As a young child, my grandparents and great uncle would arrive at our house just before Christmas. Most years, Uncle Adrian would bunk with me. To get to my room, you had to follow a long hall from the living room, past the entryway, and my sister’s bedroom. Model rockets lined the top of my bright blue dresser on the left. You had to tread carefully, or you would step on the massive toy soldier conflict playing out beneath you. Against the wall were two twin beds perched beneath a sea of multi-colored college pennants. For the few days around Christmas, Uncle Adrian and I were the coolest cats around, hanging out in our bachelor cave, playing checkers, and eating my mom’s homemade pralines. We were buds.
One year in particular, I had asked Santa for a 10-speed Schwinn bicycle. That’s all I asked for that year, as I decided to go all or nothing. Man, did I want that bicycle! In those days, a bike was pure freedom to go just about anywhere, and with a 10-speed, I could get there fast. I was still kind of young for a 10-speed, so if Santa needed parental authorization, I wasn’t sure he was going to get it. Coming into the final stretch, I was worried.
The night before Christmas, my eyes refused to close and my mind raced. I lay in my twin bed waiting in anticipation for the glow of the morning sun to touch the tips of the cedar trees that lined our backyard just beyond my bedroom window. 2:00 am, 2:01am, 2:02am, 2:03am., each minute seemed to last an hour. I couldn’t stand the anticipation. What if I just slipped down the hall and peeked? Maybe just knowing would allow me to rest my mind and my eyes for a little while. I couldn’t stand it any longer; I had to know if Santa had delivered my bicycle.
Slowly and carefully, I slipped out of bed, snuck around the soldiers and Dinky toys on the floor, and tiptoed down the long hall, past the room where my sister and grandparents were sleeping. As I turned the corner, there it was beside the Christmas Tree, the low silhouette of a 10-speed bicycle. Whew! Now all I needed to do was get my rear back in bed, but that has never been how I roll.
I had come this far. I crept across the living room for a closer look. It was beautiful. Silver with black and chrome trim, a small-frame Schwinn 10-speed on 26-inch tires. I wondered, was it too big? I couldn’t tell by just looking if I was going to be able to reach the pedals. If I climbed aboard just for a minute, I would know for sure.
It was quite a stretch getting into the saddle. As I pushed myself upright with my left foot, I suddenly realized I was in trouble. Sitting stationary, with neither of my toes able to reach the floor, I was completely at the mercy of forces out of my control. In that moment bike, boy, and all started a slow roll to Starboard, away from the kickstand and right into the Christmas Tree!
The sharp pine needles and boughs started to dig in, scratching my bare arm and cheek. Ornaments tinkled, some dropped to the floor. As the tree groaned past the tipping point, I realized there was nothing I could do to stop it…...we were going down.
Just as all hope was lost, a hand reached out from the darkness and caught me firmly around the upper arm, pulling me back, as another hand somehow was able to right the falling Christmas Tree. Bewildered, now sitting upright on my new bike, I turned to see my Uncle’s face. He was still holding me with his left hand, but with his right index finger, he slowly touched his lips.
In the darkness, we cleaned up the mess I had made and silently tiptoed back to our bachelor pad. I wasn’t sure what the morning was going to bring, but I was relieved knowing the Christmas Tree was still standing. I drifted into a deep sleep.
When I awoke, the bed next to me was neatly made, and I could hear the muffled voices of Christmas excitement drifting down the hallway. I did my best to act surprised about the gift Santa left for me under the tree. There were two of us who knew differently. Were there more? Was there an adult Code of Disclosure I was not aware of?
Nope.
In 1974, Uncle Adrian saved Christmas at the Schulz house, but he never told a single, solitary soul.
Not everybody celebrates the Christmas season for the same reasons. But I have come to believe my Uncle’s firm hand reaching out of the darkness to save me from myself to be an earthly reflection of my Creator's love for me. Since then, there have been other hands, many of them, some physical and others from another realm, that have guided my life. A life that I owe more to others, and my Father in Heaven than I do to myself.
This Christmas, I am thankful for those hands that have reached out so many countless times since then and continue to save Christmas for me, just like Uncle Adrian did over forty years ago.
Merry Christmas!
Rob Schulz, CFP®
P.S. This is an old favorite that I first wrote a few years ago, but the message still rings true for me every Christmas. May it remind you, as it reminds me, to be grateful for the hands that steady our lives and the loved ones we get to share this season with.