Seamus is pronounced Shay-mus

"Shiver me timbers. I can't for the likes of me recall such freakish weather, occurring in Northern Ireland in all my fifty-two years. Cold and bitter it be. My fingers frozen stiff like icicles."

Twas that kind of Christmas Eve all right. The wind, gusty and strong, nearly walloped Seamus off the bridge once he slipped away from his workplace. The old tyrant he worked for didn't much care about the young man one way or another. Just as long as he received a good day's work out of him. Peanuts he paid for wages. Old O'Leary was a miser, and a cheap scoundrel of a man. I'm living proof. I worked the Paper-Press for him myself for many a long year, until finally the fever liberated me from the tightwad.

With a little 'luck of the Irish', I anchored on the shores of heaven. Aye, it's a mighty fine place there, but I have to earn my lodgings if I plan to stay. The Angels had a discussion amongst themselves, and convinced the King that a no good bum like me needed to do some work for his grub. So, they came up with a plan.

"Seamus McCourt is in need of some help," they reminded the King. As if He didn't know. They watched it on the big screen one night, while some of us competed in a game of Scrabble. There's some good entertainment worth watching once in awhile, but most of the time, I just can't bring myself to look. Too many troubles going on down there. Wars and rumours of war. Pestilence and disease. Famine, earthquakes, fire. Glad, I'm not a resident of that planet any longer.

One day the King called me to His throne, and said, "I've a mighty big job for you, my son. If you can prove to Michael that you're not lazy, and give Seamus a boost, there's a possibility you might earn your own star. With a star, you can ride the heavens, and be in charge of a piece of the universe. The universe is mighty big. Giant angels are posted at each corner, but they'll soon require some tough soldiers. Evil warriors are getting their weapons together, and planning for the biggest war ever. ARMEGEDDON!

I believe the Angels have somehow misread you, and I want you to prove them wrong.  If you'd go back to earth, help Seamus get turned around; Michael would become confident in you."

Well, I thought. It's His way or the highway. The highway leads only one way from here, and that's down.  No way I want to go down that road. So, I agreed with a thankful heart. You see, my name was not written on the list when I came knocking at St. Peter's Pearly Gate, and they didn't know what to do with me. The King said to let me in. He's like that you know. It's those high-falutin Angels that sometimes give Him a hard time as to who should be allowed entrance. I heard them give their two-cents in the matter, "That one's not quite good enough."

The King intervened, "He's good enough for Me." It makes me feel good to talk with the King. There's just something about Him that makes me want to be with Him more and more.

Once the King and I arrived at our agreement, I suddenly found myself stranded on that bridge where Seamus nearly got blown off.

Seamus looked to be down in the dumps. Yes! The way he looked over the bridg.... Oh, me. Oh, my, I thought. He's not going to.... Oh, thanks be to God. He changed his mind. I could see, without looking too hard, that I was needed awfully bad down here.

The cold wind howled, and snow swirled in a blustery fashion. It was hard to keep track of Seamus. I had to speed up, or I knew I would loose him altogether.

"Seamus. Hey, Seamus. Wait up!"

It seemed no use. The storm wailed too loudly for him to hear. As long as I could see some footprints, I felt assured I wouldn't lose him. Then, wouldn't you know it. Whoooooops! Kaplunk! Slipping head over heels on a slick patch of ice, I landed in a snow embankment. A bit dazed and embarrassed, I sat myself straight up, dusting the white flakes off my black jacket.

"Where would Seamus be off to on a night like this?" I whispered to the wind. I felt at my wit's end. Where, oh where? The young fellow had a wife and a child waiting by the fire. He ought to be heading home, spending Christmas Eve with his family, I would think, less he just got too discouraged. How would I find my way on a night like this? How indeed? I couldn't even see my hand in front of my face at times. "If only the King was here to help direct me." I said, aloud in frustration.


"I'm right here, O'Reilly. I've been waiting for you to ask. It's the way I work, you know. What can I do for you?" 

"Oh, my King. I can't even see my hand for the snow. How can I find Seamus on a night like this?"

"Just head toward the light. Look!" The King pointed his finger. "See, beyond the bridge?"

"Yes, I see the light alright, but what will I do when I get my hands on him. He seems terribly down in the gutter. How will I get him out of there?"

"I will impress thoughts on your mind. Do what you think up."

"Thank you so much, my King. What would I do without You?"

I headed for the light while wondering from where it came. Hadn't noticed it before. The snow was piled high, already. I pulled one boot out of one snowdrift while my other boot got stuck in another. With my body twisted like a pretzel, I suddenly tipped over. I could have been mistaken for a snowman if I would have stayed still long enough. Covered head to toe in snow, I felt my nose hot, and imagined it looking red as a pepper.

