[dropcap]I[/dropcap] wonder why God made Christmas. Who did he make it for? Did He make it because He likes to sit on a sofa and watch Bing Crosby specials, like me? I wonder what kind of Christmas music He likes. Mannheim Steamroller or Karen Carpenter?
I’m only joking.
Everyone knows God is an Elvis fan.
How about Christmas gifts, does God do those? I wonder what kind of wrapping paper He uses. I hope it’s not the flimsy kind. Then again, I hope it’s not the fancy brand, either. That stuff costs as much as veterinary school tuition.
What about the less fortunate, does God look out for homeless people? Like the young couple outside the gas station, holding handwritten signs that read, “Anything helps.”
Who takes care of those two? The five-dollar bill I gave them sure as hell won’t do it. You can’t even buy a taco for five bucks. I should’ve given more.
I don’t know why I didn’t.
What about Jason? The Walton County nine-year-old, who’s losing weight because powdered potatoes for supper don’t cut it. Or JR, whose mother locked him in a kennel because she couldn’t afford to feed him. What about Emily, whose parents are meth addicts?
Five-year-old Alex, an orphan without teeth. Tanya and Trevan, a brother-sister duo, so malnourished they look like dwarfs. What will become of them? Who reads them bedtime stories about Santa? Who teaches them to sing the “Twelve Days of Christmas?” Who rocks them to sleep, every night, and watches out for them?
I know who.
And I think that’s why He made Christmas.