By John Degel

To look at me, you’d think you were seeing Santa Claus in the flesh.

I’m six feet tall, weigh 380 pounds and I’ve got a white beard and hair... mostly because I dye it.

I actually am Santa Claus, in a sense. I’m a professional real-bearded Santa who spends my Christmas season sitting in a shopping mall visiting with literally thousands of children in a six-week gig that helps pay off my bills from the preceding months.

I’ve always had an affinity for Santa, probably because he’s someone everyone likes and loves without strings attached.

And since I became a convert to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I’ve gotten an even deeper understanding of the importance of the family — especially the children.

The children know they should be good and obey their parents — and  they promise to be good when they visit me — but they also know Christmas Eve will be a time of excitement and presents, no matter how they’ve acted.

There are funny moments when children or parents react in a surprising way to Santa or his questions.

Santa finds it overwhelming when some of his little friends are afraid of him.

There are serious moments when organizations bring groups of blind, deaf or disabled children to visit.

As Santa, I’ve learned to say “I love you” and other expressions in American Sign Language.

I’ve learned to let tiny fingers trace lightly over my face and tug gently at my beard as small blind children learn to “see” Santa with their fingertips.

I’ve dealt with emotionally disturbed children, poor children, rich children — children from all walks of life and all sorts of backgrounds who look forward to seeing Santa every year.

One Thing in Common

All of them have one thing in common. They want to know someone loves them.  And it’s hard not to as you look into their eager and hopeful eyes and know all they really want is a hug and a smile and a whispered “I love you, too.”

Sometimes, I can even share with them the wonder of Heavenly Father’s love for them.

Some of Santa’s children feel so comfortable in his presence that he — and they — can snuggle together for a long winter’s nap.

Every Santa gets his share of crying, frightened and sometimes even angry children (“I didn’t get that puppy last year!”); but you learn to deal with them and 99 times out of 100, the child will leave the set with a smile, exclaiming, “Momma, that really was Santa.”

It’s the same where ever I go — and my experiences have led me to Illinois (twice), Texas and California (going back for my fourth visit this year), so I’ve met children from every culture and race that can possibly be found in America.

Santa Meets His Match

I can wish a child a Merry Christmas in nine languages and converse in Spanish or English.  No challenge is too great.  At least that was what I thought until I met Ana.

Ana was almost four years old when I went to visit her in a sterile hospital room in the children’s wing of the hospital.  Her mother had brought her three siblings — two brothers and a sister — to visit me at the mall a day or two earlier, and little Tommy and Shelly wished for me to visit Ana in the hospital. Davey wanted me to make her better.

You should have seen the look on their faces when I told them I’d be glad to visit Ana — and I could do it Christmas Eve before I left to gather up the reindeer and begin my rounds.

Christmas Eve is always the most stressful day for Santa. The parents who waited until the last minute to bring their children to visit are frustrated and upset by the often two-hour wait in line with children who have even less patience than the parent.

After eight hours of that, all I really wanted to do was go back to my motel room, shuck off my suit and boots and sink into a recliner and unwind.

But Ana was waiting, and I had promised.

I had one of my helpers stop by a toy shop in the mall and pick up a few things for me: a Barbie doll, a little pony, a game, a deck of Old Maid Cards and some costume jewelry.  I tucked the items into my sack and headed for the hospital.

Hospital Cheer

It’s always funny to walk into a building and see the look on the face of a receptionist when she looks up and finds Santa Claus looking back at her.  I was directed to the nurse’s station in the children’s wing and started toward Ana’s room, stopping to visit quickly with nurses, doctors, patients and visitors who encountered me on the way.

A crowd quickly gathered at the nurse’s station, especially when the word spread I was there to visit Ana.  I discovered she was quite undeniably the most popular of the seven children in the ward — and the sickest.

The doctor tried explaining her problems to me; but the only thing that sank in was the fact it started as a birth defect.  Several operations had been undertaken to correct her problems, to no avail.  This was Ana’s fourth visit, and the doctors were now convinced this last operation would only prolong the inevitable for a short time.

As I approached the room I could hear Christmas music softly playing and a happy child’s laugh, quickly shared by other children and adults.  Walking into the room with a hearty, “Ho, Ho, Ho,” I found Ana, a tiny sprite cocooned in a sitting position on the hospital bed with IVs, an oxygen tube and other tubes slinking in under her blankets.

