The Day We Met St. Nicholas
That Sunday morning in the fall of 1995 was like most others--get the kids up and dressed, get my youngest son into his wheel chair, make sure faces are clean, braids are neat, braces on, sit the baby on the lap of her big brother in his chair, and head across the street to church. I've been the single adoptive parent of a multiracial, variously abled family for enough years now that it never occurs to me that we might draw attention in our own neighborhood.
So the anonymous donation left in the church office the next day, "from a man who saw you crossing the street" is a surprise. As is the next donation. Just before Christmas, we are overwhelmed with a bounty of gifts exceeding my children's most extravagant wishes. A friend of mine says, "Now we know what St. Nicholas is really like...not a jolly 'ho ho ho' man in a red suit going down a chimney, but someone just wanting to make kids happy." So we call our secret benefactor St. Nicholas.
In the Spring I try to wring out of our always tight finances the means to go to Disneyland. My middle son, plagued by many disabilities, is for once stable, and I want to squeeze everything possible into the good times. But it is not to be. He becomes suddenly ill the week after finishing sixth grade, and dies of heart failure two days later. He loved the Lord...I know he is safe and happy...but he leaves a huge hole in our family. In our sorrow, we nevertheless celebrate his life and faith in a memorial service. Although I don't recognize him, St. Nicholas is there.
A couple months later, on another Sunday morning, we meet at last. As a friend (also Jewish) laughed later, the best thing about it is that St. Nicholas is Jewish! So there we stand, Christian single mom and Jewish businessman, nothing much in common, but brought together by something neither of us quite understands as he explains his desire to start a charitable foundation in my son's name.
Before the year is out, though, we have more in common than we ever wanted. The older of our benefactor's two sons falls ill with an abberant reaction to a common virus. Exactly two months after his wedding day, he is gone. "Set up the foundation in the name of your own son!" I urge his father, but he is sure. It will be in both our sons' names.
Years have passed since that Sunday morning we crossed the street to church. Thanks to the help of the foundation, a child has a wheelchair... another has a special bed...a home has a wheelchair ramp...a yard has a sturdy fence surrounding it to keep a child safe...a family van has a lift...a child has been able to fly home with his mother for his final Christmas...and the help of the foundation has enabled us to host children with medical needs from around the world.
That's what happened the day we met St. Nicholas.
Carol A. Ranney
