. We both knew I didn't deserve to
be forgiven. So what if he didn't forgive me. How could
I go on living and feeling this way? So finally after a
few minutes of pacing the room, my dogs Gunner and
Harley staring at me from the bean bag across the room.
They must have thought I was going crazy. Finally I
gathered myself and ran over to the chair dropped into
it as if my life depended on it. I slapped the keyboard
and closed my eyes for a few seconds, and then I
reopened them to look at the screen. I began to read
what I was sure would be bad news. Holy hopping pig in
the blankets, Santa had forgiven me!! I jumped out of my
chair with great delight. I started bouncing up and down.
Then a feeling of calm came over me. I then dropped to my
knees and started to cry and laid my head on the carpet.
My dogs came over and rested their heads up against mine.
They too must have felt what I was going through in that very moment. I have never felt so full of peace. Thank you Santa,
you made this the best Christmas ever!!


Monday, November 23, 2009
Quest of
a Sinner  


 I was drooped over this old book shelf. Slowly looking
over all of the books. It had been many months since
I last found a book to take home from the Goodwill. I
was sure this time would be no different. Suddenly I
stopped and noticed a book. It couldn't of been because
of the ugly cover. It read Guest of a Sinner by James
Wilcox. I picked it up and began to read the front
insert. I wasn't even suppose to be in here. You see I
had planned out my whole day. I was gonna stay in
seclusion, locked in my house. Avoiding the world as I
try to find some balance in my life and get closer to
God. After a minute or so I leaned back and sat down in
a nice weathered brown chair. I stopped, looked around
at all of the people walking around me still shopping.
Here I was trying to read a book in which I had no idea
why I was reading. When just 20 minutes earlier I was in
my house doing that very same thing. Odd, but normal by
my standards, I guess. I must of sat there for at least 30
minutes reading that book. Trying to figure out what made
me choose this one. I quickly related to Eric the main
character he was 42 single and much like myself he always
got the question "Now what was wrong with her: too short,
too smart, not pretty enough, she smokes, which one is it?"

After looking over the clothing area I found myself in the
music section. I stumbled upon a cd that would fit in
nicely with my already oversized collection. Just as I was
about to turn the corner I over heard this slight woman
maybe late 80's with white ratty hair say she hasn't went
to the movies since 1985. I found this statement to be very
profound. I slowly slipped over in her direction hoping to
notice who she was conversing with. He was an older Asian
gentleman maybe in his late 40's. As I stood there at
another book shelf trying to listen into their
conversation which had since moved onto the depression we
are in and how she hoped it wouldn't be as bad as the one
she witnessed as a child. I looked down to not give any
clue that I was listening in when I noticed a book. It
felt as if it was the only book on the shelf. Wisdom for
the way by Charles Swindoll. I pushed away all the other
ones and grabbed it. At this point it became clear to me
why I was not at home and why I was in the Goodwill. A
force outside my very own explanation had driven me out
and into this store.


Tuesday, October 27, 2009
3181 S. Norfolk St.



As we get older things change, we change. You see my
Mother is getting ready to move. The weird thing is
I think it's harder on me then it is her. She has
lived there my whole life. In fact she still has the
same phone number her and my Father first received in
1974. Sure it has been weird since my Dad died and she
has been alone.

Today I stopped by to rip out the basement carpet and
move out some furniture. She was in good spirits as
usual. I don't know why it's so hard for me to go through
this all. Change can be good healing. I can feel that
it will be good for my Mother to move into her next
chapter. I guess for me, it's still hard to let go of
the past. My brother Jeff and I have so many good
memories in that old house and neighborhood. With
that old house comes a great big stability. We were
raised in almost too much stability. But I wouldn't
go back and change it. My parents made mistakes
God knows Jeff and I made plenty enough to go around.
But their was an undeniable honesty and vulnerability
that crippled our house. But all the same it made us
strive and move forward. I love my family because we
are fighters and lovers. We made mistakes but we
always tried to learn from those mistakes and not let
them define us. I can look at my Brother and see both
my Father and my Mother in him. I think that's pretty
darn cool.

But for some silly reason it's breaking my heart to see
my Mother moving out of that house. So much of my life
I spent in that house. Almost all of my good close
friends have been in that crazy little house of ours.
I'm sure it's hard for her to still be there. When most of
the time she spent there was with my Father. From this
day forward I am gonna focus on the good things about
her moving out. I need to let go of the past. But not
forget all about those good memories I associate with it.
So many smiles, so many laughs. I guess all good things
on Earth come to an end.

Blind Melon- Change



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