St. Nicholas usually comes to our house. He has found us as we’ve moved. He found us after I grew up and moved out of my parents’ house. He always came to us there.
St. Nicholas finds us. And when he does, he puts stuff in our shoes.
When I was getting older, but still a child, I loved when I moved up a shoe size. It meant that more loot could fit in it, come December 6th.
And yet, I loved that this day isn’t Christmas. It isn’t giving gifts to one another. It isn’t about the volume of stuff. It is small stuff, just a thing or two. It has to fit in the shoe, after all.
There is joy in these small things, in this rushed season. There is joy in the small, tiny gifts that can fit in small, tiny shoes. Little candies, little toys, little surprises that greet us in the morning.
The tiniest things: little joys. Fitting in our shoes–that they may be beneath our feet. Not obvious, not in the way, not normal.
Today they are.
My favorite of days.