Santa Brings a Bike

By Coleen Stout

Jake and Julia lived in the basement of a friend's home with their several children. It was certainly a humble abode, old and sparse, but clean and cozy. I was unprepared for what a lovely lady Julia was. When I looked into her honest face and warm brown eyes, I knew why Jake loved and married her, although she was severely crippled.

We were then introduced to the children. They were all young, the oldest being 6. His name was Juan Carlos, and as we discovered, was adopted. He was an orphan, and these good people had taken him in as their own. Juan Carlos was a good-looking boy. He melted your heart with his sweet, intelligent spirit. My husband fell in love with him, and before we left had found a real friend in that small, dark rascal. He swung the little boy around and gave him a big hug as we departed. It was a happy and tender meeting, yet we left their humble home saddened. What could we offer them? It was 10 days before Christmas, and I was very involved in shopping, wrapping and baking."I'd like to do something for them," he said, "and I've decided that I'm going to give Juan Carlos a bike for Christmas."

"We can't afford a bike," I said. I knew how much I had scrimped and penny-pinched to provide a few simple things for our own large family. We had mission and school expenses, a daughter getting married . . . and so on and so on.

"Don't worry," he said. "I have plans." So it was then that the second-hand bike appeared in the garage. It was small, just the right size, but that's about all! It needed everything but a frame.

Every night after working two jobs, my husband tackled the job of restoration. Finally he finished it off with a bright coat of yellow paint.

"Yellow! Bikes are supposed to be red or blue or maybe silver," I said.

"No, yellow is what it is and what it shall be!" he answered determinedly.

Christmas Eve day was cold and icy. It was good to be indoors amid the sounds and smells of Christmas. There remained much to be done before the evening program, caroling and feasting. Already members of the family were arriving from out of town - all hungry. My husband brought the yellow bicycle into the living room for all to inspect. He had done a beautiful job - except for the seat. No, the seat wouldn't do. It was, well, ugly.

"We could cover it," he said hopefully.

"With what?" I countered, "a rug?"

"That's an idea," he said. "Do you have any fur around here?" Well, I had most everything in my assortment of scraps, but I didn't remember having any fur except some baby pink I was saving for perhaps a bunting for a newborn. That would never do! Nevertheless, I began to look through the dusty boxes, stored in the chilly utility room. My nose began to itch, and half-crossly I wondered why I had to begin a new project Christmas Eve when there was already so much to be done. Then I saw it - about a quarter yard or less of soft, brown fur. I couldn't remember why I had it or where it had come from.

"Will this do?" I asked, hesitantly.

"Perfect!" he cried. So, there he was, on the living room floor, with the yellow bike on top of him, hand stitching the brown fur on the old seat. The fabric fit exactly, with nothing to spare. It was a pretty handsome reupholstering job. But would Juan Carlos like it? Would he feel disappointed or cheated? It was too late to wonder.

Early the next morning, a lone, sleepy soul emerged from his warm bed while all the household was still asleep. Quietly he left the house, started up the blue van and drove in a southwesterly direction with his gift. He was excited but also worried.

Maybe this is a dumb gift, he thought. Maybe he'll get a shiny red bike from Santa and laugh at this one, colorful as it is. I wonder why I'm doing this at all - what a stupid idea!

Making sure the little note was still attached, which read: "To Juan Carlos - Merry Christmas! Santa," he left the little bike at the bottom of the basement stairs and ever so quietly tiptoed away. He felt good. He had tried.

Later he talked with Jake, who told him how thrilled Juan Carlos had been and how he had ridden his bike most of Christmas Day and how grateful they were for the gift.

However, it wasn't until several years later that the full story came out.

I was visiting once again with Jake and Julia, and we spoke of old times and good memories. Suddenly Jake grew very sober and his eyes were moist.

"Did I ever tell you about the bike you folks gave Juan Carlos for Christmas?" he asked.

"I'm not sure what you mean," I replied. Then he told me the story of a child's faith that I can scarcely repeat, it is so sacred. Juan Carlos had told his parents that when they got to America he was going to have a new bike. His family had arrived with very little - only what their old station wagon would hold - and also with no job. Jake and Julia knew a bike was out of the question. Food and clothing were the only priorities just now. Maybe, someday. But as Christmas approached, Juan Carlos was more insistent.

"I know Santa will bring me a bike - a beautiful yellow one!"

"Well," Jake said lovingly to him, "if you really want something that badly, then you should pray for it. So Juan Carlos prayed and prayed every night for a yellow bicycle. And Christmas morning, there it was, just as he knew it would be!

If I didn't know it before, I think I now know how our Father in Heaven answers our prayers.