A visit with (plastic) St. Nick

By Rob Hurtgen

'Twas the night before Christmas,

and all through the house,

not a creature was stirring,

except me and my spouse.

The promise we made at Christmas last year

was not to buy gifts with assembly required.

Yet here we were again up late,

excruciatingly tired.

Why do we fret and stress I wondered.

"Doesn't Christmas means more

than all these wonderful things

we buy at the store?"

The children were nestled all snug in their beds

while visions of smartphones

and video games danced in their heads

When all of a sudden what should appear

toys needing batteries

and none were to be found

"Batteries, we need batteries,"

Mamma said!

Quick off to the store

I went with dread.

In haste I drove,

securing my prize

what happened next

was quite a surprise.

On my drive home I slid out of control

Over the road and up on the lawn.

I stopped face to face the rotund man of the hour,

his sleigh and eight LED fawn

My collision with Dancer, Prancer, Comet, and Cupid

sent them to the roof like rocket;

Donner's a goner, and Dasher was dashed.

Blitzen obliterated, and Vixen was vanquished.

As for St. Nick?

He lay on my hood,

his cheeks cracked open,

his hollow belly exposed.

Just then the front porch light came on.

I was soon to meet with the owner

of the plastic carnage I spawned.

Yet, he showed greater concern for me

than his LED display,

Seeing my surprise he pointed to another yard display

One of a woman, a man, and a baby.

"Santa is fun," he said, "but the reason for the season is the Son."

He then told me of grace. Of the carnage of his life.

How God gave him a new start.

God did not put the pieces back together

He gave him a new life in faith. A new heart.

We exchanged numbers,

and I promised to replace the deer.

I went home feeling different that year.

When at last I came home, shared my story,

installed the batteries, finally went to bed

Christmas though did seem to be more

than the wonderful things we bought at the store.