Letter to Santa

Our good friend Sam forwarded Jesus Is Better Than Santa to me a few days before Christmas.  It was just what I needed to get started with my post on St. Nicholas.  “I’ll send you the link when I’m done,” I emailed back.

Early October I began setting up the Kids’ Pages on our church website.  Since I really didn’t know much about Santa– St. Nicholas– I wanted kids to learn about his background; but I also wanted fun stuff– stories, prayers, games, things to do, and more– without the commercialism.  Tough expectations, until I serendipitously received the first link– Santa Claus and the North Pole– from Mary B.  She’d discovered the site with her granddaughters and suggested it for the grandkids.  I was impressed with the site’s versatility… and the recipes from the kitchen of Mrs. Claus!  I persisted in my online search and found a few worthwhile sites on St. Nicholas’s life, chapel tour, and wonder worker status.  I also got to thinking about Christmas.

Growing up, I neither visited Santa at the department store nor wrote him a letter.  I never asked for Christmas gifts.  Sure, my brother and I were curious about wrapped gifts hidden in the closet or under the tree.  Christmas presents were a big mystery to unravel; but on Christmas Day, we were glad for whatever we received.  As an adult, on the other hand, I didn’t want to participate in gift exchanges at work or at home with either family or friends.  I went through the motions ’cause guilt is an awful monster to deal with, but my heart was never in it.  Too costly, too time consuming, too stressful.

I’ll admit, though, that one Christmas season, I discovered the big red mailbox at the main post office.  It was the first time I’d driven there for stamps during the holidays.  Wow!  All the way home, I imagined myself driving back to the post office to mail my letter late Christmas Eve.  I’ll finally have my chance, I giggled.  I was really excited, but the weather turned bad.  I decided the drive wouldn’t be worth my while, but I did give the letter a lot of thought.  My kids no longer lived at home, so they wouldn’t find out.  Were anyone else to see me mail a letter to Santa, they’d think I was dropping it off for a child.  Bottom line?  I really wanted to do it, but I didn’t know what to ask for or how to write my letter.  The bad weather merely gave me an out. 

In retrospect, my mixed-up thoughts about Santa have me wondering what I told my kids about Christmas as they were growing up.  I did try to instill in them a sense of what Christmas is really about.  Mom had always said, “Christmas is every little thing we do for each other throughout the year, not the presents.”  Christmas is all about joyously celebrating the birth of Christ through active participation at Mass that day, I thought.  Then I’d show up for Christmas dinner at mom’s house and find all these gifts waiting for me.  Confusion at Christmastime was always compounded by the guilt of not doing what was expected.  Mom’s mixed messages were agonizing!  I’m pretty sure my kids were affected by the ambiguity as well.  I’m the only one in the family who never got it right, or so I thought.

Fastforward to the first of two of the most grueling years of my life– 2004.  The UH CHAOS both exasperated and revitalized me.  My only escape came very late each night when I flopped onto bed and lay there in an almost catatonic state in the dark.  My rosary beads kept me company.  The repetitive prayers were peaceful, fulfilling, purposeful.  That entire summer I took three whopper online courses that left time for only late morning Mass on Sunday and, on occasion, quick stops for supplies at KMart, Staples, and WalMart on the way home.  Twelve-thirty Mass at St. Mary’s was the big event in my week.  I celebrated my visits to God’s house by dressing for the special occasion.   I told God I needed only him in my solitary life.  He was with me day and night through my doctoral studies and all else.

Autumn followed, accompanied by my elementary school teaching assignment and all the extras– grading papers; writing lesson plans, timelines; and so much more.  My responsibilities grew enormously as the semester progressed.  Christmas break included developing a training session– a last-minute holiday assignment from the principal– that my teacher-buddy Elsa and I were to present to our campus paraprofessionals our first day back at work January 2005.  Elsa and I met a couple of times to plan the overview, but the responsibility was on me alone.  I put in very long hours each day and enjoyed the self-imposed challenge; but on Christmas Eve, I suddenly felt distracted.  I looked onto the street from my thoughtful spot (computer) by the window in the front bedroom and had a revelation: I’m going to write a letter to Santa.  Anyway, God will listen.  Together, they’ll work it out.

For almost three-and-a-half hours I worked on the letter.  It wasn’t easy.  I had to be sure my words were precise.  Eventually, I organized my thoughts into three lists– what I want, what I’m willing to compromise on, and the deal breakers.  Just as I completed the letter, I heard my neighbors’ grown children out in their front yard.  I looked out the window from where I sat.

“Merry Christmas!  Merry Christmas!” they shouted as they hopped around gleefully. 

It was midnight, and they were all excited.  What are they saying?  I couldn’t make out what they were so ecstatic about.  I listened intently, couldn’t believe my ears, went to the front door, opened it to take a look and…  Sure enough.  It was snowing!!! 

Would you believe it?  As I’d completed my letter to Santa, snow had fallen– this, based on when the commotion from Lucy’s kids had started.  Being a scientist at heart, I was quite skeptical.  As far as I knew, Brownsville hadn’t seen snow in my lifetime… or maybe even at all.  I closed the door and walked back to my work space, but the doorbell rang.  

