Hail Santa!

I watched my dad put pen to paper, bible by his side as he quoted scripture in the most nonchalant manner I could imagine, his tongue clicking with a voice I could hardly hear as he repeated every word under his breath.

“What’cha doin’?” I asked, he paused, turned to me, and gave me a warm smile.

He reached out for me, propped me on his lap and pointed to the pinkish page.

“You know how there’s a rainstorm today so we can’t go witnessing? Papa is witnessing right from this room by writing letters.”

“How’s writing letters witnessing?”

“Well, you know how we go door to door and deliver the spiritual food to everyone that way? This is spiritual food delivery through the mail.”

“Why don’t we just do it this way all the time? Then people can’t yell at us anymore.”

“Well, this isn’t a replacement for spiritual food delivery, it’s just a short term solution so Papa can keep his hours up.”

“Oh, ok.” I didn’t want to admit that I had lost interest, but Dad had already popped me off of his lap and back onto the floor.

“This letter is going to a man named Earl McClaire, he just lost his wife Frannie.”

“How do you know that?”

“I read her obituary this morning. In lieu of flowers, I’m sending spiritual food, and a chance for him to see his loving wife again.”

I continued to watch as he carefully folded the paper up and grabbed a bright yellow envelope to slide the pink page into.

“I use these nice bright envelopes to catch their eye, so they know it’s personal and not a bill or an ad. That way, they open it first.”

“How will you know if they read it?”

“That’s not for me to know, but Jehovah will be watching. And Jehovah will take all the joy and glory from watching Mr. McClaire open this letter.”

He closed it up, sealed it with a clean lick, and set it atop a pile of twenty, maybe thirty or more, identical yellow envelopes, all filled with spiritual meals for the hungry, the grieving, and the suffering brothers and sisters-to-be..