Our first Christmas as Salvation Army officers, we lived in New-Wes-Valley, N.L., where our front door was only 60 metres away from the frigid North Atlantic. Despite the bitter, cold wind that whipped off the ocean, striking against our white vinyl siding and rattling our windows, the weather was no match for the warmth of our people, who treated us so kindly and made sure our first Christmas with them was memorable.

It was a busy season, and, like many, we were tired by the time Boxing Day rolled around. I was looking forward to a full day of rest—no uniform required, no hampers to deliver, no services to lead. The only things on my agenda that day were Christmas movies, comfy blankets and leftover turkey. Nothing else needed my attention. Or so I thought.

Knock! Knock! KNOCK!

I can still see the defeated and disheveled look of the distraught young woman standing at our back door. Her eyes were puffy and red, swollen from the flood of tears that poured over her hollow cheeks.

The reason for her arrival was desperation. Her ex-partner had filled their three daughters’ ears and hearts with promises of Christmas provisions. He was going to fill the stockings, put presents under the tree and give joy. In reality, he gave nothing but heartache. On Christmas Day, they waited patiently for Christmas to show up, but it never came. The three girls were tucked into bed that night without the pleasure of opening a single present. 

This young mother, with little resources and few friends, turned her attention to The Salvation Army hoping for just that—hope.

A few phone calls later, a few strings pulled with a local business owner, and with the assistance of a nearby community and family services office, I was back in my uniform and knocking on the door of a family in need. My arms were full of Hannah Montana T-shirts, Bratz Doll outfits and sparkly gift bags, among other things little girls wanted in 2007.

I’ll never forget the excited looks on their faces and the look of appreciation on their mother’s face. As wrapping paper and bows started falling around them, each new gift brought shrieks of laughter. Then, in a moment of wonder, the youngest looked up and exclaimed in my direction, “Wait! Are you Santa?”

No, but I am thrilled that I get to play him on occasion. Even more importantly, in moments like this, I also get to be the hands and feet of Jesus.

It’s hard to believe it has been almost 20 years since that Christmas on the northeast coast of Newfoundland and Labrador. In the years that have passed, I’ve done my best to provide for others. I’ve delivered countless presents, sometimes to families living in heart-breaking conditions. I’ve seen neglected children wondering who this stranger was with gifts or a frozen turkey under his arm. I’ve been in a home where grief had gripped a widow’s heart, and she couldn’t bring herself to even decorate the tree. I’ve visited the intensive care unit on Christmas Eve and prayed with a retired officer who wasn’t long for this world. I’ve stood at kettles for hours, fuelled only by caffeine and Lindt chocolates. I’ve slept on the sofa in my uniform, too tired to make it to bed. And yes, I’ve even donned the red velvet suit and white beard to play Santa at a Santa Shuffle or two.

There’s a risk in writing these words and sharing them publicly. Some might think I seek applause or praise, or that I boast in my own efforts. Please believe me when I say that is not the intent, nor should it be the perception. I share because I want to point to the One who motivates the efforts and is the reason all our work is possible: Jesus.

I have no idea what happened to that young mother or her three girls, who would all be in their 20s by now. But on that Boxing Day of their childhood, I hope they somehow knew that people helped them not because they wanted to be Santa, but because of their love for Jesus and his people.

It’s an honour to serve. May we never forget the “why” behind the “what” we do.

Major Sheldon Bungay is the divisional youth secretary in the Prairies and Northern Territories Division.

Photo: SolStock/E+ via Getty Images