Janell had found a flashlight and down the stairs we went. The living room was dark until the flashlight revealed the magic of Christmas in small roving patches.
As we moved the light from one end of the room to the other it revealed … presents. Unbelievable amounts of presents. The night before there had been a few, maybe a dozen, presents under the tree. Now there were dozens. Big ones, small ones, some with ribbons, some in red wrapping with Santas, some in blue with sleds and snowmen. On the end table was the note we left for Santa. It was turned over and there was writing on it — writing other than our own. Our eyes were wide as we stole a sneak preview of the enchantment of Christmas morning.
Reluctantly and with rapid heartbeats we snuck back upstairs to endure the last few minutes of our parental-imposed curfew. When the clock said 6:30 we were downstairs telling Mom and Dad to get up. We offered to crawl to the back of the pile and plug in the tree lights. Then the sight was really grand. Red, green and blue lights sparkled on the green boughs and reflected off the many gifts. To a child this was truly awe-inspiring. Presents that appeared from nowhere, and a note from a jolly old elf who paid us a mystical, yet clearly so real, visit.
Isn’t this what Christmas is about? No, I don’t mean just the presents, or the lights, or the tree, and certainly not the disobedience in getting up too early. I mean the wonder in a child’s heart. The excitement in seeing something that the night before wasn’t there, that just couldn’t have come from anywhere but outside our home. (Surely Mom couldn’t have fit all that in her closet!) There was a note from Santa Claus telling us about his trip and his reindeer. Yes, we believed it was from Santa Claus. We believed.
Yes, this is Christmas. The wonder at the God-Man coming to us from somewhere distant. Of the Creator of the lights in the sky traversing a distance we cannot fathom to be with us. With a sweep of his hand he created all we see, and now with his own small hands waving in an infant’s cry, he joined us to walk the earth. As an adult and a father of small children, these thoughts still bring a sense of amazement. The joy I experienced as a child at Christmas’s outward signs in our home I now realize is only a fraction of the joy I can have in knowing and loving Jesus, the one whose coming is Christmas. He has left us the gift of his Church and he has spoken to us through his Holy Spirit in scripture.
I want my children to experience the wonder, the magic of Christmas as I did when I was a child. I want them to carry those memories and that sense of awe with them. I will teach them that these experiences are but a reflection of the incredible gift that Jesus Christ truly is to each of us. There is nothing more awe-inspiring than a baby, in appearance so similar to the ones I have fathered, who has come from Heaven to give everything in the name of Love.
This Christmas think of the joy and wonder you have known in Christmases past. Give this joy to your children, in whatever traditions are yours, and you will give them faith in Christ.
Merry Christmas!
Mark Dittman is a freelance writer whose work has appeared in the National Catholic Register, Lay Witness, and Catholic Dossier. He can be reached at [email protected].
