I talked to you in the mall last night. Nearing closing time, the line of anxious children had ended and you greeted me warm by your “North Pole” sign. So I stopped and had a chat with you.
I don’t know if we’ve ever had a real conversations before. Of course there were hurried greetings of a stressed out Mama trying to get my boys to sit on your lap. But that was the last time oh so many years ago. So I loved the encounter and learned all the tips on best times to come, how many years you’d been stationed in that mall and even your local address. So I didn’t have the heart to tell you about this post I was working on.
Hey Santa,
I really don’t have anything against you. Your frosty white beard, apple red cheeks and twinkling eyes make me smile. And the joy you bring to the little ones is a cherished sight to see. That deep belly-shaking “HoHoHo” rushes warm memories of candy canes hung on the tree, and toys and snowy winter days building snowmen giddy because school was out.
Your image graces the store windows and mantles with glee,
While the stockings are hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that YOU soon will be there.
But I have this gentle concern. Your promises are fragile and fleeting. You mean well but toys are busted and forgotten by the next year, breeding more hunger for the new and shiny. And our lists get longer and longer in this world of want and greed.
People have lifted you to a gilded pedestal front and center, a symbol of hope and giving. You are everywhere from coffee mugs to billboards and television commercials.
But that hope soars free only to fall dashed in this broken down world.
So I’m sorry to say you have to move over. This is way out of your league and above your pay grade.
You can’t deliver the one thing this world needs most.
Saving Grace.
I know the real reason for the season. It’s no secret, there lives someone way more important than you.
Someone who loves me boundless.
You change things for one night.
He changed my life forever.
He a King, came down to our world, laid delicate in that manger to grow slowly and walk our dusty streets. He lived our common life in a fragile body that hungered and ached and felt the pain of a wayward hammer,
Only to die painful as was the plan all along,
To save my wasting soul.
So you would think that our perfect Savior would be a thousand times more visible during this Christmas season.
But he’s not.
Commercialism has decided he’s not politically correct so he’s pushed into a dusty corner in a darkened storage unit.
So even though you are more conspicuous as we shop till we drop, I hate to be harsh but I have to remind you, Santa,
You are a cheap substitute for the real thing.
So, sorry Santa, I don’t mean to make you feel bad,
But my hope and faith are in the one who gave his life for me.
I am humbled
And thankful
And I owe him my everything.
Regretfully,
L
****************************
“He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God—children born not to natural descent, or of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God. John 1:10-13A