We don't have a lot of santas around here, but I let this one hang around because it reminds me of the maker and her daughter and of the time in my life when I knew them. Nana used to have a cute little gift shop in my hometown and taught painting classes. My sister and I took a class with her and enjoyed many afternoons browsing her shop.
A couple years later, when I got the job at the florist, I ended up working with Nana's daughter Jenny. This ornament came from her, though it was made my her mom. Not only did Jenny teach me to arrange fresh flowers, but she taught me to tolerate country music.
It was back in that workroom, surrounded by buckets of daisies and lilies and roses and a floor blanketed with discarded leaves and stems that I first heard the song Butterfly Kisses(lyrics).(or listen). And I cried. Because that girl was me. Just like the song, Mom and Dad tucked me in bed and prayed with me every night until the night before my wedding. And I remember butterfly kisses. I cried because I was a butterfly, trying my wings in the great big world, working my first job.
That song played many times in that flower scented workroom. Years passed, I traveled and came back, and the song played again. This time I had met someone special at Bible College and my wedding approached. I cried again, knowing my sentimental dad would soon give me away and miss my butterfly kisses.