YES, CHRISTOPHER, THERE STILL IS A SANTA CLAUS !
You’ve reached the age, Christopher, where you doubt Santa Claus exists. Last Christmas you expressed some uncertainty, but decided to keep your options open just in case. But right about now your peers are probably telling you that belief in such things as Santa Claus is 'childish' and not the 'adult' thing to do. But little do these 'realists' know that adults are merely children who owe money.
So you ask me, "Is there a Santa Claus, Dad?"
And I reply, "Yes, Christopher, there still is a Santa Claus and we need him now more than ever before".
It's just that he's harder to find as you grow older.
Santa Claus does exist - as surely as your hopes, your wishes and your dreams exist. He's the embodiment of the values of family, home and community. Like Christmas Eve itself, he's magic - not because there's magic in the world but because children see the world as magic. He's all that's good, unselfish and generous in the world, and, in his own way, he is Christmas.
When you were young, Christopher, you received from Santa the explicit gifts of Christmas - toys, candy, and the obligatory sweater. But you also received the implicit gifts of family, home and love.
Will you continue to receive Santa's gifts? Yes, you will.
But as you grow older, Christopher, you'll have to work harder to get them. When you were younger, you had to work to be good. As you grow older you'll have to work to create good. When you were younger, he found you. As you grow older you'll have to work to find him.
We're told we live in very bad times - times that suggest logic, cynicism and distrust are the 'values' of survival these days and that the intangibles of love, faith and hope are fast disappearing from our communal landscape. But you'll find that in the final analysis, those abstract intangibles are the only things worth having.
But are they real? Ah, Christopher, there are nothing more real and abiding in this world. Hold strong the intangibles. Ignore the skeptics. These intangibles do serve a practical purpose.
How?
Those who no longer wish, no longer dream. And those who lose their dreams lose their hopes. And those who lose hope are easy to control. The freedom to live, Christopher, comes directly from the freedom to dream. And now, just as you have begun to internalize the values of your parents, you'll have to internalize the values of Christmas. Your journey of self-discovery has just begun and the wonder, awe and magic of life will always be there if you see and not just look, feel and not just touch, listen and not just hear.
Yes, Christopher, Santa Claus is harder to find when you grow up. But he does exist.
Where, you ask? Come close and I'll tell you.
As Tinkerbell said to Peter Pan, you'll find him in between the time you are asleep and the time you are awake - the time when you can still remember your dreams.
1 comment:
An appropriate story for the season of love (author unknown):
I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma and Grandpa. I was just a kid.
I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit them on the day my
big sister dropped the bomb. "There is no Santa Claus." she jeered.
"Even dummies know that!"
My Grandparents were not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to them that
day because I knew they would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always
told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot
easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous"cinnamon buns. I
knew they were "world-famous" because Grandpa said so. It had to be true.
Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told
her everything.
She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?" she
snorted. "Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around
for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and
let's go."
"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my
second world-famous cinnamon bun.
"Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town
that had a little bit of everything. As we walked through its doors,
Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days.
"Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs
it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of
Kerby's.
I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother,
but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed
big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas
shopping.
For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that
ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy and who on earth to buy it for.
I thought of everybody I knew; my family, my friends, my neighbors, the
kids at school, and the people who went to my church. I was just about
thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with
bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's
2nd grade class.
Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out
to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling
the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker
didn't have a cough; he didn't have a good coat. I fingered the
ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!
I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood on it. It looked
real warm, and he would like that.
"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the
counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.
"Yes ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby."
The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed
a good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a
bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.
That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of
the coat, and Grandma tucked into her Bible) in Christmas paper and
ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it. Grandma said that
Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby
Decker's house,
explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of
Santa's helpers.
Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I
crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma
gave ma a nudge. "All right, Santa Clause," she whispered, "get going."
I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on
his step, pounded his door, and flew back to the safety of the bushes and
Grandma.
Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to
open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.
Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent
shivering beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I
realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma
said they were - ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his
team.
I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside; $19.95.
May you always have LOVE to share, HEALTH to spare and FRIENDS that
care.
And may you always believe in the magic of Santa Claus, for when you
stop believing, you stop receiving!!
Santa is not always a jolly old elf with a sleigh full of toys. He and
his help come in a hundred different forms. The bonus money you find, a
gift from a neighbor you didn't know, a hug from a co worker. look for
Him in everyday miracles and just say Merry Christmas and bless you!
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