"Santa's Secret" Stole My Heart

by Shirley Bahlmann
REVIEW
After reading this book, I no longer feel the need to make excuses for signing “Shirley Claus” on Christmas cards because “Santa’s Secret” tastefully binds the kindness of Santa Claus with the teachings of the Savior to align the two caring men on the same side of goodness and love.
I was crying by page 16. They were happy tears.
This book is so full of delightful passages that pop up like toffee in a candy bar that the whole thing is a delight to read. Well, okay, if you want to get picky, there are a half a dozen grammar challenged sentences, such as “I knew right away I’d forgot my glasses.” (It should be …forgotten my glasses…) but Christy told me this is to keep it true to the voice of the man who inspired this book.
Yes, this book is an even greater Christmas treasure because it’s based on true experiences of long-time Santa’s helper Phil Porter. It covers the reasons we shouldn’t judge another’s circumstance by what we see, and it aptly demonstrates how giving of yourself without asking for anything in return can be magical. I dare you to read it without needing a tissue. This book comes alive with instances of faith where tough, next-to-impossible situations work themselves out in realistic ways that still come across as blessings from heaven. It’s positively heart-warming to see how the spirit and love of Christmas flowed through so many hands, showing how we can all be part of the magic, even by small means. It’s amazing how little things can end up counting for so very much.
This book is a gift you can hold in your hands as well as your heart. My copy is bristling with notes for passages I wanted to share with you, but on second thought, you’ll like them better when you read this enchanting book yourself.

INTERVIEW
Shirley: Hey, Christy, it’s a little hard to tell by starlight, but those look like nice sandals you’re wearing.
Christy: Sh! Somebody might hear you.
Shirley: (looking around, then whispers) Who?
Christy: A highway robber.
Shirley: I don't see anyone. All I see is a wall.
Christy: Ancient Bethlehem’s city wall, to be exact.
Shirley: What are we doing outside? How do we get in?
Christy: Through the eye of a needle.
Shirley: Come again?
Christy: It’s a little opening by the city gate. Camels have to crawl through, but I can make it standing up. (Looks me up and down) You, oh freakishly tall one, might have to duck.
Shirley: So, we couldn’t have met here during daylight?
Christy: No. Tonight’s a special night. (Christy grins, her teeth shining white in the subdued light.)
Shirley: Okay, lead the way. Ooo, low ceiling, you weren’t kidding. Hey, I notice your book, “Santa’s Secret,” was written with Phil Porter. Who is he?
Christy: Phil is just a bus driver from Salem, Utah. But he has a special connection to this place.
Shirley: How did you meet him?
Christy: I work for a newspaper, the Spanish Fork News, and a few years ago I was assigned to interview him for a story in the Christmas Special Section. You see, Phil has been Santa Claus for 27 years now, and he has a unique perspective on the Christmas holiday.
Shirley: Ah, we’ve reached the city. Argh! A spotlight!
Christy: No, Shirley, that’s an exceedingly bright star.
Shirley: Oh. Now what do we do?
Christy: Come this way.
Shirley: Okay, I’ll follow along. What made you think of writing this book?
Christy: When I interviewed Phil, I was so touched and overwhelmed by the spirit of his stories, I approached him about coming together to write a novel. He said he'd been approached several times before--his stories are that good--but this time, the pieces just fell right. He is not a writer, but he is a story-teller, so he came to my house several times and I recorded his stories as he told them. I took those, and wove them together with a fictional "season" of Christmastime, to create a setting where his stories can take place. Some of what happens between him and his family in the book is fictional, and though he wanted to keep the names of his immediate family the same, all of the other names are changed. Almost everything else in the book is based on actual events. You really feel that when you read it, too. The stories ring with truth, and go right to the heart because they really happened.
Phil believes in Santa Claus in a different way than I've ever seen before. When he dresses in his Santa suit, he really "becomes" Santa. And because he takes his role so seriously, he has had many opportunities to offer help, comfort and love to people who are struggling during the holiday season. He's a true giver of real gifts.
Shirley: Oh, I must agree, I sensed that when I read it. Hey, what’s that up ahead?
Christy: A stable. I told you tonight was special. I wanted to meet you here on this night to see the real reason for Christmas.
Shirley: You don’t mean…
Christy: Yes. In that stable is born the Savior of the world.
Shirley: Wow. (Looking up) What’s that? I hear bells.
Christy: (Smiling) It’s Santa Claus.
Shirley: Here? Now? (Christy and Shirley watch as Santa lands his sleigh, takes off his hat, then walks into the stable and kneels beside the manger.) That is so awesome. Hey, doesn’t Santa Claus look a little like…?
Christy: Phil.
Shirley: Yeah. I love how they’re both on the same team. Thanks so much for bringing me here. You and Phil… and the Savior.
Christy: You’re welcome.
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Pecan Pie--To die for?

