“Christmas, children, is not a date. It is a state of mind.” - Mary Ellen Chase

There are beings among us. Natural aspects to human life that exist right beside our everyday thoughts and actions just out of sight, but we do not see them. Elder abstract creatures in forms non-recognizable to logic, but quite familiar in feeling. They meet when great decisions are to be made. Decisions that shape the path of history as we know and feel in the bones of life.

They are known as Father Time, Mother Nature, Daughter Death, Friend Fate, Son Soul, Sister Service, and Friar Fear. Their appearances and personalities often change depending on the moment, the day, and the season.

They sit now at the table between realms of reality and fantasy in their thrones of clocks, trees, and bones waiting for someone to talk. While they were all ready to get the meeting started, Father Time sat quietly and stared off into the vast expanse of all life.

“Why have you called this meeting, Father Time?” Sister Service asked. She was currently in the form of a field medic from Afghanistan, which war she couldn’t remember, but her job was to serve not question. “I have places to be.”

“Patience Sister,” Friend Fate said, wearing the attire of a 1920’s flapper with a pair of Dolomiti lenses that covered her one eye. “Time will tell.”

“Easy for you to say,” Friar Fear snapped. He was nothing but bones under his holy robes these days. “You know what happens.”

“Calm children,” Mother Nature scolded. She wore her best summer dress. “You know what comes first.”

“First the minutes,” Daughter Death said drearily. She wore her mourning robes, but she always wore her mourning robes.

“First the minutes,” Father Time repeated with a smile. “Son?”

Son Soul pulled out a scroll from his throne made of scrolls. “It has been five seasons since we last met for such a decision,” He read. “Last meeting we discussed giving the man named Patrick Sainthood, Daughter Death made a case against and I made a case for, the vote ended in the positive, but only for a day and on the condition that it mainly affect the land of Ire with chance of spreading slowly and inaccurately to others.”

“And people will get drunk,” Friend Fate added with a ditzy laugh.

“Indeed, a great decision,” Friar Fear rolled his eye sockets. “And I’m to believe we’re here to vote for another such individual.”

“Exactly,” Father Time said. “His name is Nicholas.”

“And what does this Nicholas do?” Mother Nature asked.

“He designs tiny figures and devices with the help of those tiny people to the north and delivers them to children in nearby villages during the darkest time of the years,” Father Time explained.

“He does what?” Mother Nature asked.

Friar Fear frowned. “He makes toys.”

“Toys?” Daughter Death asked.

“Toys!” Friend Fate exclaimed.

“Like dolls and trains?” Sister Service asked.

“Indeed,” Father Time smiled. “Shall I summon him now?”

“Maybe we should discuss this a bit more before—

Sadly Sister Service could not finish her sentence before Father Time was done waving his hand.

In an instance a small man in a coat made of red fur that carried a sack half-filled with toys stood in the middle of the giant table.

Nicholas had seen many strange things in his life. Born an orphan raised by the spirits of the forest in the cold lands of Lycia. Most children stopped seeing spirits after the age of fifteen, but he was able to see them even now at age twenty-seven. He also met the tiny citizens that were the low elves of the north that had been abandoned by their kin. He’d even faced a monster or two like the giant red bear his coat was made from, but all of those palled in comparisons the beings that surrounded him now.

Nicholas smiled. “Hello, nice to meet you.”

“What a handsome young man,” Mother Nature said. “Handsome brown beard too.”

“You flatter me, madam,” Nicholas bowed. “I am Nicholas, adopted son of Pan and his consorts. Brother to wolf and man alike. Humble leader of the low elves of the north. Carpenter, blacksmith, and inventor of the rocking horse.”

“Humble indeed,” Friar Fear, mumbled. Annoyed by the sincerity in the man’s voice. “Right Daughter Death?”

Daugther Death was looking at the man, with a look she had never given before. She found him, his posture, and smile, in front of the concepts of the world, interesting

“And might I ask whom I have the pleasure of speaking to today?”

Sister Service sighed. “Who we are doesn’t matter—

“I’m Father Time, this is my wife Mother Nature, our daughter Death, a family Friend Fate, our son Soul, his sister Service, and the inscrutable Friar Fear.”

“Ah, I see,” Though honestly he could barely comprehend, but he was here and they seemed nice enough. “And why have you summoned me here?”

“We are to gift you with a sainthood,” Friend Fate said.

“We have to vote first,” Sister Service said.

“We must debate first,” Son Soul said. “Who will speak pro and who will speak against.”

“Not yet,” Daughter Death said. “First, he must make his proposition.”

“My proposition, for what?” Nicholas asked.

“For sainthood,” Mother Nature said, as if the idea was obvious.

Father Time leaned down and whispered. “Just tell us what you wish to do.”

“To do with what?” Nicholas asked.

“Your life,” Father Time explained vaguely, then sat back up.

“Well?” Friar Fear sighed. “We can’t wait forever.”

“We could,” Friend Fate said and Father Time shrugged.

