The Year I Got A Letter From Santa

I’ve never believed in Santa.  Not even for a moment.  Growing up we knew the stories, watched The Santa Clause in the theater with my Grandpa, read The Night Before Christmas, but I never believed there was a Santa.  It was just a story. 

The Christmas I was 7, we were at my grandparents house with aunts and uncles and cousins.  My cousins are younger than my siblings and I and on Christmas Eve we set out cookies, milk and carrots for the reindeer (for the first time in my life).  We read The Night Before Christmas and went to bed.  The next morning, before the chaos of 15 people opening presents all at once, there was the pause to see if Santa had eaten the cookies.  He had, and written a note back to the cousins which was suspiciously in my mom’s handwriting.  I loudly proclaimed this only to be shushed by my mom; your cousins still believe in Santa Claus she whispered in my ear.  Still believe in Santa?  You mean people actually believe in Santa?  Like, that he’s real?  Why?

Then there was the year I got a letter from Santa.  I didn’t mean to get a letter from Santa.  I meant to give my sister my Christmas list in a funny, creative way.  So I wrote it out as a letter to Santa, addressed the envelope to “The First Door On The Left Up The Stairs”, put it in the mailbox and told mom to have my sister get the mail.  My one mistake was not realizing the mail hadn’t come yet.  The mailman took my letter.  What did they think of the address?    Well, at one point the United States Postal Services didn’t throw out all those letters to Santa.  (All the ones collected since taking them to the courthouse in New York at least.)  In Dover, NH the letters to Santa were read and replied to, at least mine was.  About a week later I received a letter from Santa, telling me Mrs. Claus was doing fine and that he was getting the reindeer ready for the big night.  Also that he would try to get the things on my list and to be good.

I’ve been thinking about this letter recently, seeing as it is Christmas time.  This year my husband and I had to decide: are we doing Santa?  Cora is two and is getting so excited about Christmas.  I told someone we probably weren't going to do Santa.  Her response?  How will she have faith in anything?  I was shocked.  I pray daily that she will put her faith in Jesus Christ.  If I tell her Santa is real and the tooth fairy is real and Jesus is real, then someday she realizes Santa isn’t real and the tooth fairy isn’t real - how will that affect her faith in Jesus?

Needless to say, we have decided to not do Santa.  I point him out in books, she will learn the stories.  Someday we will watch Miracle on 34th Street.  But I don’t need her to believe Santa is the one bringing her the presents.  I want her to know the gifts are from her aunts and uncles, her grandparents, her great grandparents, her cousins, people who love her.  I read somewhere that telling children to be good so that Santa will bring you presents makes the presents conditional, they have to earn them, they have to deserve them.  But that is contrary to the very essence of gift giving.  We don’t deserve gifts.  We don’t earn them.  They wouldn’t be gifts then.  They would be reimbursement.
I give to my daughter because I love her.  I love her because she is my daughter.  Her actions don’t change that.  Giving gifts at Christmas is a symbol of the ultimate Gift Giver.  He gave us His Son not because we deserved it or earned it but because He loves us.  He loves us because we are His children.  We can never deserve what God has given to us.

Using the Pretty Spoons

I love yard sales.  I love them because you can get good deals, but also because you can find old stuff.  I like old stuff.  Anything that looks old or smells old.  Old books, old photographs, old textiles, old furniture.  But it also has to be a good deal, i.e. cheap.  Because of my affinity for yard sales I end up with lots of mismatched items, especially in the kitchen.  You could say my design sense is “eclectic”.  I love that my silverware is mismatched, that I don’t have more than three of the same kind of mug, that all seven dessert plates are different.

The house at Caroga Lake has mismatched silverware.  If it was my turn to set the table for dinner I would make sure each place had a different fork, knife and spoon.  The plates were old, the cups mismatched and it was all beautiful.  I do this at home too.  If I set the table, I make sure the fork and knife are different.  Just because I can.

Pete had a set of silverware before we got married.  So we didn’t register for any.  My sister gave me silverware for my wedding shower anyway.  Place-settings for 4, from Goodwill, each knife, fork and spoon were different.  She knows me so well.  So I have a lot of ‘teaspoons’ and I have my favorites.  I call them the ‘pretty spoons’.  For a while I only used the pretty spoons if I was eating something.  If I needed a spoon to stir milk into my tea (which is multiple times a day) I would pass over the pretty spoons and use a ‘regular’ spoon.

