In the late winter of 2003 I took a crew of Master’s Commission students on a ministry trip to Finland. We were helping to establish a Master’s Commission program in the city of Rovaniemi—a city in the far north of Finland—a city actually bordering the Arctic Circle.

Needless to say, it was quite cold in Rovaniemi, but beautiful beyond belief. We enjoyed seeing the Northern Lights in the sky after the short hours of sunlight, and ice fishing through a hole on a frozen river. Especially wonderful were the evening visits to typical Finnish saunas. After a few minutes in the blazing hot sauna, rolling around in the snow or taking a quick dip in 33 degree water (after a hole is cut in the ice covered lake) gives one’s heart a workout! Then the run back to the sauna leaves the body covered in frost, only to melt in the sauna once again. Riviting! The temperature was cold, but the hospitable Finnish people were as warm as their saunas!

While in Rovaniemi I was given the use of a small car. Driving in ice and snow in Finland was much different than driving in ice and snow in Alabama—probably because they do it half of their year and they’re good at it! One particular day I journeyed a short distance on a north bound highway, just so I could say I crossed the Arctic Circle. Sure enough, there was a marker on the side of the road reading, “Napapiiri” in Finnish, and “Arctic Circle” in English. Just to step across the line felt like a big thing.

Just across the Napapiiri was a famous tourist park called “Santa Claus Village.” It was actually a family friendly North Pole experience frequented by Finns, Swedes, Germans, Brits, and wealthy Americans. Everything was labeled in English since most Northern Europeans now understand English perfectly. Unfortunately, I arrived just after the village closed, but I was still able to walk right in like I owned the place. The very first door I opened led me into an enormous empty hallway spilling into a beautiful room adorned with all sorts of Christmas décor. At one end was a huge wooden throne surrounded by fragrant evergreens. It was obviously where Santa sat to greet the throngs of children who visited Santa Claus Village year-round.

I tiptoed around since I was the only person in sight. I didn’t want to make noise to draw attention to myself as I crept toward the enormous throne. Then, all of a sudden I heard a deep, kind voice echo in the huge room, “Hello.”

I spun around and there behind me stood a tall white bearded man in a deep red wool suit. He was at least 6’6” and wore reindeer hide boots, a black belt, and a red and white cap. My 47 year-old body was transfixed in front of the impressive fellow. And then, like a trembling 7 year-old, I somehow found a way to simply utter one word– one question:

“Santa?”

“Welcome to my house,” he responded, seeming to see that I was caught off guard by his powerful presence. I calmed myself and tried to think of an adult comment to make. So I decided to ask a question.

“Oh, so you speak English?”

“I speak every language,” Santa answered.

“Every language?” I responded with blind and total belief in what he just said.

“Not really,” he laughed. “I just speak Finnish, Swedish, German and English….and American since I spent a few years in the states.”

I finally relaxed and reached out for a handshake. We sat and talked for at least thirty minutes, exchanging life stories and common experiences. He had attended college and worked in North Carolina for several years before moving back to Finland to be closer to his family. He wanted to discuss with me the recent 9/11 terror attack on New York, and the war in Iraq and Afghanistan. We talked culture and politics and economics and sports and even religion. He commented on how important faith seemed to be in the lives of many Americans that he came to know. We were able to have a real heart to heart talk.

He even explained to me some things about Christmas tradition that really made sense.
For instance, in Lapland (which is a part of Finland) the early Laplanders had a tradition that on Christmas Eve a white bearded goat stained with red dye would find all the little children who had not been good and would spike them with his horns. He was called the “Joulupukki” (“Christmas Goat” or “Yuletide Goat”) the to the Laplanders, and it kept the children in line for a whole year—much like the threat of  “switches and lumps of coal in the stocking” motivate American children to be good. Eventually, the cruel “Christmas Goat” tradition merged with the “St. Nicholas” children’s gift-giving tradition, and became a man in a red suit and white beard will bring gifts to children who have been good. It makes a lot of sense.

