This morning I had a conversation about Santa Claus.
Usually when Santa Claus comes up in conversation people are quick to denounce their belief in him, saying, "Oh, I stopped believing in Santa since I was, like, five," or something to that effect. But this morning I talked to a second, third, and fourth grader about Santa and how each of them believes that he exists. Who else eats the cookies? Why else is he at the mall? How come my dad hears the reindeer on the roof every year?
As adults, it's easy to listen to these questions and logic everything away. Seriously, your parents eat the cookies, it's a guy getting paid to sit in the suit, your dad is lying to you. My mom likes to tell us that when she was a little girl she truly believed she heard reindeer on her roof and saw Santa's sleigh flying away from her house one Christmas Eve. I think part of her wants to believe it still, and she's 61 years old!
So today I did not dissuade my kids from their discussion. I did not try to reason with them; instead I told them about my mom, and their eyes grew wide--another adult giving supporting evidence to the case for Santa Claus. For once I allowed myself, for a few moments, not to be a skeptic, and to wonder what it would be like if there really was such a character as Santa, and to get caught up in the childlike excitement in my kids' voices.
I love the movie Miracle on 34th Street. (Lucas doesn't know yet that we are going to have to watch it this Christmas, and probably every Christmas from here on out.) Part of why I like it so much is that it puts all our doubts to shame. What on earth is wrong with believing? What harm would it do to put aside skepticism, if only for a month or two, and encourage the belief?
There is intention behind our belief; I am attempting to put the wonder back into my heart. Where it went, I can't say, but it comes back bit by bit, on threads of spiderwebs, on flurrying snow crystals, in frozen sunrises and faded sunsets, in two-year-olds' laughs, in the intricate patterns of the branches dancing in the wind.
Believing with your lips is easy. I can say it all I want.
Believing with your heart is harder.
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we are falling through the cracks every minute of our lives... i want to witness the dawn and the dusk and the spaces in between... i am learning daily the art of observation...
5 comments:
It may only because this mentioned belief and Santa Claus in the same entry, but you must find "God in the Doorway" by Annie Dillard and read it immediately. It's in Teaching a Stone to Talk, and it's one of my favorite essays. Ever.
Given that you are currently reading two books by Ms. Dillard (about time someone else did..) you should go find it, as you will be in the mood anyway.
My I also suggest 'Santa Claus The Movie.' It pretty much explains everything and has shaped my belief of how it all goes down...
First of all, whoever suggested Annie Dillard, she is amazing at inspiring wonder. Secondly, this is a sweet post, and I feel like over time, Christmas has diminished in awe and wonder. But lately, each year, it seems more special again. Maybe thats part of getting older? Or working with kids?
Sam, I think also having a child makes you see things in a more wonder-filled way...especially with a daughter as observant as yours.
Boy, I sure hope no little children read your blog. You'd surely ruin Christmas for them. =]
I like that you work with kids, Charissa. It's cute. It's making you less logical. I like that you're working your way down to my level.
Mixer Mondays - soon!
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