Growing up my family was rich. Rich in love for one another. Rich in family ties. Rich in personality. Rich in just about every means except for money.
We lived in a single wide manufactured home. Two bedrooms. One bathroom. A living room. A kitchen. And about one hundred acres of land surrounding it.
At Christmas I had the best bed… my bed was in the living room the tree was always in my sight. I remember when I was five or so. I woke up to the door closing, there were presents under the tree and they had just shown up… I had been up not even an hour before and there weren’t any then. That had to be Santa leaving. I jumped up out of bed ran to the door and peered outside. I saw Santa. Sled, reindeer, and all running and taking off from the side of the hill.
“Wake up! Wake up!” I was a bit excited standing at the door with it wide open. “Santa was here and I saw him.”
“Whatever twerp.” My 11 year old brother was a bit less impressed than I was with the visitor.
“I did. I can proove it. His sleigh took off from the side of the hill. Comeon I will show you.”
Mom, Dad, Brother and I walked out to the hillside and I showed them the sleigh marks.
He was such a good big brother as looking back he could have busted my bubble at any point. This happened to be the same year that I had stumbled upon the stack of gifts hidden in mom and dads room. I told myself that Santa must enlist parents to hold the gifts and he brings the extra special ones on Christmas morning. So seeing Santa had a particularly special spot in my heart this specific year.
I figured out the truth the following year but did not let mom and dad know… I wanted them to continue letting me believe for a while. It was while it lasted.
The miracle of Christmas. The wonders and the beliefs in the unexplainable. The free gifts. Just because of love and with nothing expected in return. How beautiful. Thank You God, I believe.