Saint Nicholas

Cherese tells the story of an unexpected encounter that would change her heart and faith forever.

Hey, friends, this is Cherese Lee and you're listening to the Just Waiting for You Podcast. Whether the sun is shining where you are in life today or you're walking through a crappy storm and you really wish you got some rain boots. The power of a story is sometimes all you need for that perspective shift. Hang out with us for a few minutes and find out what happens when you realize that someone is just waiting for you.

It's a story. It's just a story. It was a really cold and dark December night. I must have been in about second grade. I was in the living room and there were no lights on, just the roaring fire in the fireplace and the multicolored twinkle lights from our Christmas tree. I was perched on the couch looking out the giant picture window.

Of course, I wasn't sitting on the couch the right way. I was turned around, blanketed over the back of it just staring at the pouring snow. It was magical. Like we were in a snow globe. I think there was some Christmas music on the record player playing softly

As I watched the pouring snow dancing in the streetlights, I started to notice two figures coming up the sidewalk that ran in front of my house. We lived on the main road, but there wasn't much traffic that night (probably because the weather was awful). Except the weather was beautiful. They walked slowly, these two people, with that cadence that was different than people out for exercise or with a purpose.

They almost seemed to glide up the sidewalk. I just kept staring at them. They worked their way up the sidewalk until they were in front of my house. And then they turned at my driveway and they were coming down my really long driveway towards my house. I just stared. I didn't know what to think.

One of them was definitely dressed in something that I didn't recognize as just normal clothes, and the other one was just in really dark things. Maybe jeans and a black jacket? He was carrying a flashlight for the other man. Before I knew it, there was this heavy knocking on the front door and my mom went and answered. I just sat there, pretty much frozen on the couch, staring at the door. They came inside and I imagine my little second-grade mouth probably dropped open.

There was the gentleman dressed in dark, regular street clothes, but the other man-the other man definitely was not like anyone I had ever seen before. He was wearing thick, heavy crimson robes. Around the edging with some white fur that almost looked like snow. There were beautiful golden tassels and fasteners on the robes. He had on white gloves and a big, beautiful gold ring.

He carried a staff in his hand. His face was pale, almost white, and he had a really long beard. He wore a bishop's miter (which is the hat that bishops wear). And as I'm describing him, I realize it sounds like I'm describing Santa Claus, but my seven-ish-year-old self knew that that was not Santa Claus. Not any Santa Claus I'd ever seen.

When he opened his mouth to speak, he spoke slowly and with an accent that I didn't recognize. He asked my mother if he could see the sick child. Now, my brother had just gotten home from the hospital the day before. He'd been in for a few days with pneumonia. My mom smiled big. I could tell she wasn't scared or nervous at all like I was.

But she was moved. She said that she would go and get him. So she went up and brought my brother down and sat him on the couch beside me. My brother is four years older than me, but as I said, he was recovering and so mom was giving him some extra help that night. My mom went into the dining room and got a chair and sat it in the middle of the room right beside the fireplace.

There still weren't any lights on. All that really lit up this man's face was the roaring fire and the twinkle lights from the tree. He was facing the picture window, and so that brilliant moonlight came through as well. You know, the one when it's pouring the snow. The moon just seems to be fluorescent. By that time, my dad had come and was standing in the doorway watching what was taking place too.

My brother and I sat there speechless and the man in crimson robes introduced himself as Father Nicholas, and he proceeded in his thick accent to tell us the story of his life. That he was raised in a wealthy family. That he lost his parents at a pretty young age. That he was left money from them, and that he had a deep, deep faith for God.

He wanted to do right by what he had, and he wanted to honor the Lord. Nicholas became a priest and then a bishop, and he sought to help people with the money he had, namely children. One legend tells of three sisters that he helped by throwing gold coins into their windows at night so that they would have a dowry in order to be able to get married.

He told us that he was raised in Asia Minor, and he told us about the newborn king. The whole time, my brother and I just sat there in awe and silence of it all. After he told his story, he invited each of us to walk up to him. He told us to hold his hands and to look into our eyes.

And if he saw goodness there, he would give us a blessing and something to remember him by to remind us of the goodness of the Lord and to remind us about the importance of giving to others. I can't remember if I went first or second, but I do know I will never, ever forget how I felt when I held his hands.

I put my little hands in his white-gloved hands, and he held them. He squeezed them so gently as he looked into my eyes. I had never seen eyes like his. It was like he could see into my soul. And they pretty much sparkled. He looked into my eyes for what felt like forever, and then quietly, without saying a word. He gave me a blessing on my head and handed me a bag of gold chocolate-filled coins.

When he was finished blessing us and then my parents, he left as quietly and as reverently as he'd come. I ran over to the couch and perched right back in that big picture window and watched as he and his companion walked back up the driveway and down the sidewalk until he was out of sight.