Although I knew she was almost four, she appeared to be younger and very, very small for her age.  She was wearing a purple nightgown and, because of the surgery and subsequent treatment, a brown, shoulder-length wig.

Visiting Ana

“Santa Cwas, you did come!” she squealed happily. “Mommy, Santa Cwas is here!”

Her parents cleared a chair next to the bed for me — the room was filled with stuffed animals, balloons, flowers and bright homemade banners and cards from her friends, family and even the staff.  This was a popular little girl, and looking into her bright blue eyes and looking at the sparkling smile outlined by deep dimples, you could see why.

“I was weally hoping you could come see me,” she said. “I always like seeing you and I been weally, weally good. I pwomise.”

It took a little bit of effor, but we finally worked it out so she could give me a long, loving hug without tangling all the various tubes and lines attached to her frail little body.  Then I sat and we chatted for a while then I gave her  the few little gifts I’d brought, each accepted with a happy squeal and “I wuv it so much!”

We talked of this and that, with her brothers and sister and parents joining in the conversation, punctuated with laughter.  Even the nurses and doctors made a point of stopping by the door, and there was an endless parade of curious patients and visitors walking by to see what all the excitement was about.

Visiting hours ended, but Ana sweet-talked the staff and her parents into letting me stay.

We played Old Maid and the board game I brought. We talked about the reindeer and her nursery school.

We talked about Christmases past and our hopes for future Christmases.  Ana’s mother broke into tears and left the room with the other children to take them home and prepare them for bed. She would come back later and spell her husband so he could get some rest.  One or the other was always keeping watch by the bed.

After her mother left, Ana asked me to climb on the bed and hold her. After looking into her pleading eyes, Doctor Thad (as she called him) permitted it without hesitation.  The doctors and nurses rearranged the tubes connected to her, making room for me to crawl up and lie beside her.  We sang Christmas carols and shared hugs and I read The Night Before Christmas to her.

Several hours passed and the hospital quieted down as I finally asked Ana what she really wanted for Christmas.

Ana’s Wish

“I don’t want Mommy and Daddy to cwy when I go away,” she said softly. “I’m gonna be with Heavenly Father and Jesus and I won’t hurt any more.”

I told her even I would cry a little bit, because everyone who loved her would miss her.  Then I asked her if there was something she wanted for herself and she finally said, very softly, “I want my vewy own star.”

A star! What would she do with a star?

“Weww, Baby Jesus has a star tonight and we can wook up at it and see him wooking down at us and we know he wuvs us,” she said. “I want a star so I can see you and wuv you all.”

Choking back my tears, I promised I’d do what I could.

“Thank you, Santa,” she said.  “Make sure Davey and Tommy and Shelly get wots of toys and maybe a new baby sister some day.” 

I hugged her again and once again, with tears in my voice, told her I’d do what I could.

She snuggled in closer and smiling up at me sleepily said, ”I wuv you, Santa.”

I don’t know how long we lay there quietly listening to Christmas carols when suddenly, her father started to cry.

I looked over and he was looking at the monitor. Ana’s heartbeat had flatlined.

I lay there for a few more minutes.  Then I whispered, “I love you, too, Ana,” and got off the bed.

I gave her father a long hug and we said a prayer asking Heavenly Father to welcome a brave little girl who only wanted people to be happy.

As I walked down that suddenly gloomy hallway, I passed nurses and doctors hurrying to Ana’s room with tears in their eyes to say goodbye to a beloved little patient.

I walked outside and looked up at the North Star.  It may seem silly, but since childhood I've called the North Star the Savior's Star — as I imagined it guiding me on my path back to Him and Heavenly Father.  Sometimes in the still of the night, I'll go out and look up to my own private Savior's Star and share my deepest thoughts with Him.

Tonight I wanted to share the loving encounter I'd just experienced with a prayer for a brave and loving little girl.  But, as I started to pray with tears in my eyes, I stopped in amazement.  I swear I saw a bright new little star nestled closely to the Savior's Star gleaming warmly on that cold Christmas night.

Next to the star of the Child of Peace I thought I saw the smaller, softer star of a child of love.

As I begin another Christmas season making life a little better for others, I do it confidently; for there's a bright little star, Ana's Star, showing me the way.