Into the Fire

I had many joyful and fun Christmases as a little and young girl. I do think my favorite Christmas was the one where I got my full-size Schwinn bicycle and my illustrated Black Beauty book. I remember the picture of me straddling the bicycle in our living room by the tree holding up my Black Beauty book for the picture. Funny what you remember.

I also remember that I got to sleep out on the couch on Christmas Eve hoping to catch sight of Santa. My parents knew once I fell asleep I was literally dead to the world and they could put out the special gift that was supposedly from Santa. And, yes, we left cookies and milk for "him". I was all-in on Santa Claus. Our dog slept in the basement, but I'd wake up at around 1 or 2 o'clock in the morning and see the gift from Santa. I'd run and let our dog upstairs and he'd be with me while I opened all my presents all by myself. I'd give him his special stocking and invariably there'd be some squeaky toy he'd play with much to the agony of my tired parents in the middle of the night. It was great fun. People were aghast to think they let me open all my gifts by myself, but that's what I did for most of my young life. Pretty unique, I know. But I loved it. 

Funny note in hindsight. When I learned from a girl in my 2nd grade class there was no Santa – that "he" was my parents, I felt so guilty for not thanking them for those "special" Santa gifts. It was a brutal shock to this little girl. 

Just reminiscing this Thursday . . . 

Father, at that time, although I always believed in you, I did not know your Son. I knew about the birth in the manger, but I didn't understand the significance then. I regret that. But you knew. Thank you for rescuing me so many years later and allowing me to celebrate the perfect beauty of Christmas because of Jesus. There's nothing better than the real reason for the season. Thank you, Jesus. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.