There are many things that make the holiday season so very special. It’s the only time of year that the world slows down just a little to try and capture the essence of "peace on earth and good will towards men." A time for family and friends both old and new, and a time to extend a charitable hand to those less fortunate. This is a story about family, new friends, and dreams of great inspiration. A story about renewal, faith and a pleasant old man whom God introduced me to one cold December day. It offers glimpses of God’s great love that most often go unnoticed.

 

A year ago, my wife and I went to the local mall to do some holiday shopping. Most of us are well aware of the flurry of activity and general mayhem that is associated with a shopping mall as the countdown towards December 25^th gets closer and closer. It does take a special sort of bravery and daring to venture outside the safety of our own homes into the Indiana Jones world of holiday shopping. Getting to the mall and finding a parking space is half the battle won. This is where my story begins and where a special gift was already awaiting me, inside the shopping mall where not all gifts come wrapped in a bow.

 

In the center of this particular mall was the usual Christmas theme setup with all the holiday images of elves, plastic reindeer and the colorful array of presents under a huge, brightly lit tree with a star on top of it. And of course, their own authentic Santa Claus character sat in his big Santa chair with many excited little children all gathered around him.

 

During the shopping trip, I sat and rested on a bench nearby.  I watched as this jolly ole mall Santa gently handled and softly spoke to each child he put upon his lap. He intently listened as they told him what they wanted for their good behavior the past year as their parents took snapshots of their special moment together. The mall didn’t seem so inconvenient as I watched this scene taking place in right in front of me.

 

Apparently, some mall Santas don’t have the stamina of the real Santa Claus who can circumnavigate the globe in one night to meet the demands of the millions of children who eagerly wait for his arrival each Christmas eve. So, realizing he was only human and was getting a bit wearied, the tiny Santa elves began to entertain the children as he got up for his well deserved15 minute break. He stretched and yawned a little, and then he made his way with his coffee (or “Santa juice” as he told the children) to the bench where I sat. We exchanged small talk about how hot that suit must be. I told him my name, and he told me that his name was Mr. Amsell, but I could call him George.

 

George was in his late sixties, and just like the Santa most of us have imagined since we were young children, he really did have a very round belly that shook like a bowl full of jelly when he laughed. His white beard was a little unkempt but it was the real thing, which only made his job even more believable. He asked me what I did for a living, so I briefly shared with him that I illustrate Christian art. Our conversation then turned to one of the two forbidden subjects that no one in a social setting should ever discuss. No, not politics. We spoke about religion. It turned out Mr. Amsell was a Christian also.

 

Although I had only known Mr. Amsell for a few moments, he looked like he had something important to share with me. I asked him if everything was all right, but he paused for a second and looked away as if he was unsure of the words he wanted to say. With a brief sigh he turned back to me and took my hand as he poured out his heart. I sensed in the slight trembling of his voice and the way he cupped my hand that there was something very special he wanted to share with me. For some unknown reason he believed that I would understand.

 

He told me a little about himself. Mr. Amsell was a widower and a retired school teacher living on a small pension. Also, he was receiving Social Security benefits, but he explained that this small amount wasn’t enough for what he needed so desperately this time of year. Sensing the honesty and sincerity of his words, I felt bold enough to ask him what he "so desperately" needed—and instantly part of me wished I hadn’t opened my mouth. Now, I’m glad that I did for sometimes the greatest inspiration in life comes in the ways we least expect. Ways only God Himself could have orchestrated for His glory.

 

Mr. Amsell (or as he preferred George) continued on with his story, but his words took on a new passion. George was a grandfather of six children whose father had abandoned them several years ago. His daughter was a single mom living day-to-day as a cashier receiving government assistance to cover just their basic needs. She simply couldn’t provide everything she wanted to give her children at Christmastime. So, every year since his retirement Pappy George dressed like Santa and listened to every precious request that was made to him knowing he couldn’t possibly give to his own grandbabies anything close to what many of these children would likely receive from their parents.

 

George understood that giving expensive gifts wasn’t what Christmas was all about, but he was determined to bring his own grandchildren some joy and hope through his holiday labor. He figured that wearing a Santa suit was teaching in a way. He still enjoyed having children around him, and they reminded him of his own youth and the promise it always seemed to hold. George never minded playing Santa nor did he ever feel like he was compromising his own Christian beliefs by wearing a Santa suit. It never entered his mind that some Christians considered Christmas to be a pagan holiday. All he could see and all he truly cared about were the six happy faces of his grandchildren reflected in the faces of the hundreds of children who adorned his lap each day he wore the bright red suit of Mr. Claus..

 

God dreams and holiday wishes do come true.

 

We talked a little more as my Christian brother continued to pour his heart out to me. He told me that when he goes home at night he is so exhausted that he would sometimes just fall asleep on his favorite old chair in his living room with his Santa suit still on. Most of the time, he was too exhausted to dream. But one particular night was different and something both beautiful and amazing was about to happen to him while he slept.