Until I asked myself why.  Why not use the ‘pretty spoons’ whenever you can?  Why save them for special occasions?  Jesus saved us to ‘life abundantly’.  (I realize I’m talking about spoons but go along with me here.)  He wants us to enjoy life, to live life; not just muddle through with ‘regular’ spoons but to use the ‘pretty spoons’.  Everyday is a special occasion because He has made our lives new.

I have pretty forks too.

Did You Know Lent Was Half Over?

I never knew what Lent was growing up.  At least, I don't think I knew.  My church growing up wasn’t liturgical and I don’t remember ever talking about it.  Perhaps it was there, somewhere in the back of my mind, the knowledge of the forty days of fasting leading up to Easter weekend, but it had no weight of meaning for me.  

After eight years of being home-schooled my parents sent me to Catholic high school, an eye-opening experience in so many ways.  One in particular was becoming more familiar with the liturgical calendar: feast days, special masses and, of course, Lent.  What I saw during those four years didn't give me a high opinion of the tradition.  Watching classmates complain about how much they wanted a soda or pizza, but couldn’t because they’d “given it up for Lent” was not a ringing endorsement.  When asked if they believe in Jesus they say no, but choose to give up soda for Lent, which ends up being such a sacrifice that they have to complain about it?  Really?

The spring of my freshman year at UNH I roomed with a high school classmate.  Lent came around and instead of giving up things like pizza or soda she took something on.  She read The Purpose Driven Life, it’s 40 chapters fitting perfectly into the 40 days of Lent.  

I wish I could say she inspired me to become more aware of Lent and what it can mean to me as a follower of Jesus.  But every year Lent rolls around, and it’s half over before I even knew it began.  I could beat myself up (I forgot again), start my 40 days now, give up more things to make up for half the time, but that would just be me trying to add my deeds to what Jesus did on the cross.  He died so I could have grace.  Amazing grace.  Grace that forgives my worst actions, as well as my forgetfulness.

I do believe Lent is important.  It gives us time to look forward to what is going to happen at Easter.  There is nothing more glorious or exciting than Jesus’ resurrection.  When He said ‘It is finished’ it really was finished.  Done.  Forever.  No “to be continued pending what you give up during Lent”.  Or any other time of year for that matter.

So today, the 20th day of Lent, with 20 more days to go I won’t beat myself up for forgetting Lent again.  I won’t try to give up twice as many things to make up for it.  I will remember that nothing I do will add to what Jesus did on the cross. 

His grace is enough.

It is finished.

Found Poetry

I’ve thought about starting a blog for over a year now; mostly to have a place to explore writing.  Now I’m busier than ever: getting my Montessori Teaching Credentials and starting my Masters while my daughter is just a few weeks old (what am I doing to myself?).  But I also feel that this is the perfect time to work on my writing, perhaps because it is so busy, so full.  I cannot promise my entries will be timely, but I will do my best.  As I wrote in my journal a few days after Cora was born: I haven't had time to write about life, I am too busy living it, but here goes.

I have only written a few poems; and most of those when I was nine or ten.  Last night in my writing group we collectively wrote a found poem.  I enjoyed combing random, unrelated works for phrases and words to compile into something cohesive.  Here is what we came up with.

The Rattle Watch

Lifting the corner of the curtain

The pope did as others before him had done,

Crawled up with his bucket

-- Accumulated dirt of centuries  --

Embarrassed for all kinds of reasons.

The rattle watch was near at hand.

I drew nearer to the abyss.

Can this be dying?

Perhaps.

Coming nearer and nearer

Hanging out your lights --

Fools!

When I am not, what will there be?

God only knows,

I must calm myself - must think it all over from the beginning.

He sees this --

A white ribbon, serpenting from top to bottom

Written out in large clumsy letters

“Jesus Saves”.

Just that way, just there.

“Jesus Saves”.

--John, Rachel, Susie, Sue, Russ, Margaret, Gregg, Cindy