The Day I learned how to believe

One snowy day—many years ago—I was driving in my car. The back seat was fairly quiet—wait no that was a different time . . . on this drive my car carried precious cargo: twins that were four years old, a two year old, and a five month old. Questions streamed to me by the minute, and this particular day they were all centered around one thing . . . Christmas. The streets were lined with lights and glowing windows. Snow covered much of the ground, and on every corner stood some sort of symbol of the holidays.

I had probably answered a million questions when THE ONE came blaring out. I knew it wasn’t going to be many more years—for us to keep our secret, with twins that were already smarter than me, but I thought for sure I at least had one more year. We had just passed a blow up Santa waving on the street when Bailey blurted it out, “So Mom . . . Bostyn and I want to know the truth—you know—about Santa. Is he . .  . real? I mean, he goes in EVERYONE’S houses and brings them presents? So how come some kids don’t get any, and CHIMNEYS? Seriously? ” Trying to protect—what I believed at that time was—their childhood innocence, my response was anything but the truth. “Well . . . girls, what do you think?” Bailey spoke up again, “Mom . . . that is why we asked you . . . so . . . is he? “ The conversation repeated a few more times—they demanding to hear it from me, and me afraid to shatter the fun of believing. My answer was the same with every question: “What do you guys think?”

Soon the car went quiet—I . . . not knowing how to tell them what they already knew, and them  . . . sick of getting the same question to their questions. I looked back a few times to two girls staring blankly out the window. I could feel their frustration, but did not know what to do about it.

My mind raced through all the excuses one could muster, but I couldn’t get myself to say any out loud. About to settle and just create a story about how reindeer fly and elves make toys I looked back in my rearview mirror again. This time they were holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes. Bostyn leaned over, kissed Bailey on the forehead and said, “Don’t worry Bailey . . . at least we know Jesus is real.”

Faith isn’t about the things that we can see—it is about a hope for the things we cannot. There are many Santa’s in the world trying to bring joy at Christmas, but the true symbol of that glorious holiday is our Savior who will be a light every day of the year—for you, for me, and for all of us Santa’s doing our best to bring light to our babies’ eyes.

For every disappointment we will face—like the day we find out one of our dreams was just a made up character in a red hat and suit—Christ will make up the difference, He will settle the scores. Because He loves you—no matter where you are going, no matter where you have been. He loves you, even if you have never believed in Him.

The greatest joy we can ever receive this Christmas doesn’t come wrapped under our tree, or shine in the sparkle of a string of holiday lights. It is miracles in our lives. It is hope in our hearts. It is love in our families, and healing inside our minds. It is relationships mended, and hearts changed. It is medical discoveries, and lives spared in tragedies. It is angels watching over us. It is a path that leads us to Christ, as our teacher, as our Savior, and as our friend.

He is the light, He is the joy, and He always was and always will be . . . the greatest gift.

Merry Christmas! 

Faith to Believe

Christmas shopping with a four year old is always an adventure—mine just happens to be a realist who is smarter than me— but last week I learned from him a lesson I will never forget.

We were going store to store, when we passed a holiday Santa. That started the questioning. “How does he get all the presents into his sleigh? Why does he wear a red hat? How come some kids don’t get any presents? Where does he keep the reindeer?” For a good hour his questions did not stop.

Finally, while driving in the car, the back seat went quiet.  I turned up the Christmas music and forgot all about our talk about Santa.

Soon a noise came from my little shopping partner. He said with a pensive voice, “Mom . . . is he really just Jesus dressed up?” I turned down the music to try to collect my thoughts. He continued, “You say for Christmas we celebrate Jesus . . . so who is Santa anyways? He gives us gifts, and he knows everything . . . so why don’t we just call him Jesus? He wouldn’t have to wear the red hat, or pretend to be someone else. I know it is Him in there.”

That thought made me smile. We got out of the car and again got lost in the of busy holiday shuffle. Soon Tytus was asking to buy a toy. I said, “We don’t need to buy that now, why don’t you put it on your Santa list.” Almost laughing he replied, “Mom, I think it is cute you think I still believe in Santa.”

A part of me wanted to fight for Santa’s cause. He is too young to not believe. The other part of me felt relieved I didn’t have to keep pretending. For the rest of the week, I went back and forth on ideas to get my son to believe in a fictions character I felt he HAD to believe in.

During church on Sunday he began again asking questions about Christmas. I thought this might be my chance to pick a side and fight for the cause to get my son to believe. His questions were not the same as the first time around. He asked, "Did Jesus really live on earth?" I answered, "Yes."
 Then he said, "Was he really born in a manger?" I almost teared up thinking about our conversation about Santa just days before—hoping this one wouldn’t end the same way. I replied, "He really was."
 He began again, "Did he really live and die for us?" I answered, "Yes."
 His final question came out with tenderness in his voice. He asked, "Was he really kind to everybody— everywhere?" My throat burned as I blurted out, "Yes Tytus... He loves us all." He looked deep into my eyes and boldly proclaimed, "Well I love Him—and I want to be just like Him."

My son has seen Santa—every year for the last four years—but he doesn’t believe he is real.  But he has faith in a little baby that was born thousands of years ago—that he has never seen.

Seeing isn’t believing. Believing is knowing with all our hearts that everything we can’t see—is there. It is a burning in our souls that we know without a doubt, what we believe is true. It is knowing that we will be sent the gifts we need to make it through.

Santa might bring the packages with bows this Christmas, but the true gifts won’t come wrapped under our trees.

Who is Santa anyways? A symbol of Christ—to my son—a bearer of gifts who knows everything. He knows our needs—every one of us.

As we look around—this holiday season—we will see others with needs greater than our own. As we play Santa—and lift others burdens physically—we will also get to feel a little of what Christ feels when He lifts our burdens spiritually.

Maybe Santa is just a little guy in a red hat—or maybe He is a symbol of so much more. Whatever we believe in—hopefully it will be in something greater than that which we can see. 

 Merry Christmas.