My next-door neighbor had sent over a plate of food with Eric and Mary.  Lucy’s grandkids were so wired that they went on and on about the snow, which I insisted was only ice.  The kids left; so I returned to my letter, printed it, and taped it onto the closet door.  I continued working on the prototype for the paraprofessionals’ inservice till four-something.  I’d attended early evening Mass, so I didn’t have to think about being out and about in the morning.

On rising later, I opened the front door.  Everything was covered with white slush.  The sun was out, and Lucy’s family, still making a big deal out of the snow, was outdoors.  Snow could never fall in Brownsville.  It’s way too tropical for that.  One thing I could bank on was having a legitimate excuse not to drive to mom’s for Christmas dinner. 

I continued working without giving Santa’s letter a second thought that day.  Between then and fall 2005, however, I did read through the three lists to Santa at least twice.  I wasn’t wishing.  I was merely checking my lists to see if I still agreed with what I’d written.  I quickly forgot about the snow as if it’d never happened.  When a book with the Christmas photos sold in the stores later in the year, I didn’t make the connection with my letter to Santa on Christmas Eve; and I still insisted the snow had only been ice.

Interestingly and unexpectedly, nonetheless, something began to happen less than eleven months later on November 2, 2005.  I was much too immersed in my studies and way too inundated by work to have paid attention; but, little by little, my life, personally and professionally, began to change.  The more I tried to remain on track with both daily routines and life as I’d known it for decades, the more I was drawn, pushed, forced in other directions.  I felt so not in control! 

It was unbelievably comical.  Every situation seemed both exaggerated and discombobulated.  When I was cautious, I faced upheavals; when I accepted change, situations proceeded well.  Figuratively, doors slammed in my face in my relatively-stable-until-then life.  At the same time I found myself easily gliding through unknowns that I’d never seriously considered would lead to my future life.  All this, after Dr. Weber, our research methodologist, had cautioned our cohort against making changes during the doctoral program.  We already had too much going on in our lives! 

Steven and I tried to slow down our long distance relationship; but situations beyond our control fastforwarded us to events and dates we hadn’t yet discussed.  Our life was a flowchart of endless possibilities, all of which led us to each other quicker than we’d intended.  Scenarios evoked laughter and disbelief. 

God had introduced us through a smile, a simple electronic postcard through a trusted Christian network; and we’d fallen in love with each other’s minds before meeting face to face for the first time December 2nd.  We agreed to allow God to take over our lives ’cause, for all the serious attempts to postpone the inevitable, God’s master plan included a rushed special delivery in time for our first Christmas, 2005. 

Now more than three years later, we’re still God’s bestest gift to each other; and God continues to drop Easter egg messages on me at the oddest moments.  For instance, several months after we got married, I searched the computer hard drive for a UH file when– much to my surprise– I found my letter to Santa.  Reading through the lists, I couldn’t believe my eyes!  Every single item on the what I want list had come true down to the very last detail!  My eyes watered as I relived Christmas Eve 2004.  God had indeed been listening.

Mind you, we have our days like everyone else.  We struggle, we fall, we pick ourselves up.  We’re resilient, and we feel blessed only because God faithfully communicates through perfectly timed messages, like the ones this past Saturday…

Before five o’clock Mass started, I’d read through the previous day’s meditation in the Word among us.  Zechariah’s doubts changed to trust and belief in God’s message. 

Lord, let me trust you, even in difficult times.  Fill me with your Spirit, and equip me to proclaim what you have spoken in the silence of my heart! (Advent 2008, p. 42). 

During his homily, Father Xaviour said, “Accept and become a servant of God’s master plan.  With God, nothing is impossible.” 

My eyes watered.  Father’s message immediately resonated with the fullness of truth, as if he’d known exactly what I’d been feeling.  I received God’s message loud and clear.

After communion, I read to the end of that day’s meditation and reflected on the message:

Heavenly Father, I ask you for a sign today.  Show me that you are with me….  Let me rely on you as the One who provides for my deepest longings (Advent 2008, p. 43). 

The enormity of the triple treat revelation figuratively blew me away!  Here, four years later, was the golden goose egg.  My letter to Santa had led to God’s gift of love.  “Ask and you shall receive… for the one who asks, receives” (Mt. 7:7-8).  Look for “signs of God’s love… even silly signs,” signs that make sense only to me (Meyer, 2008).  The unexpected miracle of snow at midnight Christmas Eve 2004 had been God’s special way of acknowledging my request, just as it’d been his wish that Santa deliver the gift of marriage within a year’s time.  Wow!

Finally, revisiting Sam’s forward… 

Yes, Jesus is better than Santa, but I prefer to keep Christmas year ’round. 

When needs are “great and the crisis so near,” it’s okay to turn to Santa– our dear St. Nicholas, the wonder worker– for a “happy ending” (Advent 2008, Perrotta, p. 55).  When we humble ourselves and accept God’s master plan, regardless of the time involved, Santa does indeed make good on his deliveries. 

Merry Christmas!!!