This has been a hard week. And it is almost Christmas.
The only way I can move past the pain is to think of the good, which is Christmas.
It will probably rain. The tea kettle will be whistling and it will be 6 a.m. and your eyes will be full of dusts because you went to bed at 5 a.m. You were up wrapping presents and writing tags that give credit to someone else for giving them.
And then seemingly a minute after you close your eyes you hear a stammering voice by your pillow.
“Mommy, Mommy, Santa came, just like you said. Mommy wake up.”
The dewy-eyed little one has just come back from the living room and saw something impossible: a pile of gifts were there had been nothing the night before. Santa had really come.
“Wake up, Mommy, Daddy, come, look Santa CAME, just like you said.”
And with a small hand wrapped around your finger you are lead to this discovery. And it is true, right in front of you.
“And Mommy, he drank the hot chocolate and his rain deer ate the carrots.”
It is a moment of joy, pure with no disbelief. Santa came.
It may never happen again, at least not like this. But it almost always happens at least once.
Tragedies willl come, as they always do. The presents inside the boxes will be forgotten. The toys will break.
But for one moment in each child’s life they will shake you out of your dream, and whisper, “Mommy, Mommy, Santa came, just like you said.”
Add religion if you like, or leave it out. But the gift is in the reality that the unbelievable happens, which is the basis of all religions.
Merry Christmas,
Mike
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