“On Christmas Eve, many years ago, I lay quietly in my bed. I did not rustle the sheets. I breathed slowly and silently. I was listening for a sound—a sound a friend had told me I’d never hear—the ringing bells of Santa’s sleigh.”

While reading this first paragraph from The Polar Express by Chris Van Allsburg, my thoughts drifted to a much older book as I compared the anticipation the boy felt while waiting for Santa, to what the Israelites experienced as they waited for their Savior.

“Did you hear something?” I imagined a shepherd asking before concluding that the wind, rather than an angel, had passed through on the way to Bethlehem.

“Could this be him?” I pictured a Jewish priest saying after hearing about a man in a nearby city who challenged the authority of the Romans.

If the boy in the book could talk and the people of the bible could walk into our present-day world, they would probably tell us that the only thing more trying than unanswered questions is an unexpected reply. The boy was listening for a sleigh and looked outside to find a train. The Israelites were looking for a man to free them from the Romans and received a baby who would free them from sin.

As the story unfolded in both the bible and the children's book, the characters eventually came to understand that the best gifts are not the ones we ask for, but the ones we learn from. I have found this to be true myself on several occasions . . .  like the morning I visited a local craft store to purchase a wreath for the large window above our entryway door.

Which one should I buy? I wondered as I studied the limited selection on display to see which would look best in our home.

There were two that I thought would fit in the space. The first was adorned with green and gold ribbon and a handful of strategically placed ornaments. The second, smaller one touted several poinsettias, burgundy ribbon, and a finely-dressed Santa Claus nestled between the branches near the eight o’clock position of the wreath.

Without knowing the measurements for the window, I purchased the larger wreath that was not decorated with the Santa and returned home to see what my husband would say about the purchase.

“It’s not going to fit,” Bill concluded after I unloaded it from the van.

“How do you know?” I challenged.

“Because it’s bigger than the window,” he said matter-of-factly.

Wanting to see for myself—and prove Bill wrong—I measured the size of the wreath, compared it to the dimensions of the window . . . and drove back to the craft store to exchange it for the smaller one.

“I am not bringing a Santa into our home,” I reminded myself thirty minutes later as I stood inside the craft store and looked up at the only viable option.

The nativity, rather than the North Pole, was the focus of our holiday décor. I got the idea while visiting a friend after Thanksgiving one year. Although every room on the main level of her home was beautifully decorated for Christmas, Santa was noticeably absent from each one. When I asked my friend about the missing icon, she explained that she didn’t want Mr. Claus to take away from the holiness of the holiday.

I agreed with her reasoning and decided to do the same by removing every Santa figurine, wall hanging and ornament from our home. That was four years ago and, with the exception of a few children’s books and homemade items, our house has been Santa-free ever since.

“Excuse me,” I said to a store employee who was working in a nearby aisle. “Do you have more wreaths in this size?”

“That’s the last one,” the worker stated.

Unsure of what to do, I studied the object in question for a few seconds before reluctantly agreeing to buy the wreath.

Maybe I can remove the Santa, I reasoned as I carried it to the register.

I was ho-ho-hoping for the best as I drove home from the craft store for the second time that day. Thankfully, Bill was ha-ha-happy with my purchase when I carried it into the house.

“That one is a much better size for our window,” Bill remarked as I lay it on the couch.

“I’m thinking about taking the Santa off,” I confessed.

“What will you do with the bare spot?” he asked.

After trying to imagine what the greenery would look like without the jolly intruder, I had to admit that I didn't know.

“I’ll figure it out when I get back from the movie,” I added after a quick glance at my watch revealed that it was time to leave for a free showing of Polar Express at the local theatre.

Bill had taken Katie and Hollie to see the animated film when it first came out in 2004. Now it was my turn to sit with the girls as the train raced through the night on the big screen. It was also my pleasure. I had heard good things about the movie and looked forward to immersing myself in all things Santa as I pondered whether Kris Cringle could have a place in a home where Jesus was the reason for the season.

