I am awake in the winter night.  A train clatters as it slowly pulls into the station a block away from our house.   A siren from a police car wails off into the distance.  The metal pulley posted on the back porch for the clothesline sings softly.

            The only other sound is of my three sisters’ nighttime sighs as they sleep; Donna and Barb share one twin bed, and little Maria and me the other.  It is a time for me to pray to God, asking him to help me out in my little life, through the ups and downs.  It is a time when the house is quiet – there’s no fighting or yelling, no bitchin’ and complaining.  No slaps from Mom, no flying wooden spoon to hit my back, no black belt threat from Daddy, no hearing no, no, no.

            I am talking to God.  My God, known in many ways:  God is Redeemer.  God is Just.  God is Beyond.  God is Good.  I am asking God.  What is good in my life, God?  I am looking, yet, good things are so hard to find when I cannot see anything but drunk Daddy and Mom fighting, and I am struck with an overwhelming sadness in my heart, and my older sister says that I’m thick in the head, because, don’t you know, it’s about time they got a divorce? 

            Geez, God, I try not to be so stubborn, but it’s hard to change, and this goddamn shyness blankets my head so darn tight, so I can’t get the many words in my head out of my mouth and to the ears of those around me, and even if I did, how do I get them to listen, listen, listen?  I am sorry for swearing, God, and, please, let me off the hook – I promise to say an extra Hail Mary prayer at church tomorrow. 

            I am listening, God.

            I hear a soft knock at the window.

            It’s not God. 

            It’s Santa Claus.  Santa is knocking at my window.

            He opens the window, comes into the room, stamps his snow-dusted black boots on the carpet, and all I can say is, “Don’t do that – Mom will be mad – you’re getting the carpet wet!”

            “Now, don’t you worry, Jeanne,” chuckles Santa as he sits on my bed, next to me.

            I inspect Santa and determine that he is just as described in the poem, with twinkly eyes, rosy cheeks, a cherry nose, a snow-white beard, a right jolly old elf.  I smile in spite of myself.

            “So, God tells me that you’re looking for what is good in your life, right?” asks Santa, as he inspects me, a girl in a pink flannel nightgown, long, brown hair that won’t stay put, and a face – what a face – a beautiful face, yet one that wears too many frowns.

            “Well…what?…how do you know?”  I spit words out, embarrassed ’cause I just want God to know my secret thoughts, not Santa.  I wouldn’t have told God if I knew he was going to blab to Santa.

            “I know everything about all good girls and boys.  God’s a friend of mine,” said Santa.

            “Okay” is all I can say. 

            “The good in your life is right here in this bedroom with you, Jeanne,” said Santa, gently.

            “Where?  I don’t see what’s so good.”          

            I look around, however, all I see in this little room is bluebird-blue painted dressers, my sleeping sisters, and our starchily-stiff-ironed green and blue plaid school uniforms hanging on the closet door.  Barb rolls over and her fuzzy toy dog slides off the bed.

            Santa softly chuckles.

            “The good is right next to you.  The good in your life is your three sisters,” said Santa.

            I squint my eyes and frown to figure out what he means.

            “Your sisters will always be with you, to help you out, through the ups and downs.  You don’t need to find friends because you have built-in friends for life.  They are gifts to you from God,” said Santa, as he put his hands on his knees, pushed up his belly, and stood up. 

            “Merry Christmas, Jeanne,” said Santa, as he opened the window, and left.

            “Merry Christmas, Santa.”

            “Sisters for life.  Thank you, God,” I whispered, and closed my eyes.

            I figured it out. Santa is not Santa, and my God is Everything, and my God is Love, and my God is Santa.