Elwood the Elf

I have a friend, who lives at the North Pole and works for the big jolly man himself, St. Nick.  His name is Elwood.  He is an elf, Chief of the Elf’s (the COE is what they call him at Santaland), with an office directly across the hall from the wife of St. Nick and next door to Ernest, Chief of Production (the COP of Santaland-not to be confused with Citizens on Patrol, which is our version of COP).

Elwood stands a little taller than five feet, which is large for what an Elf actually measures in height.  He has a reddish complexion, a touch of gray hair, and big, brown eyes that seem to draw you into a conversation with him as he smiles and nods, making little notes on a TouchPad.  Four months out of the year, September through December, he wears a red and white suit, with a Santa tie, as he wonders around Santaland checking on all of the work going into the last minute production of toys, games, clothes and candies for all of the good boys and girls around the world.

My friend spends the first two months of the year taking it easy.  He has a condo in the Florida Keys and a cabin in Gatlinburg.  January is spent in Gatlinburg; February he lazes around the pool in the warm sun on the coast of Florida. (Actually it was in Florida where I met Elwood-I’ll have to tell you that story at another time)

March he heads back for a high-level meeting with St. Nick, Earnest and several of the other top dogs from Santaland, at a swanky little resort in the Alps, which Santa inherited from some long lost relative, who owned a toy company which he sold to Mattel.

After two weeks in the Alps, Elwood and all the elves go into high gear as they begin taking notice of who is naughty or nice; going through complaints from those who write or email about some small problem they may have had with the gift they received; and producing new and exciting toys, games and even candies.

Needless to say Elwood is an extremely busy man, but since we are friends, I have his phone number and we talk through out the year. 

We talked by phone today and he was asking about the kids in our area.  He knows that since my Savannah is ten years old and as pastor of the county seat church, I have a keen knowledge of the children in our area.

“Do you know this kid,” Elwood asked, “that goes by the initials S.T., lives up in the Goodwater area?  He wants some pretty big stuff this year.”

“I am not sure who he is but I’ll see what I can find out,” I replied.

“While we are talking, there are several kids I have not heard from yet,” Elwood says as I hear him turning pages in a notebook.  “I’ve yet to receive letters from the McCain children, the McDonald grandchildren and there is one here named Journey, who lives in the Hanover area.  Jumping beetles, even Savannah has not sent a letter to the North Pole yet.  Jeff, what’s up?”

 “Savannah has not sent a letter yet, but I reminded her the other day that she needs to write soon.  What is the cut-off date?”  I asked hoping that we still had a little time.

“December the 15^th is the day all letters need to be in the Post Office here at the North Pole or received by email.  After that date, we will have to do what we can.  We are talking about thousands of children around the world who have yet made any attempt to write Santa.  Man, these kids need to get those letters in as soon as possible.  I’m talking yesterday!”  Elwood was sounding exhausted.

“Elwood, get a cup of coffee and settle down,” I said, “It will all work out, my brother.”

“Earnest was in here just a minute ago,” Elwood said, “And he was trying to get a fix on the list.  He said that the whole baby doll line went down this morning, and they are trying to get it going again.  Then Mrs. Claus called, from across the hall-I mean she could have walked over her, but no she called me and not her secretary.  Said she wants to meet with me at 1500 hours for a look-see at the list.  If that is not enough, we all have been summoned to the Big Guy’s Conference Room this evening at 1800 hours for a pre-flight planning meeting with supper.  This means I will miss church tonight!”

“It sounds busy there, and I am praying for you…” but I was not going to finish my sentence, as Elwood interrupted me, and bells and whistles were sounding through the phone.

“Preacher, sorry but I have to run, something is happening downstairs in the boiler room.  Talk to you later…”

With that we were disconnected.