by Terri Ferran

We attended our ward temple night last Tuesday and gathered for dinner prior to the session. We were pleased to hear from a member of the temple presidency. Those of us who had eaten at the temple cafeteria before knew how delicious (and scarce) the pecan pie is.

Those who arrived early selected their dessert first and the pecan pie was gone in the twinkling of an eye. I was not one of the lucky ones who snagged a piece, so I had to settle for chocolate mousse.

As the line formed for the buffet table I held back waiting for it to diminish. While I waited, I noticed a worker bringing in a few more desserts--and Yes! There were two more pieces of pecan pie! I grabbed my mousse to exchange for the better part and in a moment of generosity, I took my neighbor's (Sister K's) dessert to exchange because she, too, craved pecan pie. (Covet is not the appropriate word to use in the temple, but I did think it.)

I made the exchange of desserts and, beaming in victory, I made my way back to my table to encounter a wonderful sister (Sister A, one of the sweetest women I know) who was also going for the pecan pie and, discovering I had taken both, scolded me in a disappointed tone.

I was torn. Sister K had already seen me and thanked me profusely. I couldn't easily give hers away at that point, nor did I want to give up my own piece. But I also didn't want to dissapoint or offend Sister A.

I sometimes have moments of kindness. They pass quickly, so I hurried over to offer my pie to Sister A. She declined and said she forgave me for taking it and even kissed my cheek. I offered, King Solomon-like, to split the piece in half, but she again said no. It was for her husband, anyway, and he was very embarrassed by the whole thing.

I ate the pie; which was exquisite. I considered gloating, but caught myself before I did it.

Later on, while still in the temple, I got one of those tickles in the throat that erupted into a full-blown coughing/choking fit that made me think I might cough up a lung. I had a momentary thought as I couldn't breathe--Perhaps this was retribution for swooping in and taking both pieces of pecan pie! I imagined my death, in the temple, by pecan pie.

Luckily the fit passed and I survived. The pecan pie at the temple is divine--but not necessarily "to die for".

I told Sister A what happened later, and she nearly fell on the floor laughing. I think she really did forgive me! The lesson I learned? Get to the temple dinner earlier next time!

The Gentleman Toweler

by Shirley Bahlmann
A lot of people wonder where authors get their ideas. Here's an example that worked for me.
I was at the LDStorymaker's Conference in Salt Lake City this past weekend. I wound up sitting by a door that author Candace Salima's husband, Alvin, opened to let me in. He saw me tippy-toeing around the corner after trying to get in behind the presenter's screen. (There was an actual door there, but no one opened it for me. They probably thought I was a crazy lady, tapping on the glass, yelling with blue lips, "Let me in!")
But Alvin is big, Alvin is brave, he knows me, and he STILL opened the door!
Alvin gave me one of his big, warm Samoan hugs to thaw me out. I appreciated that the room was warmer, but not by much. After a bit, Alvin got up and left the table. He came back a few minutes later with a white hotel towel. At first, I thought something had spilled. Then he walked over behind me and draped the towel over my shoulders. I looked up in complete surprise. "How did you know I was cold?" I asked.
"Because I'm hardly ever cold, and I thought it felt a bit chilly," he replied. "I tried to get you a blanket, but they didn't have one, so I hope you don't mind the towel."
"No," I said, snuggling into the soft, warm terry cloth shawl. My grandma never had it so good.
Now, how's that for character? Can you see how that event could be worked into a book in so many ways?
Thanks, Alvin, for the inspiration.
And the towel.