'Slow, but sure,' Mum always used to say when things got tough. My heart banged like a little boy's drumming, all out of kilter. Sure enough. Just as I had thought. The light that shone brightly came from McGillacuddy's pub—my old pub. Wonder if the old drinking buddies would be there on a night like this, spending Christmas Eve drowning their sorrows?  How would I get out of there, when the time came to leave? The thought worried me.

Aw, there's Seamus. Sitting with my old friends, tears dripping into their ale set before them. Grabbing a stool next to them, I ordered a drink, but the barkeep ignored me altogether. "Please, sir. A pint of beer. I have the money."

Nobody seemed to see me, nor did they hear me. The lot of them smelled like they had just gotten pulled out of a beer barrel. Their breath enough to knock me over. What happened? I used to like to swim in the stuff.

Well, now what could I do? I was invisible; a ghost. I listened to the woes the men blurted, and I remembered how I once did the same. Then a light flicked on in my head. I realized why the King thought it would be a good job for me. I would get a taste of my own medicine. Listening to some of the wailing and complaining was enough to make me barf when my own glass was found empty.

Finally, the men dispersed. Seamus had spent his earnings on the drink. Now, he had to face his hungry wife and child. I could've told him in advance, but he couldn't hear my warning. I didn't know how it would be possible to do this job.

I followed Seamus while he stumbled through the heavy, wet snow.

"My King! This is not going to work. He can't see me, and he can't even hear me. What am I to do?"

"Now that you and he are alone, he'll be able to see you. If someone comes around, your appearance will diminish. Go and speak with him."

Oh, why didn't I ask sooner? I sat all night wasting my time in the pub with these bumble heads. Good thing, maybe. If they could've seen me, I might be in the same shape they were in.

"Seamus? Hear me, Seamus?" The man turned around, as though he had seen a ghost.

"Am I supposed to know you?" he said. He continued his way, staggering and grunting with troublesome strides.

"No! You don't know me, but I know you. You have a wife and child waiting on you, and they will be awfully disappointed."

"What's it to you, anyway? You're not my guardian angel"

"Well, maybe not. But I am here to help you, my boy."

"How can you help the likes of me, you old fool."

"You're a good man, Seamus McCourt. I read your profile, and I know you're a good, honest chap. You need some help, I can see, and that's where I come in."

"Oh, go away with your tomfoolery. Nobody can help me. I want to be left to myself. Go away. Let me die alone."

"Why do you want to die, Seamus? You have a wife that loves you, and a newborn son. You have a lot to live for, as far as I can see."

"I'm nothing but a drunk. I spend all my earnings at the pub. My poor wife and son's starving. I can't look at myself in the mirror any longer. Just let me alone, I tell you."

"Alright, my chum. If that's what you want, I'll leave you to your own ruin. Just remember, your time is nigh over."

Oh, my!  I couldn't believe I said that. This was much more serious than I imagined. The young chap was going to die.  I must have been sent here to save him from himself.

Now where had he gone?  I had lost him in the storm, again.  Oh, my King would be disappointed if I didn't get Seamus on the right track, but it seemed like he needed a miracle. A big one, too.

The sound of a dog announced it located someone. "C'mon. Keep up your barking you whippersnapper." Sure enough. There was Seamus taking a snooze under a dead tree. The dog licked the beer off the man's face. Seamus woke up from all the slobbering. Served him right. If he'd be in church celebrating the King's birthday with his family, this wouldn't have been happening. 

"Seamus. Seamus McCourt. If you don't wake up, and smell the coffee, you're going to die. Is that what you want for your family?"

"I want another drink. Hic-cup! You got a little drink for an old friend? Just one-lit—tle drink?

"Now, you are making me sick. I'm taking you home, and you're going to have to face your woman. Let's hope she can straighten you out."

The man was heavier than an sleigh full of wood. "And, please stop singing that song.’Show me the way to go home.'" What did he think I was anyway, the crazy fool? I sure hoped that star was worth all I had to go through.

Finally, I lugged him into his house. The place, bare and empty, felt cold like a tomb.  Not a stick in the wood box.  A few red coals tumbled in the grate.  Candles had all burned down to a puddle of hard wax.  Beds hadn't been slept in.

"Seamus, your wife's not here. And the baby? You lost them now, my friend.  Everything important in your life."

"What's the time?  Maybe she went off to church, seeing I didn't come home."

"Church was over hours ago, my boy. Perhaps, she lost herself in the storm. Oh, my! We must go and have a look along the path to the church. She might have gotten stuck in a snow bank with the little lad. I could knock your block off for neglecting your family like that, you ignorant so and so. C'mon. Let's go, and see if we can find them, and stop that blubbering. It's kind of late for that now, don't you think?"

