By Jeff Hampton
Burl cleared a pane in the foggy glass door with his sleeve and watched as a lone car approached the traffic circle from the far side, began its counterclockwise orbit, only to skid and jump the curb, coming to rest in the center with its headlights sending a bright shaft of light upward into the blowing snow.
He shook his head and turned around to face the two-dozen people sitting at tables and booths in his Circle Grill. Most had come for dinner but had lingered too long over a cup of hot coffee and a slice of warm pecan pie as the storm blew in.
“Folks, it looks like we’re all going to be here a while,” Burl announced.
“How long is a while?” someone asked.
“Until the snow quits falling and it’s safe to get behind the wheel again.”
“What about the highway department?” asked another. “Shouldn’t someone call them?”
Burl laughed. “This is Dallas, not Buffalo. We don’t have snowplows because we don’t ever need them . . . until a rare night like this when we do.”
He walked behind the counter and was reloading the coffee maker with fresh grounds when the front door swung open and a family of four slid into the room, pushed by the heavy, cold wind.
“Hey folks, come on in and find a warm place to sit,” Burl said. “Margaret will bring you some hot drinks. It’s on us tonight.”
Noticing the fresh snow on their shoulders and the muddy slush on their shoes, Burl pulled the young father aside. “I saw you slide off the road out there. Everyone OK?”
“Sure, just a little harried. We left my parents’ house after dinner an hour ago and were headed to eleven o’clock church. Looks like that won’t be happening.”
Burl patted him on the back. “Everyone here has a similar story. You’re in good company tonight.”
As the young family settled in, Margaret brought them a tray loaded with coffee and hot chocolate. They answered with soft “thank yous” and head nods and began caressing and nursing their warm mugs when an older couple came over from another table.
“Hi friends, I’m Pastor Taylor and this is my wife, Loretta. We heard you mention church and wanted to invite you to join us at Community Gospel Fellowship — when the weather’s better, of course.”
The young father chuckled. “Thanks, we’ll keep that in mind next summer.”
Loretta blushed, tugged her husband’s arm, and they returned to their own table. The room was quiet with the patrons mostly just sitting and sipping when the door blew open again. Everyone turned to look, and the children gasped when a man came in dressed from head to toe in red with heavy black boots and a long white beard blown up over his left shoulder.
“Is that . . .” began the boy at the table of new arrivals.
“Not exactly,” his mother whispered. “You see, Santa has helpers all around the world. They sort of wear uniforms, and that’s probably one of the helpers that works here in our area.”
“Come on in Nick,” Burl said from behind the counter. “Make yourself at home.”
Nick brushed the snow off his red coat, stomped his black boots on the floor, and wobbled on frozen legs to a table where he fell into a chair with a heavy sigh. Margaret followed him quickly with a steaming cup of coffee and a menu, which he pushed back across the table.
“Short stack with bacon?” she asked.
“No, better make it a tall stack, considering all the stops I still need to make tonight,” he said, winking at the children who he noticed were sizing him up.
Nick pulled off his heavy gloves and was just getting his hands around the mug when he looked up to see a little girl standing to the side of the table.
“Excuse me, sir, but are you . . .” she started to ask when she was interrupted by her mother who took her by the hand.
“Sweetie, stop bothering this man. Your chocolate is getting cold.”
The mother and daughter went back to their table. Nick smiled, stroked his beard, and went back to his mug when Pastor Taylor dropped into the seat across from him and lowered his shoulders along with his voice.
“Listen, it’s bad enough I have to spend all of December battling you over the real meaning of Christmas, but now here you are making it harder than ever.”
“Wait just a minute,” Nick said. “Don’t get yourself all in a bind. We’re on the same team, you and me.”
“How do you figure?” asked Pastor Taylor.
“Everything I represent amplifies your message. The gifts of the magi. The wonder and magic of a special night. The mystery and faith of believing in something unbelievable.”
“But the commercialism you and your type promote has gotten out of hand,” Pastor Taylor growled.
“That we promote? Society and the culture are responsible for that. A hundred years ago children were happy to get a fresh apple or orange and maybe a wooden truck or a quilted doll. Believe me, those were a lot easier to handle than all the fancy electronics today.”
“Now wait a minute,” Pastor Taylor said, “don’t you go pulling that Santa’s workshop nonsense on me.”
“Nonsense? Just because you’ve never seen it doesn’t mean it’s not real. You believe in your Jesus, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Ever seen him?”
“No, but I’ve seen the miracle of how his love and work in the world transforms lives.”
“Yes, and Santa brings joy and hope to children in a way they can understand.”
“Well, maybe,” said Pastor Taylor.
“And does it really matter right now?” asked Nick. “We’re all stuck here, so maybe we ought to play nice. We both could use some good PR in these times.”
“Well . . . there’s some truth to that,” said Pastor Taylor. He leaned back in his chair, exhaled, then got up to rejoin Loretta.
As the hour grew late and the snow outside got deeper, it was evident nobody was leaving. Pastor Taylor called his church and told them he would miss the service. Hearing that some of the congregation had already arrived, he told them they might as well light the candles and have the service they planned, minus his Christmas message.
Ending the call, he looked around and had an idea. He motioned Burl over, they talked a moment, and Burl announced, “Folks, seeing how it’s Christmas Eve and some of you were headed to church when the storm hit, we’re going to have church here for those who wish to participate.”
Chairs were arranged in rows and a table was draped with a white tablecloth for a makeshift altar. Margaret went to the kitchen and returned with some emergency candles, a pitcher of grape juice, small glasses and a basket full of warm rolls.
When everyone was seated and the candles were lit, Loretta led the gathered in the first verse each of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” and “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” and then Pastor Taylor gave his Christmas message. He told the story of how a baby born in a stable grew up to show the world how to love God and each other, and how he later sacrificed himself so all could have the most precious gift of eternal life. He left out his warnings about “the unbridled commercialism threatening the season.” Nick is right, he said to himself. These folks don’t need that right now. The love of Christ is what’s needed on this of all nights.
When it came time for communion, Pastor Taylor motioned for Nick to serve with him. Nick hesitated but then walked to the table and stood beside the pastor. After everyone had pinched off pieces of bread and sipped the juice, the gathered passed the peace among each other. The little girl looked for Nick to offer him peace as well but couldn’t find him.
Loretta led the gathered in the singing of “Silent Night,” Pastor Taylor offered a benediction, and everyone settled back at their tables and booths, some hovering over refills of coffee and chocolate while others looked for a way to get comfortable and perhaps doze a while.
Just before midnight, there was a blast of horns from outside, and the inside of the Circle Grill was washed in the glow of headlights. Everyone rushed to the windows to see a line of tow trucks. Painted on the door of each truck was “Nicolas Brothers Towing,” and standing beside the last truck was Nick himself, waving and shouting, “Merry Christmas.”
Pastor Taylor watched as one family after another climbed in the cab and rolled away with the driver who had snatched up their car. Seeing the bewildered look on the pastor’s face, Burl explained: “Christmas Eve is always busy, and Nick dresses like Santa, figuring people who need a tow could use a little extra holiday cheer.”
“Hmm, looks like Santa won this year,” said Pastor Taylor.
“I don’t think so,” said Burl. “Seems to me a lot of godly love was shared here tonight.”
Pastor Taylor and Loretta watched from inside as Nick pulled their car up onto the flatbed, secured it, and waved for them to join him in the cab.
“Looks like you’ll be home in time for Christmas,” Nick said as they rolled around the circle and into the night.
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