A book of questions for Santa, it began with an old favorite: “Have I been notty (sic) or nice”. Below there were two neat check boxes for Santa’s convenience, for Santa’s verdict.
Page after page, the questions gravitated between the sacred and the profane: “Why is Rudolph’s nose red? “Where do the elves stay? Have you been to Bethlehem? Have you ever seen an angel?” Each question was punctuated by the check boxes or conveniently lined for a Santa's answer.
I knew a labor of love when I saw it. I showed the book to Bonnie and then looked for a frantic face, desperate to find the book.
No one.
Mass passed quickly and, I must admit, my attention remained with that little red book I couldn’t put down. I was transported back to my daughters preparing similar books and drawings. I resolved that Sarah _________'s book would not end up in Lost n' Found.
Walking back to the inner sanctum of the church I found John, the hardworking, ever-present Parish Administrator.
I showed him the red book, “Do you know Sarah _________?”
“I do” he said. “Her grandmother was just here”. We hurried to the main part of the church but Grandmother had left.
“I would like to get the book to Sarah tonight”, holding out the first page to John.“Santa needs to see this”.
He looked carefully at the book, thought for a moment and returned to the inner sanctum. Locating a Parish Directory, he searched for Sarah’s parent’s entry but it was not to be found. But Sarah’s grandmother’s address was there.

Soon Bonnie and I were in the car. “John said that it was down by Highland High School”, I remarked as the snow blurred in the headlights.
Street after street went by, no luck. Past the high school, up another street, waiting for a snowplow to go rumbling by. I checked the paper with the address and the phone number, “Maybe I can call grandma. . .”. Then Bonnie cheered, “There it is, Jenkins Street”.
I turned up Jenkins Street. Finding the house, I parked in the driveway.
Walking to the front door, I could see through the front window a white haired man, a younger man and a small girl sitting at a table. I rang the bell, and Grandmother came to the door.
“Yes”, she asked hesitantly.
“Is this the _______ house?”
“Yes”
“My name is Bill, is this the house of Sarah __________?”.
“No”. No sense giving out too much information to some stranger.
“I found this book in church and it appears to be the work of Sarah __________” I offered.
The tension relaxed, I was judged not an axe murderer. . .
“Could you give the book to Sarah?” I asked.
“I sure can, she will be over tomorrow”.
“Santa will be disappointed he didn't get to see it but that's the way things go. . .” I smiled.
“Sarah will be happy!” Grandmother offered.
“Merry Christmas” and I retreated to the waiting car.