Nicholas looked up at this odd gathering and gulped. He made eye contact with Daughter Death and unlike those before him, he didn’t see the end or darkness or light, but a girl who never got a doll from her father growing up. He saw Father Time and thought he’s love a train set. He looked at Friar Fear and thought he’s appreciate a spooky wolf mask. Son Soul would want some marbles, Friend Fate a jump rope, Sister Service would like a basket, and Mother Nature wanted a puppy.

He reached into his sack and pulled out a tiny blond rag doll that he made with leftovers from the shop, then walked up to death and laid the toy before her. “I want to bring hope to children.”

Death smiled. “I will argue pro.”

Nicholas smiled too, then Friar Fear leaned done and whispered. “Don’t get to excited. She’s terrible at this part.”

“Who will argue against?” Father Time asked.

“I will,” Mother Nature said.

Father Time raised his hands, “Witness!”

Nicholas saw images of his entire life flash before his eyes. From his childhood in the wilds to finding the elves to fighting the red bear to meeting the magic reindeer to his endless fights with the Snow Queen and so on. By the end death was solemn and Mother Nature was crying. They all gave her a moment to compose herself.

“Begin,” Father Time said the second she was ready.

Death began.

“This is no normal man,” Death said. “He has faced trials and tribulations from demons to sorceresses and so on, and he has faced them with a smile. Not because of some foolish bravery like Heracles or Beowulf, but because he believed not in himself, but the idea he represented, hope.”

Nicholas smiled.

“Rebuttal,” Father Time asked.

“I can describe this man in one word,” Mother Nature said, her smile as warm as summer, but winter had reached her eyes. “Childish.”

Nicholas frowned.

“He is a foolish fellow to think one man could bring hope to children. It’s an unrealistic expectation to think hope could light the way, nature will form those that are fittest to survive without little trinkets to accompany them. He is young and unexperienced and the world will show him the errors of his youth.”

“Hmm…” Father Time pondered. “Proposals?”

“He should be made an immortal that will bring joy to this hope to the world,” Daughter Death demanded.

“He should be sent to live his life out in his little cave with the tiny people and do what he can until our Daughter meets him at the end in his cold home,” Mother Nature said.

Father Time nodded. “Compromise?”

“He should be…” Daughter Death started, unsure what to say. Father Time, in a not so subtle fashion tapped his bald head. “An idea!”

“What?” Mother Nature asked.

“Like us, but weaker. A story that is told and retold. Give him his regular life, but allow him to life through others ideas.”

Mother Nature pondered a moment. “But, only if the stories are spread willingly.”

“Yes,” Daughter Death said. “But during the time of year where people are at their worst.”

“Which is?” Father Time asked.

“Most deaths occur in winter,” Daughter Death said.

Mother Nature frowned. “Excuse me?”

“It’s true,” Son Soul said.

A chill grew around them, thankfully Nicholas was dressed for the cold. Mother Nature was angry.

“Honey please, we both know that you can be…” Father Time tried to think of the best words. “Cold in those times dear.”

Mother Nature huffed. “Fine, I’ll ignore the insult. Shall we vote?”

“Aye,” Daughter Death agreed.

“Alright,” Father Time nodded. “Sister Service?”

“I see no flaw in a little gift giving.”

“Son Soul?”

“Sounds lovely.”

“Friend Fate?”

“Spoilers… yes.

“Daughter Death?”

“Yes.”

“Mother Nature?”

“I vote no,” She looked at the tiny mortal, that figured in some part of his mind that this was all an odd dream. “No, offense dear. I’m just cruel sometimes.”

Nicholas nodded. “I never dared to understand a lady.”

Mother Nature smirked at that.

“Friar Fear?”

“Give me a moment,” He said, scratching his jaw bone. “I will vote yes, but only if the gifts are given to those that are deserving.”

“Agreed,” Father Time said. “Those who are unworthy shall get severe punishment instead… torture… water boarding…”

“How about a lump of coal?” Nicholas suggested, in hopes of avoiding having to water board children.

“Hmm…” Father time pondered. “Sounds fine to me.”

“Agreed,” Friar Fear said.

“And how do you vote Father Time?” Sister Service asked.

“Oh, yes of course.”

“Then he shall be Saint Nicholas of Lycia, Kris Kringle the toy maker, the French will call him Père Noël, the British will call him Father Christmas, the magical beings of the earth will call him Sinterkind and to those closest to him he will be simply called Santa,” Friend Fate said.

“What does this mean?” Saint Nicholas asked.

“Mean?” Father Time repeated. “Why whatever you want.”

Then the newly sainted Nicholas was sent away and the gathering slowly disbanded until none remained except Father Time and Mother Nature.

“You were to mean,” Father Time said.

Mother Nature said. “That’s my way sometimes, for better or worse.”

Father Time smiled.

Mother Nature leaned closer to her long bearded husband. “Will he succeed?”

He smiled. “I’ll tell you later.”

THANKS FOR READING. BE READY FOR SANTA RELATED STORIES FOR THE REST OF THE MONTH. HOPE YOU LIKE CHRISTMAS.