That night I felt as if, not only did I hold the hands of Nicholas, but I held the hands of God. God and Nicholas. God poured into me. My heart was forever changed from that night on. A few years later, maybe even sooner, I would learn about the identity of the man that came to our house that night.

His name was Father Leon Alexander, and he was our parish priest. I could go on and on, and probably do an entire podcast series on this man who became a second father to me. He's the one that always used the phrase “It's a story. It's just a story”. And if you've ever been to my website, you'll see that I do quote him there and give him good credit for that.

He told the best stories. But today, I just want to tell you about the Father Leon who was Nicholas. Once I became a little bit older, he asked me to be his companion. Sometimes he would even pick me up early from school. My mom would call ahead and say I could sign out. And I traveled all over the state of West Virginia with Nicholas.

We went to schools. We went to churches. We went to community centers. Anyone that invited him, he would come. He would share the story of Nicholas. He would share the story of God and Christmas. And standing beside him, time after time, hearing his story, I was touched. I felt that pitter-patter in my heart. I felt that warmth of the faith of Nicholas-of the faith that he had given me time and time again.

But here's what I also got to witness. Hundreds of people standing in line to come up and hold the hands of Nicholas as he looked into their eyes. All of the blessings that he imparted. So many differently aged people. So many different religious backgrounds. One of my favorite things would be when a pregnant woman would come up for a blessing.

She would start to walk away after Nicholas blessed her, and he would pull her back gently and put his hand over her belly, and bless the unborn child. I can't tell you how many times I saw tears in the eyes of these people as Nicholas would bless them. There was something about him. Something about those eyes. Something about the story of hope and faith and charity. All of it rolled into one.

You know what's neat is usually at these gatherings, if people had never witnessed Saint Nicholas before in this way, they had no idea what they were coming out to. Usually, you say Saint Nicholas, and people imagine Santa Claus, right? And so these parents would bring their kids to what they thought would be a cocoa and cookie night with Santa.

And it was anything but. What he brought to all these people was exactly what they needed. Was exactly what they showed up not looking for that night. And he did it over and over again. I can't imagine how many hundreds of people had changed hearts and amazing Christmases for the rest of their lives because of a short encounter they had with this one magical, legendary man.

Father Leon did this for-oh, my goodness, I'm trying to do the math right now, and it's embarrassing. I bet he did Nicholas for 30 years. Maybe more. Probably more honestly. Even after he retired from the priesthood. He still did it every December. Different places would reach out to him and ask him to come. And he would. Leon's last Christmas here on Earth was 2020, and so sadly, Nicholas didn't get to make his rounds that year, thanks to the pandemic.

And this man, Father Leon, who had been so many things to so many people, then found himself in an apartment missing all of those faces so much. You've never met a more people person than Leon. And what was amazing to see (now, he was probably 80 at this point) were all the people who then showed up for him. His adoptive granddaughter used to do yoga with him on Zoom.

He had friends who would ship him wine from Italy because that was his favorite. We set him up on FaceTime at the dinner table quite a few times, and everyone one by one started showing up for him because of what he gave to us so many times. I found myself so sad to not see Nicholas that year, and it never failed.

Every year on the feast day of Saint Nicholas, he would usually send an email to his family and friends with a picture of himself as Nicholas, and would remind us of the goodness of Saint Nicholas. So I sat down, and I wrote the story of the first time I met Nicholas (the one that I just told you). And I posted it on social media for friends.

And then I put it in an email to send to him (because everyone who loved Leon knew that he also was horrible at social media, even though we had set it up for him). I just wanted him to know, in case I'd never said it out loud, how important that meeting was, how it changed my life quite honestly, and how, over the years, watching the impact on others was so sweet.

And he wrote me back. And here's what his letter said,

“My dear share. Well, since Saint Nicholas can't make his rounds this Advent season, you provided what he requires every year- The Christmas Spirit. Thank you so very much for sharing your story with folks. You've made my Advent alive and real and will slingshot me into the celebration of Christmas.

Te Amo

Much, much love forever. Leon a.k.a. Nicholas Bishop of Myra.”

It was such a full-circle moment for me. This man who showed up for hundreds and hundreds in his 80-plus years, thanking me for showing up for him in a way that he couldn't that year, for giving him the Christmas spirit when he was the King of the Christmas Spirit.

It comes around friends- Showing up. The people that are out there waiting for you, you may never hear of the impact you had and that's okay. It still feels amazing. But sometimes you might. You might be the Christmas Spirit that the most magical faith-filled giver of Christmas needs.

Thanks for joining us. I hope you allow yourself to feel the things today and then have the courage to ask. But what if it looks like this? Go forth and show up for life, my friends. Someone is just waiting for you.