Shhhhhhhh!

December marked the beginning of our yearly ritual. My sister and I would get our sleeping bags and lay them across my King sized bed, and burrow down inside to keep warm. She was cocooned in a green sleeping bag that was redeemed by sending Kellogs box tops back to Battle Creek, along with 9.99. Tony the Tiger, Dig'em (the Sugar Smacks Frog), and Snap, Crackle and Pop were her devoted bedmates for quite a while. My sleeping bag had been bought for a summer camp experience, which I hated, and was plain blue with a plaid lining. She and I would laugh and cut up until time for bed each night. I do not really know who came up with this idea, but I assume that it was me. Usually, I am the one that has the better ideas!


This seemed like a rather boring event, but it was here that I began to develop the gift. In the darkness of a room with yellow shag carpet, and wood grain paneled walls, the gift of storytelling was born. Each Sunday, from the pulpit, I tell a story or two, but on the night before Christmas, my sister asked me to tell her a story.

Thinking about what she might like, and how I may be able to make her laugh, I began a story about a king. The ruler of the kingdom of diphtheria was a gracious and funny man named King Souvlaki. He had a difficult time ruling the kingdom of diphtheria, because people were afflicted with the disease of no laughter. Eventually, the curse was broken because the townspeople could not pronounce the kings name, and he would become so upset that he would yell and scream in a loud voice. It was out of his despair, and aggravation, that the people would laugh at his silly behavior.

Near the end of the story...We both heard a "Squeak"...then another and another. The story ended abruptly, as we were sure that Santa was downstairs. "Is that Him", she asked. "Shhhh..Go to sleep, Santa is here!" was my reply.I could feel my heart racing, as I thought of my sister finding out the Truth about Santa. We both said our quick goodnights and the world of dreams quickly overtook us.

Ten steps lead from the upper level to the basement of our Lake house. That morning, after waking our parents (they sure looked tired), we bounded down and looked under the tree. After playing with many different toys, opening the stockings, and looking at the half eaten cookie on Santa's plate, we heard a "Squeak". My dad had a puppet that was my sisters, and was playing with it. The frog puppet had a tongue that would fly out and make a squeaking sound. We told our parents about hearing that noise during the night. They looked at each other, smiled and laughed. "Santa must have stepped on it when he was going for the cookies and milk", my mom replied convincingly.

Sometimes truth is greater than fiction. May we all be warmed by Truth this Christmas season.