My first hint came when the train conductor said this to the story’s main character: “sometimes, the most real things in the world are the things we can’t see.”

Immediately upon hearing the words, I remembered something Bill said years earlier while discussing the merits of the man in red.

“Santa teaches children to believe in what they cannot see,” he explained.

“What happens when kids are told that Santa isn’t real?” I challenged. “Will they conclude that God doesn’t exist as well?”

Bill didn’t have an answer. At the time, neither did I. All I knew was that my children’s belief in what they couldn’t see was not going to be shattered by Santa—or me. Still committed to that promise, I spent the rest of the movie working through what I would tell Katie and Hollie when the time was right.

If the legend is true and St. Nicholas was a real person, I reasoned, then, after his death others must have picked up where he left off to carry on the tradition.

And since every good and perfect gift is from above, I continued, quoting James 1:17, then the One urging the descendents of St. Nicholas to give . . . must be God.

This realization led to another one as I concluded that Santa doesn’t take away from the holiness of the holiday, he adds to it by demonstrating how the Holy Spirit works in all of us to share God’s love with others.

It felt good to know that my daughters would one day see how all roads—even those headed to the North Pole—eventually lead back to God. I also looked forward to telling them that Colossians 3:23 (which urges readers to do everything as if they were “working for the Lord, not for men”) applies, not just to sinners, but to Santa as well.

What I didn't look forward to were the questions that I knew would follow any discussion on Santa.

"What about the children who don’t receive any gifts on Christmas Eve?" I pictured Katie asking. "Why doesn't God give to them, too?"

Katie was known for her inquisitiveness. When she was six, she surprised me by asking, “Mom, is Santa real?”

Afraid that Katie would spoil Christmas for her younger sister, I searched for an answer that would satisfy her curiosity and reduce the probability that she would share what I said with Hollie.

When no words came to mind, I quieted my thoughts to see if the Spirit had anything to say on the subject. The seven words that emerged from the silence were so insightful that I’d be guilty of plagiarism if I called them my own.

"If you stop believing, you stop receiving," I replied casually.

Katie thought about what I said for a few seconds before wisely deciding not to pursue the matter further. Now, several years later, I was the one challenging the validity of this statement.

Why is believing a requirement for receiving? I wondered.

Immediately upon asking the question, I realized that the answer had nothing to do with Santa and everything to do with our Savior.

Katie had to believe in Santa before she could receive presents, just like God’s children have to believe in Jesus before they will receive the gift of salvation.

After reaching this conclusion, I no longer saw Santa as a secular diversion. Instead, he was a tangible, child-friendly version of the One we are all to be working for.

Although I appreciated this insight, the question I expected the girls to ask remained unanswered: If believing leads to receiving, why do some people still find themselves in need?

I was about to give up on this train of thought when something I read several years ago came to mind. The title of the book escapes me but one of its lessons that has stayed with me is this: If someone’s needs go unmet, it’s not because God doesn’t care, but because the person He prompted to help, said no.

With that final answer, my research was complete. The movie ended and I walked away from the theatre with a new appreciation for Santa’s role during the Christmas season. It was an understanding that came in handy when my youngest approached me a few days after I hung the wreath (with the Santa still on it).

“Mom, how does Santa know what I want for Christmas?” Hollie asked.

“He works for God and God knows everything,” I assured her.

“But how does he get to every home in the world in one night?” she continued.

“If God is in charge, all things are possible,” I replied, quoting the last part of Matthew 19:26.

That was all Hollie needed to hear. It was also all I needed to affirm my change of heart.

Santa re-earned a place in our home that year. The wreath was the perfect size for our window and the man in red proved to be the perfect way to show children of all ages that the spirit of Christmas lives, not at the North Pole, but in the hearts of all who believe, not in what is seen, but in what they feel . . . God’s love.

From our family to yours, Merry Christmas!

Quotes to Grow On

“There is no Santa," my friend had insisted, but I knew he was wrong.

Chris Van Allsburg, The Polar Express,  p. 1

If you stop believing, you stop receiving.

See John 1:12