I sat in my study, wanting to find Christmas words, words to write in this letter, Nothing came. I could not find anything that was right. It was frustrating. I am supposed to have something to say every Christmas."What do you want to say?" said the voice in the corner."Something new, something old," I snapped."Well. You needn't get indignant about it," came the reply.It finally hit me. I was talking with a little green character who leaned comfortably against the wall. His hands were tucked neatly behind his head. One leg dangled over the other. He kept wiggling it up and down, waiting for me to speak. Mind you. I usually do not have visions or fancies of green elfin characters, occupying space in the study. The place is cluttered enough."Well?" he said. A thin green finger rubbed his bulbous nose."Ah . . . I, that is . . .""Come now. Answer the question.""Answer the question? How can I answer the question? A green elfin character, looking half like something out of a cartoon, sits in the corner of my study, and I'm supposed to answer a question? You answer one. Who are you?"He scratched his nose once more His gray-green eyebrows crinkled, and then he said, "Gingwiggle.""Gingwiggle?""Yup. Gingwiggle. Keeper of the Door.""What door?""The door you're trying to open, silly.""The door to Christmas?""Not exactly. But for you, it will do for the moment." He pointed at a book on my desk. "Open it up. Isaiah eleven, verse six, last part of the verse. What does it say?"I was too dumbfounded not to obey. I flipped the pages and found the place. I read aloud, "and a little child shall lead them;" I looked at it again and then at Gingwiggle. "That's it?" I asked. "For crying out loud. I know all that. I've preached on it before.""Do you now," smiled the thin green face."What do you mean? 'Do you now.' Who do you think you . . .""Easy there. Take it easy. Read it again. Who will he lead?" He was scratching his bulbous nose again. "Well, come on. Tell me."I looked down at the passages surrounding the verse. I looked up at the amazing sight propped up in the corner. "You mean wolves, sheep, leopards, kids, calves, lions, cows and bears?"He smiled that impish smile. "That's what it says. Doesn't it?""Yes," I objected. "But it must mean more than that.""Of course, silly. Of course." His yellow eyes were twinkling with delight. He knew he had me caught. "Tell me more," he said. "Tell me. Have you ever seen a lion eating straw? Can you see that brown old bear and the cow being friends? Look at that baby, playing over the cobra's hole. And over there. See? The dancing child. He's dancing to the music, over the viper's nest.""Wolves don't live with sheep," I said. "They eat them. I find it hard to imagine a leopard sleeping with a kid. And the cow and bear being friends, " I laughed, "why that's for fairy tales. Now when I was young . . .""That's the child," exclaimed Gingwiggle. "He's also the child who marveled at His Majesty entering into a little baby, in a village, long ago."A thin knobby green finger, pushed silver spectacles back up the ridge of his nose. "It's the same thing as drawing elephants inside of boa constrictors. Grownups laugh at things like that. And as they laugh, they lose their joy. They become serious, like you. Suddenly they forget. They find it hard to want to love; Love enough to do anything more than talk about it. they forget how to dream dreams." Gingwiggle paused. "Some are blessed. They see again. You? Well, you have me. You've had me all along. Keeper of the Door. I was allowed to show myself to you today, instead of just opening the door."I must have been staring."Well Don't sit there gaping. Write! Have a blessed Christmas and wish your parish the same. Remember what I've said, when you break the bread." He tipped his green pointed hat, and then he was gone.I went back to writing, thinking of the child.Blessed Christmas,Fr. Col+ | ||||||
