Today’s Catch is a little longer than usual so we hope you will enjoy it. As a basis for this story, Marti has borrowed from her favorite Christmas story about an elf named Torten. In the story, Torten takes it upon himself to provide gifts for those he thinks will not be receiving any due to bad behavior. The analogy is not wasted on the women of Isaiah House who must deal continually with incriminations of bad behavior and failure from outside and from within. And like Torten, elf Marti takes it upon herself to correct this perceived injustice, only to discover something wonderful about the grace of God from a surprise visitor to the party.

Oh, and about being the polar bear… I’m not sure about that except that in the original story the polar bear’s name is Drusus, which sounds a little like doofus, which is what I feel like I am when it comes to giving, and why I am learning so much from this experience with the women of Isaiah House.

So enjoy… and a special thanks to all the Catch elves who helped us fill our sacks full of wonderful surprises for an early Christmas at Isaiah House. Wish you could have been there to see their faces!

Making merry like Christmas
by Marti Fischer

The wastebaskets, all twenty of them, were filled to overflowing. I was assigned to empty them.

“Wait,” said the administrator. “Here is another letter for the wastebaskets,” and he threw it skillfully, so that it landed on top of one the baskets I was holding.

“Dear God,” I read, “I am an unwed mother with a dead-end destiny. Yet, for Christmas I would like a ….” but I couldn’t make out what followed because my eyes were suddenly full of tears.

The other day on my way to the Workshop I caught sight of a single mother who appeared to be going nowhere. She was crying as if to say, “I am working hard but nobody seems to notice. I am so tired!”

I, nevertheless, kept on walking. Yet, I began to wonder, “Am I to blame her for her marital status? Do I see her as a failure? When passing her on the street do I stare at her while judging her silently to myself, ‘Why not just get a job, missy, and provide for your kids?'” I swallowed, blinked, and went on with the work that had been assigned to me.

When the toy whistle blew, we all trooped out into the full-moon night. We were all tired as the Workshop kept late hours the month before Christmas.

“I feel ashamed of admitting I am tired when I think of all the work He does,” said one of us, indicating with her mittened hand through the air to The House. “When it comes down to it,” she continued, “accept for Him, I guess no one in the whole world would take the time to read the millions of letters from all over the world; making note of who are the good people and who are not.”

Leaving her to talk to the others, I turned off the road without saying good night.

I opened the door to my hut and walked into the darkness, groping for a candle, lit it, and set it on the table. Then I stood before the table and looked at the packages that had arrived that day, all wrapped with Christmassy ribbon. And as I took off my red cap, tossed it in the corner, and rolled up my sleeves, I smiled… Nearly there.

A snuffing noise came from behind me. I turned around.

The fat white head of a large polar bear was stuck through the open window, its chin resting on the sill, and its friendly brown eyes twinkling a greeting.

“Hello, John,” I said.

“Hello to you,” the polar bear said.

I turned back to the table, and continued to count the gifts. Then the polar bear moved his head in a little more, snuffled a bit and said, “That’s a pretty package. Who is it for?”

“Oh just for a woman,” I said. “A woman I know.”

“And that gift,” John asked. “Who is that one for? …and the big one? …and the one with shiny paper?”

I thought for a moment, then said:

“Can you keep a secret?”

John thought for a moment, then answered: “I don’t know. I’ve never had one.”

“Well,” I said, “I can’t keep this to myself any longer. John, do you know what happens around Christmas time?”

John’s eyes gleamed happily. “Of course I know that,” he said, his words tumbling over each other. “Everybody knows that. That’s no secret. How the star shines, and the sleigh bells ring, and the reindeer dance, and everyone sings.”

“And you know about the good people?”

“Yes,” said John excitedly.

“It’s a wonderful work. But what about the stockings that aren’t filled?

“What do you mean?” asked John.

“I mean,” I explained, “there is a rule… about good people and those that are not. We don’t make gifts for the not so good people and the sleigh flies right over them without stopping.”

“Oh,” said John. “Well yes, I can see there would have to be a rule. Otherwise…” His eyes grew worried, “Are there many not so good people?”

I thought back to a recent conversation with a troubled woman without a home who was suspicious of almost any kindness shown to her as she defiantly stated, “I have dreams and aspirations, you know. I want to do what is right. I just want someone who will listen. Someone who understands. Doesn’t everyone deserve some respect? I have my dignity and I do not want anyone’s pity. But is it too much to ask for a little more joy and love in my life? Or to ask for a friend? Someone to talk to? I am worth it, aren’t I?”

