Dear Santa,
Well, first of all, I don’t believe in you. Ever since that Christmas morning in 7th grade when I woke up and didn’t find a trampoline in the backyard, I’ve known you aren’t legit. And where did you come from, anyway? Who invented you? My hunch is Corporate America (a recent documentary viewing pretty much confirms my suspicions), but even The Big Evil has had more faults then you. How can the greatest country in the world be falling apart while you keep going strong, mocking us all from every store window?
Kids love you, parents lie to their kids, keeping your “legacy” alive, but I lost my Santa bounce that year you forgot my trampoline in your big red bag. Of course, I do wonder if I would still be jumping for joy if I’d gotten it. Would my home look like Santa threw up, with candy canes, gingerbread houses and tiny Santa statues on every empty surface? Instead, I have nothing. And I wonder: What am I scared of? Why do I roll my eyes at holiday decadence and Mall Santa Clauses? Why don’t I care anymore? I know I once had that Christmas Spirit, but if left me when I grew up. When I found out the truth and faced reality it was harsh. My joy diminished and sensibility took over. And all Santa melodies still make me gag.
But what if I could enjoy my white Christmas this year, surrounded by family up at our cabin in the mountains. What if I let down my hair and actually sang along with a few holly jolly songs, enjoying the fire with a nice cup of cocoa (maybe leaving some milk and a few cookies out for good measure). What if I simply stopped fighting anything or anyone, just this holiday season and, trampoline or no, jumped in there and loved someone who might really need it. Giving, that was your theme in the first place. Right, Nick?
Sincerely,
A Hope Recovered
