Missing MY Santa

*****My father passed away on December 30, 2016. He requested that I, the most emotional of his daughters, give a talk about Christmas at his funeral. This is the talk that I gave. ******

My dad. The real Santa.

I grew up with the real Santa Claus. I grew up with Christmas in my heart every day. My dad, Mike Summers, is Santa. Though my father many times donned a red suit and beard and shared treasures of all kinds, this is not what made him Santa. The complete understanding and deep love of what Christmas means is what made him Santa... though he wore the red suit well!

I grew up with a man who believes in the kindness and giving nature of Santa, and the saving grace of our Savior, and that those attributes together are what make the world livable, lovable and survivable.

Anyone who knows the Summers family knows that we love Christmas! We love the lights, we love the feelings, we love the joy, and the magic. We love giving and serving and watching the delight and surprise on the faces of a needy family that we just delivered Christmas to. We love the change of hearts, we love the common good. We love light, and candles, Christmas stories and Christmas music. Johnny Mathis, Bing Crosby, and Frank Sinatra were our childhood friends, singing of Santa and White Christmases, but also crooning words of love, goodwill, and a tiny baby that would save the world with nothing but His love.

The essence of Christmas is love-the love that the birth of the Savior brought to the world, and the love our Heavenly Father gave in sending Him. Christmas is the love and generosity that Santa delivers to all the world. Christmas is love, and my father shared his in abundance. Many of you in the audience have probably been gifted with something that was his- many of them being model cars! Just days before his death, he gave a young man who was leaving on a mission one of his precious cars. This cute young man couldn't bear to leave that car home. We're hoping the other missionaries at the MTC are enjoying it with him!

One of the first stories I remember being told about my dad was the time my parents lived in El Paso, TX. My dad had his eye on a new plaid coat, and set aside money until he could afford it. He bought the coat and loved it. On the way home from making this purchase, he saw a man walking down the road, shivering with no coat. My dad knew he had just spent hard-earned and well saved money on something he had wanted, but he couldn't stand the thought of someone shivering in the cold with no coat at all. My dad pulled over, took off his brand new coat, and handed it to this stranger. He never batted an eye over it. He knew he'd done the right thing. The spirit of Christmas shone brightly through my dad that day, as it did his whole life. Now dad would tell you that marrying my mom brought out the best of Christmas in him. Together, no matter whether we were in the middle of a feast or famine, Christmas was planned, loved and given with great gusto every year of my life. It was prepared for and looked forward to the entire year. The sense of giddiness that built up in our home rivaled that of the movie "A Christmas Story." This is not to say that Christmas was always perfect. Our family would always inevitably pick the biggest, most majestic and full Christmas tree with the largest base of any other. Upon getting home, we always found the base was too big for the stand. This set off a series of events that our entire neighborhood witnessed each year. The saw came out, the tree trunk was shaved down, there was pushing and screaming, weeping, and wailing and gnashing of teeth, before the tree stand was ultimately hurled down the driveway with disgust and a swear word or two. And that, we knew, was part of Christmas too!

My family knew of Christmas magic and wonder from a young age. Because my dad was Santa, we knew every story from the North Pole. Every Sunday night of our entire lives we heard Christmas stories, told by my dad. In the summer we had popcorn and coolaid, in the winter we had popcorn and cocoa, but we knew when the popcorn started popping that story time was arriving. This magical hour each Sunday night taught us the names of each elf, the reason Santa's sleigh is red, the origination of candy canes and ribbon candy. And the way new toys were created.

But we also knew the wonder of the Christ child, sent to bring love, forgiveness and peace to our world.

I should point out that our family loves the entire Chrisman season,  and believes that Thanksgiving and Christmas go together as perfectly as my parents did. Giving thanks, and giving to others go together as well as peanut butter and jelly, so we love the whole entire holiday season that brings out the good in the world. But the best day of the calendar year is Christmas Eve. That's when The Summers go all out. For our family,  the year revolves around  Christmas Eve. As a child,  after gazing at the magical trimmed tree,  we'd  had the Christmas Eve feast,  eaten my mother's delectable assortment of homemade treats,  and we were all ready for bed,  we'd  read the story of the birth of Jesus. Although my dad had 4 daughters , who through the years would torment him with hormones,  screaming matches, crazy boyfriends,  car wrecks,  and an enormous fear of spiders,  Christmas Eve rewarded my father,  as well as us girls,  for having daughters.  After the true story of Christmas was told,  each of us girls donned a veil as Mary would have,  and my dad,  on all fours would be the donkey,  taking us to Bethlehem.  That is how we arrived in our beds.  My dad would deliver us there on his back,  showing us the wonder and reverence the mother of Jesus must have felt.  It's something I'll never forget.

As the years have gone on,  we've added more to this night.  A Mexican feast,  gift giving,  floating sky lanterns,  luminaries,  musical numbers,  treats,  memories,  and Papa's magical stories of the North Pole for the grandkids.  This year,  by my Meghan's inspiration,  we recorded one of Papa's stories, which he told to all of us,  huddled by the fireplace.  The magic was palpable,  and my dad,  Santa gave it to us. We treasure it. Our family knows that to honor my father,  all we have to do is keep Christmas  in our hearts every day of the year. And we will.

The spirit of Christmas if we have it in our hearts and live it every day is what helps us survive all the things in this world. People have asked if I will still love Christmas as much with my daddy gone, and so soon after Christmas. To this I say YES! CHRISTMAS IS LOVE.  My dad was love. So I will keep it all the year.

#bestfamilyever
#mikesummersliveson