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For mature audiences only
Shhh.
I don't believe in Santa Claus. I can't remember a time when I did.
Make no mistake about it, Santa visited us every Christmas Eve. I know this because new presents would be under the tree when we woke up on Christmas morning. However, Santa used exactly the same wrapping paper as Mom and Dad -- and his handwriting was suspiciously similar to Mom's.
On Danny's side of the family, things were done a little differently. Santa was much too busy to wrap presents, but he did have time to assemble them. Santa brought the best gifts to Danny's house -- bicycles, doll houses, and one time, a real cowboy outfit, with six-shooters, spurs and a hat.
When we were home for Christmas this past year, we slept in the basement. Danny was overwhelmed with the nostalgia awakened within him. His childhood Christmas Eve memories include the annual banishment to the basement to await the visit from the jolly elf from the North Pole. As we snuggled down under the comforter last year, the furnace came on and he was transported back to that simpler time, a time of anticipation and surprise. He claims he and his three sisters never once crept back up the stairs to catch a glimpse of Santa's busy work.
When our own children came along, I happily embraced the generous Santa from my husband's youth and was thrilled with the idea of Santa bringing the best presents. But I never could pull off the whole Santa illusion.
It was easy to pull off the deception, or rather, the lack thereof, when the children were small. We could do Christmas shopping right in front of them and they didn't know the difference. It was as they got older, year-by-year, that the tightrope got a little tougher to walk.
Santa is a big deal issue. You can't turn on the television in December without some reminder of that jolly ol' elf. You can't shop for the simplest items without encountering him in one form or another on every aisle. And trips to a shopping mall are invitations to visit Santa, get your picture taken with him, and tell him your fondest desire for Christmas. All this after waiting in line for hours and hours. It's no wonder kids are crestfallen to learn he is at best, a legend, and at worst, the creation of mass marketing gone completely mad.
We really did try hard to downplay the whole Santa scene, allowing him his annual visit, cookies and milk faithfully put out on the counter, and very little else. No long wait in a long line at the mall, and no letters sent off to the North Pole. The big presents, dutifully assembled and unwrapped were obviously from Santa, and stockings were filled with care.
When the kids were finally old enough to ask "Mom, is there really and truly a Santa Claus." I would respond, "You really and truly don't want to ask that question." Surprisingly enough, that response worked for more years than you would imagine, and eventually, they simply stopped asking.
It was a matter of trust. Make no mistake about it, Santa is a big deal with kids. They are absolutely enthralled with the idea of a person so generous, so wise, so jolly, bringing them exactly what their heart's desire every Christmas. Santa is a powerful icon of our times. And I was afraid of him. Not of his generosity, not of his jollity, not of his wisdom, for I knew he got all that from my husband and me. (Santa may be a lot of things, but he is restricted to the means available to the moms and dads of Christmas list-makers.)
My fear was of his power to crush my credibility. I wanted my children to trust me. It seems incredible to me that we seem to do all that we can to keep this illusion alive for them for as long as we can, especially since we know it cannot stand the test of time, of realism, of truth.
For if they could catch me in a lie as big as Santa, with all that he represented, why would they continue to believe me when I told them about a powerful and holy God, who created the earth and all they can see, taste, touch, smell and hear in six days?
Or, how about a Savior, who seeing our terrible human condition, allowed himself to be put to death, only to rise up three days later, his kingdom fully intact and everlasting?
Or a Holy Spirit, the very heart of God, living in their own hearts?
No pretty package or much-yearned-for earthly gift is worth the trade-off of truth or trust and certainly cannot compare with the indescribable gift that is ours in Christ Jesus.
"If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him?" Matthew 7:11 (NIV)