She didn’t want to go see Santa. She refused to even write him a letter. My 5th grade daughter has succumbed to the inevitable. Growing up.
Of course I am not naive enough to think that my child would be the only one immune to such a horrible fate. Growing up is no fun, but we all must do it. Since she has stopped believing, it seems that Christmas seems to have lost it’s luster. There doesn’t seem to be magic in the air. The anticipation of seeing what Santa brings seems to have vanished. What concerns me is not the loss of childhood dreams. What concerns me is that I am guilty of putting the magic of Christmas into the wrong miracle.
Even if reindeer do really fly and one man could travel the world in a single night, it’s still not as miraculous as the creator of the universe stepping out of Heaven as a helpless baby. Tiny elves making toys for every child in the world, even if true, pales in comparison to the miracle of a loving God saving the world through human flesh.
Maybe it’s a good thing my daughter is finally maturing. As much as this mother would love for her to stay little forever she’s finally getting old enough to fully understand the Gospel. She can finally begin to appreciate how beautiful and raw the true story of Christmas really is.