As a woman without a home, if not driven by her guilt and concern, her daily experiences include discrimination, extreme poverty, and cruelty. People – her family and others closest to her – have betrayed her, rejected her, and left her.  Who is left for her to trust?

“But he loves women – all women.” John was thoughtful and still worried. “He wouldn’t do anything unfair.”

I struck my small brown fist on the table, “I know, John! I know! I’ve tried and tried to find the answer. The only answer I can find is that there must be a rule … a rule he didn’t make … but can’t break.”

“Well, what can you do, then?” asked John.

I got up from my stool, walked to the big chest, and unlocked it. John opened his pink mouth in amazement.

“Gifts!” he exclaimed. “So many beautiful gifts! Who are the gifts from?”

“Angels,” I said.

I took a bottle of perfume from the chest. “This is for a woman. She doesn’t want help from anybody; she just wants somebody to care about her. She is an invisible mother, a homeless women separated from her homeless children, with no known means of reuniting with them.”

I put the perfume back and took out a lavender scented shower gel and body cream set. “This is for a woman who was caught in the economic downturn, lost her home to foreclosure, was laid off, and lacks adequate resources for alternative housing with primary health care not even an option.”

Returning from the closet one more time, I handed the polar bear the most beautiful scarf either of us had ever seen. “And this,” I added proudly, “is from someone who understands pain and suffering and the power of drugs to calm things down and provide a momentary relief from the pain of living.”

“But how are you going to get the gifts to get them?” John inquired.

“I am going to take them to the women with a little help from you,” was my answer.

*****

“Can you fly John?” I asked.

“That’s an easy question,” said the polar bear. “No.”

“Have you ever tried?”

“That’s another easy one. No.”

“Then how do you know you can’t fly?”

John sat down. “That’s a harder question.” He thought, got up, walked around in a slow circle, sat down again, brought one paw up to his mouth, looked up at the sky, shook his head and said, “It stands to reason.”

“Why?” I said. What do you mean it stands to reason? What does it mean to stand to reason? If you have never tried to fly, then I don’t see how you know you can’t fly.”

“I am a polar bear,” said John. “Polar bears don’t fly.”

“That is not to say they can’t fly,” I responded. “I imagine you start by taking your feet off the ground.”

John looked down at his four heavy white feet. He lifted one of them.

“Good!” I said, “That’s the way!”

John lifted another.

“It’s working! You are on the right track, John!”

John lifted a third foot.

“Why you are wonderful! Splendid! Didn’t I tell you?”

“Yes,” said John. “But it gets more difficult from now on.”

“I don’t see why,” I said. “You have already taken three feet off the ground. There’s only one left, isn’t there? And if you can lift three, you can certainly lift one.”

“Well,” said John. “When you put it like that, it does sound easy. I’ll try.”

And while it didn’t stand to reason, he lifted his fourth paw off the ground. Splendid! Now I can deliver these gifts!

*****

“Wait!” I said later while flying over Santa Ana, California. “Whoa! That’s the Isaiah House… the one with the big chimney.”

John dove towards the house and landed gently on the roof. I went down the chimney and joined many an elf to serve a festive dinner. There was so much singing and dancing and making merry like Christmas that I forgot for a moment about John and the packages. Remembering, I scrambled and squeezed up the chimney to see how John was doing.

“Is that you?” John whispered wheezily. “I’m glad you are back. I was beginning to think I was hearing things.”

“Like what? I asked.

“Like sleigh bells,” said John, “…and hoofs.”

“Well!” said a familiar voice. “And just what are you two doing here?

I swallowed and gathered up all of my courage and said, “If it comes to that, Sir, I am wondering just what you are doing here.”

“What would I be doing besides leaving gifts?”

“Gifts?” I said. “Here? In this house? You left them gifts?”

“Certainly,” He said. “Didn’t you?”

“That’s different,” I said. “But… I found their letters in the wastebasket…”

He knocked His hand against His head. “There are no wastebaskets up here.”

I was about to step off the chimney to my little sleigh when I felt a mittened hand press on my arm in a friendly grip, and then a friendly pat on my back.

“Thank everyone for Me who participated this evening,” He said. “It means everything!”

Glowing with happiness, I slipped into our sleigh. “Hey, I mean, pardon me, Sir,” I shouted as we left the roof and soared into the sky. “There is just one question.”

“Yes?”

“There is something I don’t understand!”

“Eh?”

“I always thought there was a rule….”

“There is,” I heard Him say as we flew away. “But Love has never lived by rules since the beginning of time!”