little secret Santa's gift

It was Christmas Eve and my excitement was in high peek. I rushed around the house, clutching my rosary, the one I always carried with me when heading to the chapel. Christmas meant more to me than any other celebration - more than even my own birthday. it was a time when everything felt magical. I stopped in my tracks as I realized - my rosary was missing. No, Not today, I thought, panicking. "Where did I leave it?" I muttered to  myself, as I quickly began searching my closet.

“Please, please be here…” I whispered, as I sifted through piles of clothes. Time was slipping away, and the service would start soon.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I spotted it—tucked away in a secret compartment of my drawer, hidden from view. I pulled it out and held it to my chest, relieved. “Thank you, God,” I whispered, my heart swelling with gratitude.

But just as I held the rosary, a memory tugged at my heart. My mind drifted back to the late nineties, when I first started teaching catechism to children. It was during that time that I decided to start a special tradition for my little ones—a Christmas Secret Santa. The excitement was contagious.

December 23-the day of the gift exchange. The kids were eagerly waiting, their faces shining with anticipation. “Okay, children,” I said, my voice warm with joy. “Today, we’re going to exchange gifts to celebrate the love of Jesus.”

Little hands fumbled with carefully wrapped packages, their eyes gleaming as they eagerly gave and received. I was just as excited. “I wonder what they’ve chosen for me…” I thought to myself, curious about the surprises in store.

For one little boy, I had carefully picked out a gift: a paint book and a set of colorful paints. I wanted him to experience the joy of creation, just as God had created the world in such beauty. I smiled at him, handing him the gift. “This is for you. I hope you enjoy painting the world in beautiful colors.”

His eyes lit up. “Thank you, Teacher! I love it!” he said, with an  excitement.

The moment was pure magic. As we continued with the exchange, laughter and chatter filled the room. The children had brought chocolates, toys, and trinkets, each one a small token of their love. I felt overwhelmed with joy. “This is what Christmas is all about,” I thought, my heart full.

As the day came to a close, I felt a sense of calm wash over me. “Tomorrow is Mass,” I said, thinking about how special it would be to celebrate the birth of Christ. I tucked the gift I had received into my bag. It was a little, simple box, but something about it made me feel excited to open it the next day.

he next morning, as I rushed to get ready for Mass, I grabbed the small box and slipped it into my bag. “I can’t wait to see what it is,” I thought, my curiosity piqued.

The chapel was already filled with the soft hum of carols when I arrived. The choir was singing, the air thick with the sweetness of Christmas spirit. My eyes wandered to the manger scene. There, bathed in a soft, golden light, stood the statues of Mary and Joseph. Soon, the priest would place the statue of the baby Jesus in the center of the nativity scene, completing the sacred tableau.

I stepped closer, drawn to the beauty of the scene. It was as if I could feel the warmth of that holy night so long ago. I peered down at the little statues and felt something stir deep inside me. Jesus came here for me, I thought, my heart overwhelmed. He came to die for me, to give me life.

Suddenly, I remembered the gift I had received the day before. I quickly pulled the small box from my bag. My hands trembled as I opened it. Inside, nestled among soft tissue paper, was a simple but beautiful rosary.

A smile spread across my face. How fitting, I thought. The rosary was a symbol of Mary, the mother who had given birth to the Savior of the world. I gently held the rosary in my hands, my heart swelling with emotion. “This is the greatest gift I could ever receive,” I whispered to myself.

I looked back at the nativity scene, at the baby Jesus who had come to live among us. My eyes filled with tears as I realized something profound. The child who had given me the rosary—though I couldn't recall his name today, had given me the best gift of all on that day. He had unknowingly reminded me of what Christmas truly meant: the birth of the Savior. The rosary was a gift of love, a reminder of Jesus' presence in my life.

From that moment on, every Christmas, I would place that rosary in my bag, carrying it with me as a symbol of the love and sacrifice of Jesus. It was a gift beyond value, the most precious of all. The memory of that moment, of the child who gave me such a beautiful and thoughtful gift, stayed with me.

Every year, when I hold that rosary, I remember the true meaning of Christmas: the greatest gift ever given—the gift of salvation through Jesus Christ.