Santa on a Mission

My life and my world as a country boy radically changed when I turned 10. I grew up in tobacco and cotton country, in the rural Piedmont area of NC. In that early childhood I spent much of my time with friends fishing in a nearby creek, hunting salamanders, frogs, turtles, lizards, and snakes. Life was good.

I was raised by my blind great-aunt who told me Bible stories, or read them from her braille Bible, which consisted of many large books. The other person who cooked my meals and watched over me was "Catie Bell", a housekeeper whom I mimicked spitting colored spit (too young to understand dipping snuff) by dipping cocoa powder. Those two shared the task of raising me while my dad was away for work much of the time, and mom ran her own business. But life as I knew it was about to take a turn. In one year, my aunt slipped, fell and broke her hip, and shortly after passed away. I was devastated. My parents sold our home to move closer to the town where they both worked. We had not lived in the new location a year when my dad resigned as VP of the manufacturing company. At the same time, mom, an independent business woman (ahead of her time) sold her successful Singer franchise and fabric shop business, and "answered the call" to become missionaries to Hong Kong.

I was not happy about being a MK (missionary kid) and even more so after being there a few months. I did not understand the hatred these foreigners had for me, why I was in fights I did not want or start, why even the English kids who looked like me were so cruel, because I was called a "Yank" and spoke with an accent. I did not understand that just minutes away from where I lived was a country suffering under the murderous Chairman Mao, the Gang of Four, the Red Guards, and what they called the Cultural Revolution. It took me some time to figure out. I was spit on, kicked and once beaten literally unconscious because I was an American, a "gui-lo" or "foreign devil". I quickly learned the ways of the street and adapted by hanging out with a gang from Tsem Sha Tsui.

Within two years, my parents had lost all control of me. I hardly spoke to them, but did write them letters and tell them how much I hated them, God, and Hong Kong. They actually had no idea how dark my life had become, and that most of my friends were Kowloon gang members. I had no interest in anything but fighting, or most of all, returning to what I remembered as normal… home! I just wanted to die.

A Christian psychologist, Dr. Clyde Narramore, was visiting Hong Kong on a lecture tour, and my dad took me to hear his lecture. Dad was very clever about it, and told me he was going to hear this psychologist from America tomorrow, and no kids were allowed. Then he said, "If you want to come with me, you will miss a day of school, and you must be very still and quiet." That's all I needed to hear, "kids were not allowed" and "I'd miss school", heck yeah, I wanted to go!

After the lecture, dad and I made our way to the front to meet Dr. Narramore, and to my surprise, he invited us to lunch. As lunch progressed Dr. Narramore probed me with questions about my life as a MK in Hong Kong. He was never shocked by what I said, listened intently, appropriately asking follow-up questions. He never judged or reprimanded me. I felt I had found a friend indeed, and I opened up and told him everything: about my gang affiliation, school fights, and all the violence I had become involved with. When my dad arrived about an hour later, Dr. Narramore looked at him and asked in a scolding tone, "Do you love your child?" And then: "This child does NOT go back to school tomorrow… You must get him out of this environment NOW! Because if you don't, he will in the near future, die in a Chinese jail!" Thankfully, my disciplinarian father took heed, and I was soon on my way to Morrison Academy, a Christian boarding school in Taichung, Taiwan. That is where my life permanently changed and healing took place.

During the year a basketball team came to visit our school, playing a style similar to the Harlem Globetrotters. They were so entertaining, and my guard was down; at halftime one of the players spoke. That day, during halftime, I said "Yes!" to God. My attitude and heart changed instantly. That night, for the first time since leaving the States, I actually longed to be with my parents, tell them how sorry I was and that I loved them.

When that semester ended, I returned to Hong Kong and became a missionary in my own right, with a love for the poor, the refugees, the boat people on their junks and sampans, the Hakka farmers, and the outcasts of society. I even worked with the heroin addicts in the infamous Walled City of Kowloon. As I prepared to return to the States in October of '69, many of the addicts came to see me off. One of them placed his hand on my face and in broken English said: "likey egg, you white outside," then placing his hand over his heart, "you heart… yellow. You love ah Chinese people. You Chinese!" and with tear-filled eyes, "no forget us in big Amewica." And I never have!

In 1980 I returned to Hong Kong for a short time and joined my parents, who had started a ministry to the underground church in China supplying the printed Word. I got a job teaching English to the Vietnamese boat people at Argyle #4 camp in Kowloon and would take the train into China on the weekends, delivering Bibles to our contacts inside China.

That's why I ministered in Kenya, teaching local pastors near Victoria Falls in the mid-1990s. One elderly local pastor surprised me saying that he had been saved by reading a printed tract he found beside the road one day, a tract that my dad and I had printed for evangelist T. L. Osborn in Africa!

That's why, following Hurricane Katrina, I collected many needed items and took off work to go help rebuild homes in Gulfport and Biloxi, MS.

That's why I found myself in Banda Aceh, Indonesia following the worst known tsunami in recent history, which took the lives of a quarter million people. The trip to Indonesia rekindled my desire to be on the mission field. It was there I determined to get a Master's degree in Agriculture with certification in aquaponics, so I might be able to help in food deserts and teach people how to grow a substantial amount of food in non-agricultural regions.