 

That previous night he had a dream, but not just some ordinary dream in that favorite old chair of his. He dreamt of a stable two thousand years earlier and the birth of the Christ child. The same child this mall Santa calls his Savior. Falling to his knees, a haunting old melody filled his ears. It was a sound he was so very familiar with as a child. The sound of his own mother gently singing him to sleep in the whispered voice of his favorite holiday song, Silent Night.

 

She had once shared with him that this Christmas lullaby always reminded her of Mary and the baby Jesus as she held her newborn in her arms. She said she understood the great love Mary must have felt as she held him in her arms. As he shared this memory with me a tear began to roll down his cheek. George missed his mother so much this time of year, and on this night her memory seemed so very much alive. His mother was now right by his side as they both watched Mary hold her baby boy with Joseph right beside her. She reached for his hand, and George told me that when he felt her touch he knew this was no ordinary dream. He then wiped off his face and thanked me for allowing him to share his dream with me.

 

In that instant, I knew God was speaking to my own heart. "Santa’s Silent Night" was inspired by this gift of a special dream that a lonely mall Santa felt he needed to share with me that afternoon. God’s peace and His joy began to come alive all around me in the sights and sounds of the holiday season. Christmas felt like it did when I was seven years old, anxiously looking out the window of our old home. I remembered the snowflakes falling outside and thinking Santa would soon be visiting us this very night. I felt like a child, and that was something I hadn’t felt like in quite a while.

 

Immersed in my thoughts, I hadn’t immediately noticed that George had stood up with his short break having come to an end. Judging by the long line of fussy children forming in the middle of the mall, I could see that it was time he returned to them. I thanked him for sharing that special dream with me, and I told him he would be in my thoughts and prayers this holiday season. As I sat back down, I watched as he made his way back to his big ole Santa chair in the middle of the mall. His walk was labored, but his labor was his love for not only the little ones who eagerly awaited their mall Santa to return but also the little ones at home who called him Pappy. He sat down in his big Santa chair and looked over at me for a brief moment and just gave me a wink as another child climbed upon his lap.

 

In those 15 short minutes, I had heard the greatest sermon about love and sacrifice. Mr. Amsell was no preacher, yet his words made the angels bend an ear to hear what he said to me that December afternoon. George was just an old mall Santa who knew more about the love of God than this artist could have ever of painted or imagined without his help.

 

"Santa’s Silent Night" is my tribute to all the George Amsells who sacrifice to make the lives of others a little bit better. So, what does an authentic life of love truly look like on the outside? Could it be that only God can see through Santa suits or any other suit for that matter, to recognize His own children? If you were to  ask those six little grandchildren who call my new mall Santa friend "Pappy" what the love of God looks like, I think they would only smile and crawl up on his lap and know he is more than just a mall Santa to them.

 

A year has now passed since I met George Amsell. We went back to that same mall so I could share my portrait of "Santa’s Silent Night" with him. Everything was exactly the same except in the big Santa chair sat another Santa Claus. I asked one of the helpers where Mr. Amsell was this year. She just grinned with a familiar smile. She looked at the painting in my hand, and I knew in that instant I would never see George ever again.

 

As I struggled to hold back my tears, I started to introduce myself and explain the meaning behind the painting. She stopped me and said, "There’s no need for you to explain. Dad told me about his artist friend he had confided in last holiday season." I then understood she also knew about that special dream, and it would no longer be just our secret gift of God’s great love.

 

She said that her dad would have loved the fact that he had inspired me to do such a work in his honor. She then pointed out six other little elves who were helping the new Santa out. Pappy’s grandchildren. She told me, "Dad said you would probably be back to see him this year.” And she handed me an envelope.  I walked slowly over to the bench we had shared a year earlier and opened the envelope. Inside was a card on which he had handwritten the song, his song, Silent Night.

 

Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and Child.
Holy Infant, so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.

 

Silent night, holy night,
Shepherds quake at the sight;
Glories stream from heaven afar,
Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia!
Christ the Savior is born,
Christ the Savior is born!

 

Silent night, holy night,
Son of God, love’s pure light;
Radiant beams from Thy holy face
With the dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth,
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth.

 

Silent night, holy night
Wondrous star, lend thy light;
With the angels let us sing,
Alleluia to our King;
Christ the Savior is born,
Christ the Savior is born!

 

At the bottom, he signed it: “Jim, as I was writing you these words I could hear my mother’s voice singing them in my ears. Thank you for just taking the time to listen to an old man that day and most of all, Merry Christmas my friend.”

 

So, I ask you: Is Mr. George Amsell real, or is he like the Santa Claus from our youth?  Is it possible he is only a figment of my wild imagination to paint a portrait of God’s love this holiday season? You decide, but remember: truth sometimes is stranger than fiction especially considering we serve a God who dares us to dream things only He can make possible.