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“How very cryptic of you,” I quip.
“It’s Christmas. The season of miracles,” he adds.
“I don’t believe in those either.”
He chuckles. “No wishes or miracles. Next, you’ll say you don’t believe in Christmas magic.”
“I don’t. Those are things of childhood dreams. An enchanted sleigh with flying reindeer. A man in a red suit, who grants wishes and brings presents to all the good boys and girls.”
“That is part of the magic, but it’s not about the gifts or the big guy in the North Pole. It’s the feeling that anything is possible at Christmas. You lost that somewhere, and that’s why you’re here. Everyone lands in Lake Mistletoe for different reasons. Although it’s not always the reason they think.”
“If you say so—wait. How did you know my name?” I ask.
He smiles, but before he can answer, I hear Mom calling my name.
“That’s me. Enjoy your night,” I say as I skirt around him.
“You, too, and have a merry Christmas,” he replies.
As I stroll back toward the market, I look down at the icy flake that is somehow still clinging to the fabric of my mitten.
Closing my eyes, I make a fist and whisper a wish to be promoted at work into the air.
From my lips to God’s ears.
I must be losing my mind.
I find Mom and Trixie, and they each have an armful of beautifully wrapped gifts.
“Hannah, sweetheart, can you help us carry these over to the toy drive donation table?” Mom asks.
“All of these?” I ask.
“Yes. We might have gone a little crazy, but we’re so blessed, and you should never hoard a blessing.”
That’s really sweet.
I take a couple of boxes from each of them.
“Why do you guys waste all the time and money on this extravagant wrapping? You can buy a cute Christmas bag and some tissue. It’s half the cost, and it takes half the time,” I say as I follow them.
“Because we pour the love into the wrapping,” Aunt Trixie answers.
“You do what?”
“When I sit down to wrap a gift, I pray over the person receiving it. I hide their name in my heart even if they are anonymous recipients. I ask for protection and provisions and for blessing, favor, and healing in their lives as I tape the ends and tie the bow.”
“That’s beautiful, Aunt Trixie.”
“It’s been done with every single birthday and Christmas gift that you’ve received from me your entire life,” she says.
“And from me,” Mom adds.
“Your grandmother taught us to do it. And now, you’ll find yourself doing it every time you wrap something.”
I think back to the drawer in my closet at home that is stuffed to the brim with reused gift bags and wrinkled tissue.
I’ll just get rid of them.