The wind died down, altogether. Huge snowflakes fluttered gently to the ground. We stomped a new path where the old one had once been packed along the row of fence posts. Bells pealed, announcing the birth of the Saviour; King Jesus. The sound must have pleased Him- such beautiful tones reaching heaven showing such reverence for Him like that.

Arriving at the church, the priest welcomed us. "He can see me. He can see me." I said.  It must have been because Father spent much time in his prayer closet.

"Father O'Flannigan. Did you happen to notice a young woman with a small baby bundled in her arms?"

"Oh, yes. There were many matching that description attending Mass. Why, may I ask?"

"Well, when I arrived home after work, my wife was not there."

I gave him a good kick in the shins for lying. "Ouch," he yelled. After work. Did he think Father O'Flannigan couldn't smell him a mile away?

"I'm a bit concerned as to her whereabouts on a night like this." 

"I'll get my coat. We will search until we find them. Three sets of eyes are better than two. And we can pray together along the way, too."

"Good idea, Father. We have no idea where she might be. Isn't that the truth, Seamus?" Seamus shook his head, his eyes popping nearly out of their sockets. 

"No! No idea at all." 

Then, I came up with an idea. "Let's go to old man O'Leary's. Maybe he happened to see your wife if she went out looking for you. He might be able to give us a clue, if nothing else."

"Ah!  She wouldn't go there, knowing the kind of character the man is. We'd be wasting our time."

"Have you a better idea, then?"

Father agreed that old man O'Leary might know a thing or two. And off we set. The walk went easier. Christmas churchgoers packed the snow down for us. After a good two kilometer walk, we found ourselves at the door of the miser. He wasn't alone. We heard laughing and carrying on. The candles flickered, and we could see shadows in the window, and a shedding of soft light. A pot of apple cider with cinnamon wafted through the cracks around the door.

"Maybe, we shouldn't intrude. He has company by the sounds of it," said Seamus.

"We came all this way, and if he doesn't have any news, the least we can do is wish him a Merry Christmas. Don't you think?" Father O'Flannigan said.

"I suppose, but my wife and baby?" 

"This will teach you, Seamus. You took her for granted. Always thought she'd be there to listen to your blubbering and self-pity, when all along you were the luckiest man in the world."

Seamus grabbed hold of the knocker. Clack. Clack. Clack. Soon, footsteps drew nearer, and the solid oak door squeaked open.

"Well? What do you want at this hour may I ask?" O’Leary cocked his head, then added, “Oh, Merry Christmas, Father O'Flannigan. I didn't see you standing there behind Seamus McCourt."

"Merry Christmas, my good man. Sorry to bother you on the night before Christmas, but we are looking for Shamus’s family. You wouldn't have seen nigh nor hair of them, would you have?"

"Well, Father." O'Leary scratched his white head with his right-hand fingers, and pinched his chin with his left fingers and thumb. "I don't believe I have, to tell you the truth. But.... I would like you to come and meet my daughter. I haven't seen her for years."

"But—my wife and child?"  Seamus McCourt protested.

"Oh, they can wait for another few minutes. I want all of you to come in, and meet my family. "

Taking off our outerwear, we entered and followed Father. He seemed to know the old miser well. We ambled through a cold, dark hallway, and then entered a small sitting room. The fire lit up the room.

This is my daughter, and my grandson. Isn't he the most beautiful thing you ever did lay your eyes upon? My daughter named him after me. Seamus."

"No, she named him after me, you old goat. My name is Seamus. The young lady is my wife, and the child is my son."

"Is that so, Seamus McCourt? And leaving my daughter and grandson alone on Christmas Eve is the way you treat my own daughter? You go to the pub, fill your belly with beer, and act like my daughter's not even alive. You cannot treat my family like that, I'll have you know."

"Oh!  I'm mighty sorry, sir. I had no idea you and she were related."

"I want to spend Christmas with my family, and until you make the pub a thing of the past, she and the little one will remain with me. Get on your way, now. Come back when you decide to change. I hate to think you are part of my family with your carrying on, but if she will have you, then I guess, I will have to accept you, too. But not until the bottle is smashed. You hear?"

"Thank you, Seamus O'Leary for a lovely chat. Now, it is up to young Seamus to make up his mind on the matter. Have yourself a Merry Christmas, my good man, and in the morning come eleven o'clock, bring your family to celebrate the birth of Jesus."

"Yes, Father. It's about time I think of my own soul. Don't know how much longer I have left on this earth, but I had better get things in order while I still can."