Before I left I asked him why such a highly educated and successful guy would be working as a full-time Santa. His response fascinated me. He basically said that the only way he could find happiness was in making other people happy. So he left the rat race and moved to Finland to be Santa. “Besides,” he said, ” I look the part.”

I asked him if he ever regretted it, and he said, “Absolutely not.”

I’ll never forget the day I met the “real Santa Claus,” and we sat down at the Arctic Circle and talked about what’s really important in life.

“Whoever brings blessing will be enriched, and one who waters will himself be watered.” Proverbs 11:25

“Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.” Philippians 2:4

The mullet is a hairstyle in which the hair is cut short at the front and sides, but left long at the back, and was more commonly worn by men than women. Mullets became popular in the 1980’s and 90’s sported by athletes, country music stars, punk rockers, actors, and TV preachers. Paul McCartney was an early mullet man, as was Rod Stewart, Billy Ray Cyrus, Toby Keith, Chuck Norris, John Stamos, and on and on.

By the turn of the last millennium, there were dozens of mullet hairstyles to be observed in the world. There were redneck mullets, Latino mullets, African-american mullets and Euro-mullets. I’ve seen long mullets, mini-mullets, perm-mullets, and wavy mullets. There was even a fashionable mullet for balding guys, called a “skullet.” The Plymouth pilgrims described the Native American chief, Samoset, as sporting a legit mullet, and Mike Gundy, the coach of the Oklahoma State Cowboys football team is still a mullet man. There are even ancient Roman and Greek statues depicting mullet hairstyles from the B.C years! Whew!

About ten years ago, as mullet culture had all but faded from the scene, I invented a game called “mullet watch” that was enjoyed by me, my two grown daughters and a few other members of the family. Any time we sighted a marvelous, spectacular mullet hairdo, we attempted to take a stealth pic of it and share it between us—just for fun. “Mullet sighting!” we would text with an incredible photo of the nearly endangered species. Of course, they were never posted on social media or exposed to the public. The last thing we wanted was a mullet defamation lawsuit. We just wanted to enjoy American history.

One afternoon in 2012, my sister and I were sitting in a physician’s waiting room with our 89 year-old father. The waiting room was almost full with about a dozen or more people crammed into the room. I sat next to Dad while my sister sat in an available chair not far away. The room was basically quiet since almost everyone in the room was either looking at a magazine, or staring into their cell phone.

Within a few minutes a tall, hefty bearded man entered waiting room sporting the most magnificent mullet that had ever been seen on planet Earth. He had a tall flat-top haircut on top, a close crew cut on the sides, and a long, flowing mullet from the middle of the back of his head and reaching almost to his belt. His hair was mousy brown and gray, but the bottom HALF of his mullet was bleach blonde with a mustard hue! It was spectacular! Just one quick photo to my daughters would certainly win the contest for me. Game over!

My sister disguised a grin as I stood up from my chair and worked my way to the magazine rack—which was adjacent to the man with the magnificent mullet. She knew exactly what I was doing. I checked to make sure the phone was on silent. I wouldn’t want the room to hear a tell-tale “click” of the camera. Very carefully I positioned my cell phone in his general direction and began doing paparazzi work, taking about three snapshots from varying angles. After I returned to my chair I checked my photos. There were a couple of shots that were perfect! It was the most marvelous mullet I had ever seen.

I wasted no time texting my daughters and sending them the pics. I could hardly wait for them to respond. Dad became suddenly interested in my hectic activity on the cell phone and leaned over to observe. Then, to my utter disbelief Dad asked out loud,

                           “What’s a mullet?”

His words split the air in the room like a bolt of lightning. I froze. My sister faked a cough, got up, and abandoned us altogether! Every person in the room looked straight at Dad and me, and then to Mullet Man himself. I avoided even glancing in Mullet Man’s direction, but I could feel him looking at us. I broke out in a cold sweat, not knowing what to do or say. Then, I faked it. I turned to Dad and muttered, “Oh, you know, it’s a fish.”

It was the worst attempt at “covering a rear” in the history of the world. I just prayed that Dad wouldn’t ask another question. The whole room suffered in the extreme discomfort of the moment, except for Dad who was clueless.

Alas, I was the elephant in the room.