I wasn’t supposed to be Santa.
I was a school photographer — just filling in when the scheduled Santa didn’t show up. I put on the beard, told my other photographer she’d have to take all the pictures, and stepped into the role. It was meant to be temporary. But God had other plans.
RELATED: Check out more stories from Marc Hooks and TAB Media’s Ground Level Reports series on Santa Claus and the Church here.
The next year, I grew my beard and used theatrical makeup to color the red white. Then something remarkable happened — around age 40, my hair and beard turned white naturally. I often tell others, “God saw I was doing good, and He helped me by turning my hair white.” Now, with all-natural white hair, I’m recognized as Santa all year long.
For the first few years, it was just a role — something to bring a little joy to the children in school. Then a friend asked me to join him at the mall, where four of us rotated shifts around our full-time jobs. That’s when the ministry began to take shape.
Groomed for something greater
The mall’s marketing director, was instrumental in encouraging me and the others. I didn’t realize it — but God was using her to groom me for a lifelong ministry in the red suit.
One day, Santa Tommy was running late. I was visiting with a family when the parents began talking to me as if they knew me. I was subtle — careful not to break the illusion for the children on my knee — but I had no idea who they were. As they left, they saw Tommy in his street clothes. They looked back at me, confused. Later, Tommy told me they were his neighbors — they thought they’d been talking to him the whole time.
That moment stuck with me. I began to realize this wasn’t just a role. It was a ministry. Even when they didn’t know my name, they saw something familiar — something comforting. That’s when I knew God was working through the suit.
Ministry in the margins
Over the years, I’ve seen how God uses Santa to reach places few others can. There are moments I’ll never forget — each one a reminder that ministry often begins in the margins.
A first-grade girl at a school wouldn’t come near me. Something — maybe the Holy Spirit — prompted me to ask the teacher about her. The teacher was blunt: “She’s a loner. Doesn’t talk much. Doesn’t have friends.” When I asked about her family, she said, “I don’t know. That’s not my job.”
After the photo session, I went to the principal — a man I knew loved the children. I didn’t know the girl’s name but with my description, he said he knew who I meant. Months later, he told me the child had been removed from an abusive home and placed in foster care. That teacher didn’t return the next year. “I don’t want anyone in my school who has so little concern for the well-being of the students,” he said.
Another time, I met a 13-year-old girl at the mall who shared something that needed investigation. She was with a parent, so I had to be cautious. I didn’t have a name, but I reported what I could. Authorities were able to identify her, and she too was placed in foster care.
Moments that matter
One day, as I was walking through the mall to my post, I met a gentleman and asked, “What’s going on?” He teared up and said, “Santa, I have cancer.” I asked him to step aside with me, and we talked and prayed. After Christmas, he called to say his faith had been restored through that encounter. His cancer was gone, but what stayed with him was this: “Whether I die today or many years later, I know God is with me now.”
Another time, I met a family of children who had just lost their granddad — crushed while working under a car. I asked them to tell me about Papa. We laughed and cried together, ending with a prayer and a gift: each child received one of the small crosses I carry in my pouch.
Those crosses have become part of the ministry. Years ago, a gentleman began making small wooden crosses and giving them to me each season. After he passed away, another friend connected me with a metalworker who now sends me small aluminum crosses — refusing payment, even for shipping. “It’s for your ministry,” he said.
Some don’t see the significance. But many look for the Santa with the cross. And many, many more stories could be told.
Closing reflection
I’ve laughed, I’ve prayed and I’ve cried with children and parents. What started as a costume became a calling. What began as a role became a ministry.
God can use anything — a beard, a sleigh, a moment at the mall — to plant seeds of hope. I didn’t choose this path. But I’m thankful He did.
“Let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” —Matthew 5:16
How has God used an unlikely role in your life to bless others — or reveal His purpose?
This Christmas, I invite you to consider your own calling — not just your career, but your Kingdom role. Whether you wear a uniform, an apron, a name tag, or a red suit trimmed in white, you carry the presence of Christ into places pastors may never go. The Gospel doesn’t wait for a pulpit — it walks into break rooms, classrooms, checkout lines and hospital rooms. You don’t have to be a preacher to proclaim hope. You just need to show up, listen well, and love deeply. You never know who’s waiting for light to show up in your lane. The world is aching for light. And if you belong to Christ, you carry it with you.
EDITOR’S NOTE — This story was written by Durward Blanks and originally published by Nashville Christian Family. Used by permission.
