I believed in Santa until I was a whopping five years old. No one told me the truth… I figured it out myself, on the playground with another girl, in kindergarten. And ever since then, for the last 19 years, Christmas has seemed… less magical.
For a few years after that, I tried to hold onto Santa, because without him, Christmas just seemed kind of boring. It’s not that I was ungrateful for the presents and the family and the parties, it’s just that it all seemed so commonplace when compared to the magic of Santa.
I was thinking of these things this year, holding Elsie P, too, when I realized something: The real magic of Christmas is so infinitely cooler than Santa.
It’s the magic of holding a kitty cat… who lives and breathes and loves me back. She is so much cooler than stuffed toys (which I absolutely love, so imagine how cool Elsie P seems to me).
It’s the magic of your sister coming home for Christmas and procdeding to take every last lump out of your chili and take you to see the Festival of Lights like you did when you were kids.
It’s the magic of, after totally perseverating on the fact that Mom isn’t doing stockings this year, that same sister takes it upon herself to fill your stocking herself.
It’s the magic of your Jewish friend sending you a Christmas present (and, of course, I sent her a Hanukkah present)… and you proceeding to carry that present everywhere you go.
And, above all, it’s the magic of God coming to earth to live among us. Emmanuel, God with us.
If that’s not magic, I don’t know what is.