Rudolph and I would like to dedicate this one to the all the joy stealers out there who say there is no Santa Claus. I’ve heard it a million times in my life, and yet Santa always arrives at my house. There’s so much evidence of his existence. This is evidence that demands a verdict. Is Santa Claus real?
Yes, he is 100% real. How do I know? Here’s Exhibit A. Right now, it’s dark in my house except for the Christmas tree lights still shining bright along with the glow of this laptop. I can see presents all around. I see Courtney’s new make up kit and some new clothes. I see the “In The Stars” lotion sitting out for Shirah along with some other boxes in the shadows by the tree. The stockings are all puffy looking with stuff in them. Including mine. Further inspection shows that even Puff the Cat has something in her stocking.
I can hear the joy stealers now. “Ahhh, Johnson, quit playing dumb. You put that stuff in there. The parents give the gifts. Ain’t no man in a red suit been in your house. Stop believing and perpetrating the lie to your children.”
Not sure what they are talking about because I dozed off earlier. I’ve been sitting here typing ever since I heard a noise and woke up. And besides, I’ve already wiped the milk and cookie crumbs from my mouth. The rustling in the other room earlier had to be him because the girls are in their rooms asleep and Mary is in our bed asleep. How else did the gifts get in there?
“Why would you even dare to call that evidence?!?” The Ebenezer Scrooge clones are relentless.
Well, let me present Exhibit B. What about that note that Santa left? For the last twenty something years… how ever many years I’ve had kids… he’s left a note for the girls telling them how much he loves them. His notes always talk about Jesus and the only reason he brings gifts is because Jesus was the ultimate gift God gave us. He used to write notes for me like that when I was a young boy. I remember the Christmas that I got a Star Wars X-wing fighter along with several action figures. His note was right beside the X-wing and it talked about Jesus being the greatest gift. The man in the red suit is consistent because he keeps telling me and the people I love the same thing. Jesus is the reason for all of the gift giving because He is the ultimate gift God gave us. I’m almost 52 years old, so these consistent letters have covered decades of Christmases.
“Perhaps your parents wrote these letters and you are now writing them.” A soul crusher will stop at nothing to rob your joy. Especially the joy of your children.
Now see Exhibit C. Another piece of evidence from my childhood. As a kid growing up in Thomson, Georgia, I went and sat on Santa’s lap at the local Sears store. After crying like a fool for two minutes, I finally dried it up long enough for him to say, “It’s OK, son. Santa loves you. I’ll be bringing you a bicycle next week when I stop at your house.” I was so excited that I dropped the lollipop Santa gave me when I moved on for the next kid. I couldn’t wait to arise on Christmas morning, and when I did, there was an awesome red bike in our den. If he wasn’t Santa Claus, HOW did he know that I was getting a bike? He HAD to be real even though he drove away in Mr. Gilliam’s car and not a sleigh.
‘Dang, man. You must be the most naive guy I’ve ever met.” Yep, non-believers lurk among us in the form of co-workers, church members, and adults that talk too loud so that children can hear the gift discussions. Even my non-believing 9 year old friend, Scotty, said he saw a BB gun in his parents closet before Santa brought it to him on Christmas Day. What a sap. That was obviously a present for someone else and Santa brought him another one.
So, Mr. and Mrs. Joy Stealer, I know that none of my evidence has likely persuaded your theories and logic. I know it’s your mission to eradicate fun childhood dreams and ruin all of Christmas. You probably hate chocolate, puppies and old people, too.
But let me tell you about my day.
This morning Mary and I had breakfast for D.J., Becca, Shirah, and Courtney. We exchanged gifts that we bought for each other. We watched the joy on each other’s face. And it was the joy from the giver and receiver. Nobody can receive and give gifts like my crowd. They are so grateful to get whatever they get and they love to give other people joy. Shirah played Santa and passed out the gifts while I cleaned up the paper trail left from the openings. The women oooh’d as each sweater was unveiled. They ahhhh’d as Mary’s cookware was held high for all to see. D.J. and I held our Lowe’s gift cards high with big smiles. All went silent. OK, maybe they don’t get excited for every gift, but they giggled that we were celebrating. We all laughed. We smiled with anticipation. We ate Christmas candy and goodies even though we had just had breakfast together. I read the Christmas story from the Bible. It was a perfect time of togetherness. A time of love.
In the evening, we went to Warren Baptist Church’s Christmas Eve service. The music was FANTASTIC. All songs praising and pointing to the One this celebration season is all about. Pastor McKinley gave us a short word and then we closed the service singing Silent Night in an auditorium lit only by candles. If your heart wasn’t full after hearing and being in that service, well, what can I say? You’re just a black hearted buzzard. Or a joy stealer.
Tonight was a family Christmas Eve at my parents house. My parents, my brother and sister-in-law, Aunt and uncle, cousins, kids, friends, and Gracie the dog were in attendance. We ate good food. Gave big hugs. Laughed until we cried. Some cried until they laughed. Another special time of love and togetherness. And then we all rushed home and got to bed so that Santa Claus could come. After all, he doesn’t visit unless folks are asleep, right?
So here I sit in my home. Santa has already visited! I’m alone in my recliner under the quiet of a freezing cold Christmas Eve – now early Christmas morning. I think of my Nana and Papa Johnson. I think of my Granny and Papa Patrick. I miss them and wish I could have just a little more of their wisdom. I think of Christmas past and wonder at the Star Wars toys, bicycles, basketballs, and a football kicking tee. I ponder Panama Jack t-shirts and Polo cologne. I dream of Sebago shoes and Members Only jackets. I smile at the shaving bag and Georgia Southern football gear that somehow turned into Santa at my own house with baby dolls and Etch-a-sketch. The dolls turned into clothes and perfume smells drifting through the halls. Make up kits and curling irons. Earrings and necklaces. And now I think of my oldest daughter being married and having a Christmas of her own at her house. I wish Santa could bring me more time.
Santa has always been good to me and my family, but perhaps the Grinch said it best when he offered, “Maybe Christmas doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.” You dang right, Mr. Grinch.
So is Santa Claus real? You dang right he is, joy stealers.
