I believe in love. I may not be able to see it but I feel it.
I believe in hope. It doesn’t always look or feel the same but I believe in it’s power.
I believe in the inherent goodness in people. Despite what the evening news tells me, I think good outweighs bad.
I believe in wishing on a star. My husband and daughter all I the proof I need that it works.
I believe in faith. I believe that just because science can’t back you, doesn’t make it impossible.
I believe in the magic of childhood. In all the wonder and awe of experiencing life for the first time, through untainted eyes.
I believe in Christmas. I believe in the spirit of the season. I believe in giving unselfishly.
I believe in Santa. I understand that there is no man who resides in the North Pole. I realize that it would be impossible for one man and eight flying reindeer to deliver gifts to the world’s children. I am under no illusion that elves manufacture millions of toys all year. All that being said, I still believe.
I believe in the spirit of Santa Claus.
I believe in preserving the magic of childhood and what is more magical than Christmastime? Houses decorated with trees and lights. Pageants and letters to Santa. Church services full of familiar hymns and candlelight. The anticipation of Santa’s arrival the night before Christmas.
To me, Santa was an integral part of my childhood. My memories are not of what he brought but that he brought it. To me. This man, known by millions, brought little me, in my little New England town, in my little white house in the woods, a gift! Be it handmade or store bought, it did not matter. In my young mind, I was important enough for Santa to remember. He had saw that even though I was not perfect, I was good. I was worthy.
I never once added up how much was spent on me for Christmas. I knew money was tight for my family. That made Christmas morning all the more special. Clearly Santa was real, we could never afford all that! But somehow, we did. Some years were bigger than others but the smiles stayed the same. The laughter was the same. The love was the same. Money didn’t buy our Christmas. The magic paid for it all.
Eventually I figured out that Santa, as I knew him, was a myth. I was not disappointed. I was not sad. I had lost nothing. Instead I gained a deeper sense of faith and hope. I knew his spirit was alive. It was in the look on my mom’s face as she watched her four children open gifts and squeal with delight. It was in the hearts of people as they gave their hard earned money to those in need. It was in each child as they watched the first snowflake of the season drift to the ground, illuminated by Christmas lights.
Santa has lost a lot of clout recently. He has been accused of being the biggest lie of childhood. I see him in such a different light, it makes me sad to hear these things. I never once felt lied to. I feel honored and thankful to have grown up being included in the tradition of the Santa Claus story. Santa taught me that the world is neither black nor white. That in between the lies and the truth lives magic.
I want to give my child the world, I just can not afford it. It can be stressful and make me lose sight of Santa’s spirit. I know I am not alone. The magic is hard work when you become the embodiment of Mr. Claus. Like so many others, I do my best. I balance store bought toys with hand made items. All carefully picked out with a lot of thought and even more love. Our budget is small but so is she. Only her dreams are big. When she wakes up on Christmas morning to a handful of toys with tags that say "From: Santa" her faith will grow. Her belief in magic will root itself deeper. The magic of her childhood will stay intact for just a little longer.
We live in a world filled to the brim with science and technology. Children can explain the magic of a rainbow away with scientific accuracy. Thunder is not someone bowling in Heaven, it is the noise heard after a lightning flash due to the expansion of rapidly heated air. Frost wasn’t mischievously painted on our windows by Jack Frost, it is simply frozen moisture due to condensation. Soon enough my daughter will be teaching me the science behind the magic. I just prefer it not be this Christmas.
Merry Christmas my dear readers, may your holiday be filled with awe and wonder.
Michelle writes from the home she shares with her husband, their three year old daughter and two dogs. She is the authority on nothing and may just be the most outgoing shy person you will ever meet. Her daughter is convinced she is a super hero but most days she feels more like the super villain. Read more of her work on her blog at www.JuicboxConfession.com or "like" her on Facebook at www.Facebook.com/JuiceboxConfession. All love letters can be sent to JuiceboxConfession@gmail.com