I Believe In Santa

WARNING!!
This post is rated PG-13!! So, all my cute little friends and family kids who are under the ripe old age of 13 MUST go ask a Mom and/or Dad and/or parent and/or legal guardian if you can read this. Have you asked?? I can wait. . .

OK, if you are reading this, I assume that you are a member of one of the three following prestigious categories:
1) an adult
2) a young person over the age of 13
3) a younger person under the age of 13 who has obediently asked if you can proceed in the reading of this post.

Alrighty then. Since I know some of these little people who read this blog may not have actually asked their parents and since the subject matter is a touchy one, I will err on the side of vagueness to protect their sensibilities.

Let me start (for real, now) by saying that I believe in Santa Claus. Now, in this world we live in, this may offend some people, but this is my blog and so I will say whatever I wanna say. Gosh! (Thanks, Napoleon.) I do understand that to many, Santa has unfortunately become a symbol of commercialism. I have friends and family members who have chosen not to have their kids believe in the sweet, jolly old soul who does live in the North Pole and who does fly around the whole entire world in one night, selflessly giving millions upon millions of presents to all the good girls and boys. Now, to those of you who don't believe that this is what happens every year on Christmas Eve, that is your choice and I can respect that. I promise that I do understand why you do this and I can respect that also. Christmas is about Christ. And that is why I believe in Santa Claus.

Confused? Let me explain. Elder John A. Widtsoe said, "There are men who object to Santa Claus, because he does not exist! Such men need spectacles to see that Santa Claus is a symbol; a symbol of the love and joy of Christmas and the Christmas Spirit. . . We live in a world of symbols."

What is the spirit of Christmas? It is the spirit of Christ--the spirit of selfless giving, of love, of kindness and charity. Santa is a symbol of this spirit of giving, and I will champion his existence as long as jingle bells jingle. Don't worry, though. I understand the word "symbol" enough to know that my kids don't wake up on Christmas morning with no presents, if you know what I mean. (vagueness)

Santa works 364 days a year, working tirelessly, and even jollily, in anticipation for Christmas Eve when he gets to sneak into our houses in the most unobtrusive way known to man, leave us presents, then hurry out the way he came before we can even see him to say, "Thank you." All he asks in return, if you have the time and the ingredients, is a nibble of a cookie and a drink of milk.

That's all.

The most magical words in the world (usually spoken in an excited whisper in the pre-dawn darkness of Christmas morning) that still fill me with excitement are, "Santa came!" How magical and enchanting to know that Santa came, just when you had finally dozed after trying so hard to stay awake (after your Mom and Dad totally wore you out, denying you a nap and planning a busy fun-filled Christmas Eve) so you could "catch a peak", and left you just what you wanted because you have been a very good girl or boy.

I remember as a little girl, guiltily reminiscing over the naughty things I had done that year and knowing that Santa had, of course, seen every single episode of pouting and crying because he knows if I was "bad or good", but also knowing that he had thought I was still good because he had brought me these presents. What a great lesson in forgiveness and seeing the good in people.

Memories like that mean even more to me the older I get. My parents also saw the the naughty things I did, but they didn't tell on me to Santa, though I knew they had his number and could, and would, and did, call him at any time. But, by the time Christmas morning came, all that naughtiness was forgotten and I was a nice, good girl. My parents could watch me adore and admire my presents without the least expectation of a thank you. They were just as surprised as I was when I discovered Santa had made me exactly what I wanted and smile in secret satisfaction as they took their part in selfless giving. (again, vagueness)

And so, Santa is alive and well in our house. I now get to watch the wonder and magic and excitement light my own children's eyes as they write this jolly, sweet, giving old soul letters, and sit on his lap, and talk about him with absolute faith and assurance that he is there. I get to watch them open their presents, also without the least expectation, or even desire, of receiving a thank you. I get to see their gratitude and wonder on Christmas morning as they see what Santa gave them because Santa knows that they are good boys and he believes in them as much as they believe in him.

Santa is a symbol of Christmas, of love and selflessness; of silent and joyful service; of seeing the joy that giving brings to others without a thought of what you'll get in return; of living for the excitement and anticipation of giving and making it the purpose of your existence; of seeing the good in others and helping them see that goodness.

That sounds a lot like Someone else I know.