I also went on a university-sponsored trip to Ecuador in 2017, where God opened doors to minister to young people. And through Project Noah, Inc., which provided sanctuary to exotic animals, God used my lions and tigers to attract many people to whom I was able to minister.

While in Kansas City renting some camera gear from Kodak, a gentleman asked would I like to be one of their Santas at a mall. I had a white natural beard and he thought I'd make a good Santa. Not to offend, I just candidly remarked, "I'll pray about it." My wife understood that my real answer would be more like "when Hell freezes over!"

Months went by until the phone rang one morning, a gentleman from Kodak asking if they could send me the contract. Caught off guard, I started to say I absolutely was not interested, when that little voice reminded me that I had said I'd pray about it and I hadn't. I asked him to call back tomorrow, hung up, and prayed something like this: God, this is really stupid, I already know the answer… but if you want me to be a Santa, and I KNOW you don't, tell me today so I'll know without doubt.

That evening Marge came home from a Christian ladies' meeting with a story. A woman there, an atheist who had been in a terrible auto accident years earlier and lost her memory to severe amnesia, had taken her youngest daughter to see Santa. When Santa asked what she wanted for Christmas, the little girl said, "I want mommy to know who I am, she doesn't remember me." Santa asked the mom if he could pray for her. She laughed: "Sure, if that makes you feel better, but I'm an atheist!" Santa responded, "That's ok, God believes in YOU!"

The very next morning her memory was totally restored. She went straight back to ask that Santa about the God he served, and accepted Christ right there on the set. Today the entire family is serving the Lord.

I had my answer… I was to be a Santa.

Over the 22+ years that I have been Santa Max, God has used Santa to minister through many health crises, family issues and hard seasons. I was determined to sabotage my first year as Santa by boldly praying for people on set. I thought this surely would get me fired. Instead, it sealed my destiny.

One evening the set manager elf told me the next little girl (we'll call her Anne) would be lifted from her wheelchair by nurses and gently placed on my knee. Anne was a bright, smiling, talkative little girl, so I asked why she was in a wheelchair. She gleefully answered, "Mommy said I might go and see Jesus this coming Thursday. So we are having Christmas tonight." Her mom explained: an aneurysm on her brain, growing rapidly, surgery scheduled Thursday with a 3–5% chance of success.

I asked if I could pray for her. As tears filled her eyes she said, "Oh yes, PLEASE do!" The whole family surrounded the chair, and moments after I started to pray, words gushed out: "Your child shall live and not die!" When I called the family Thursday night, there was joyful noise in the background. They had taken Anne back for a last-second scan before surgery, and the surgeons could not explain it, but there was no sign of any aneurysm. They repeated the scan multiple times to be sure, then said: take your daughter home and let her play.

As news of this "Praying Santa" spread, people would drive two or three hours from nearby states, wait in line, and say, "I heard that you pray for people, and I need prayer for…" A young girl in a scarf came by; we prayed; the next year she returned with an inch of new hair and a big smile: "I'm cancer free. Thanks for praying!" A mother who could not have children came back the following year with twin boys. I have prayed for marriages to be healed and wayward children to return home. I've had on-set proposals, and surprise visits from military fathers while their kids had their eyes closed wishing to see daddy again, only to open their eyes and there he stands!

Please do not take any of this as bragging. Santa Max considers himself the jackass of God's calling. God only needs a willing vessel (even if I did go kicking and screaming).

Over the years as Santa, I have often mentioned to many of you about your children, now young adults, going with Santa on a mission trip. They get to BE the Santa, bringing gifts of love, hope, smiles, life and friendship. I want them to experience the joy of helping others in need, and to see how fulfilling it is compared to the material things we so often fix our eyes upon.

The summer of 2022, I had planned to go to Poland to work with contacts helping orphans and refugee families from the Ukraine conflict, and from there to Mongolia to head up a program building deep-winter greenhouses (DWG) using solar and geothermal heat combined with an integrated aquaponic system. Why a greenhouse in Mongolia? Because of the extreme cold and the nomadic lifestyle, vegetables are not readily available and are cost-prohibitive. The primary diet is meat, contributing to a low life expectancy. If the church can grow vegetables to sell at reasonable prices, all benefit.

God had a different plan and timing. On June 11, 2022, the day before my flight, I was involved in a serious accident, with my camper falling on my head. While in recovery, I learned much more about deep-winter greenhouses and collected more information and contacts.

I left for Mongolia in August 2022 and returned that September, and went again the summer of '23. The favor of the Lord was amazing. I met with the president, department chairs and professors of the university in Ulaanbaatar and lectured about deep-winter greenhouses. I met with local pastors, YWAM leaders, NGOs and business owners who want to be involved. This is not a one-time visit, but a long-term journey, designing and constructing a greenhouse that grows vegetables year-round even in -40°F winters, done in phases over the next few years.

I hope some of Santa Max's extended family and friends will join the 'Santa on a Mission' team. If this sounds interesting to you, please let us know. Volunteers are welcome between the beginning of May and August.