The magic is real. Every year, getting my heart ready for Christmas, I most look forward to the magic. Christmas morning, no matter the weather, breaks beautifully; wondrous and full of blessings for the love of family. Santa magic is all part of the day, of course, but the most amazing part of all is the miracle of the Baby. And that is why my heart is filled with magic, year after year. No matter what, there is more joy in my heart than I knew possible; more happiness and faith than the day before.
Some say that Santa overtakes the meaning of Christmas, but I think that all depends on what one believes, and what one teaches the children. If gifts are bought just for the sake of buying a gift, wrapped simply for the sake of having them opened, then all meaning is lost; not simply the True Meaning of God's great Gift to his children, but any other meaning, too. Gifts chosen with the spirit of giving, with the recipient truly in mind--interests, needs, lifestyle--convey the meaning; giving without expectation.
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, and I do believe that is related to my introverted nature. Thanksgiving, to me, is about reflection, introspection, contemplation. Christmas, on the other hand, overwhelms me at times. With everyone watching the unwrapping and wanting to see just what was inside the packages and stockings, I start to forget the best parts; I start to feel pushed beyond my furthest limits.
That's why I admire Santa.
Santa comes in quietly, when no one is looking, and leaves just the right things. Santa knows my heart, like Jesus. He gratefully accepts the cookies left for him, and graciously and politely responds to every note. To some he leaves large packages, and to others gifts that appear to be small, but to everyone he leaves a bit of love and joy. A bit of magic. It never gets old. Afterwards, he leaves, again without fanfare, expecting nothing in return for the generosity of his heart. Gifts opened and he is not there to witness, but I know that somewhere, while he relaxes in an easy chair by the fire, snuggling up with a very patient Mrs. Claus (I know how patient she must be, considering all the overtime the Mr. puts in at Christmas and all year long!), and a cup of coffee, he is imagining the smiles, the laughter, the warmth in the hearts of children young and old.
We all help Santa, or should. Santa comes in many forms, but all his Elves are blessed gifts themselves. My cousin makes it her life's mission to help Santa, and has, so far, brought that anonymous Santa joy to at least a million children needing Santa magic in their lives. I'm both humbled and proud to know her, and to be related to one of Santa's elves--a Queen Elf, in fact! In high school, my father and I delivered gifts one Christmas morning to families in Elmira, NY, for the Arctic League; a frigid and otherworldly morning that cemented two things for me: my admiration for my father (who took me to do this simply because I asked, but couldn't drive) and my belief in the spirit--and magic--of Santa.
The Church we belonged to when we were first married had a beautiful and magical Christmas tradition. Santa, singing O Holy Night in the clearest, most dramatic tenor I've ever heard, delivered the Christ Child to the Manger set up under the altar. Not surprisingly, it moved me to tears, especially because it linked very closely all the symbols of Christmas. The Magic of the Christmas Miracle was renewed, refreshed, and "forevered" in my heart and in my mind. The magic of Santa is as real and as strong for me now as it ever was.
Happy Birthday, Jesus. Merry Christmas, Santa. Thank you both for the gifts you bestow without limit.
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