I started believing in Santa twelve years ago when my kids were we little ones. It is that time of year and a popular post that comes up in discussion with friends and followers. I will share Faith in Santa and The Twelfth Day as well, with you dear reader, for these stories break open my personal experience of having a change of heart. As a child, Christmas was not a favorite and as a mother myself I had the gift of rewriting that story. An opportunity to birth a new perspective, a chance to make space in my heart. In case you are inspired to pass on this tradition, tomorrow, December 14th is the day the fun begins, it is the first day of Christmas. You don’t need an elaborate plan to spread Christmas Cheer. Having done this three times now in our neighborhood, all you need is to step into the spirit of Christmas with the eyes of a child. Perhaps these two re-posts will give you a bit of inspiration.
Re-Post from 2009, Traditions Part I – Faith in Santa by J.G. McGlothern
(https://heartwriter.wordpress.com/2009/12/23/faith-in-santa-tradition-part-i-by-j-g-mcglothern/).
One Christmas Eve when I was four years old my eleven year old sister told me in the dark of her room in one long breath that there was no Santa, Easter Bunny or Tooth Fairy. Lying in bed that night I still tried to hear Santa’s sleigh bells but when the sound never came, I stopped believing. Then in grade school, friends’ parents would ask me to “pretend” that Santa came to my house because their children still believed. I remember Tanya’s dad from the yellow house up the street pulling me aside and politely telling me, “Santa comes to our house, so please, for Tanya’s sake, pretend he comes to yours too.”
Christmas began to take on a sleigh load of negative feelings and with its imminent arrival every year I grew to fear Christmas. Raised Catholic my mother did a wonderful job to teach our family Christian beliefs about Christmas. I learned about Jesus being born in a manger, the gift of peace, and the joy of giving love to others. Sitting in church on Christmas Eve nights I would imagine that I was part of the manger scene. Sometimes I was Mary, absorbed in the true beauty of it all. And sometimes I was one of the Wise Men traveling from afar, following the star with great anticipation of meeting the Messiah. This part of Christmas gave me peace and kept my faith alive. Back in school after Christmas break, the anxiety started all over again, I had to invent gifts that Santa brought.
Years later, as a parent with the birth of our children, I struggled with how to celebrate Christmas without bringing Santa into the whole thing. How does one raise children to focus on the beauty that Christmas offers, when the commercialism of it all is shoved in your face?
Four years ago, when my children were four and one and a half years old, I received a precious gift. I met Santa. On the morning of December fourteenth as I collected the morning paper from the front porch I found a small poinsettia on our door-mat, wrapped in gold tissue and tied with a red ribbon. In meticulous printing our last name was written on a tag in unfamiliar handwriting. Opening the tag made of silken, creamy white paper, I searched for the giver’s name and only found the words, ‘On the first day of Christmas the McGlotherns received one poinsettia…’ Who could this be from?
The next morning, a bit earlier, as I opened the door to collect the newspaper sitting right next to The Seattle Times sat a beautiful gift bag bearing two delicately wrapped hand-dipped, off-white candles. I placed them in silver candlesticks next to the poinsettia in our front window. The same precise manuscript indicated the gift was indeed for us with the message, ‘On the second day of Christmas the McGlotherns received two glittering candles…’ Were the three dots a sign? An indication of a promise? Perhaps more to come? I ran to the calendar and counted. Ten more days until Christmas. The twenty-fifth would be the “twelfth day.” Not knowing any history about a “twelve days of Christmas” tradition, I was curious. Is this a celebrated tradition I don’t know anything about, similar to the “Secret Santa” tradition some celebrate in the workplace? On the third day of Christmas “three tinkling bells” waited on our doorstep. Hanging them from the tree, in the front window, I wondered who could be doing this. I never heard a car, voices or footsteps.
Our four-year-old daughter, started coming into our room every morning with the question, “Have you checked the front porch yet, mama?” I was trying really hard to curb my enthusiasm and wait until she could be the one to check the door. If I woke first I would avoid the front room and busy myself with undone dishes, cleaning fingerprints off the refrigerator, anything to keep myself from going to the front door and turning the knob. Each morning continued to greet us with beautifully wrapped surprises; candy canes, homemade molasses cookies, walnuts the size of small apples, Satsumas as sweet as summer, and chocolates that were too irresistible to stop at just one. On the fifth day of Christmas we opened a box with a photograph glued to the lid. The picture made me stop and look closely. It was a picture of a handprint in the snow, a child’s handprint, with the five digits perfectly imprinted into the white, glistening snow. Inside were five homemade snowflake ornaments hanging from delicate pink thread. I knew the giver was creative, thoughtful and most of all believed in Christmas.
Soon my friends and family all knew about it and would brain storm with me to decipher who these thoughtful surprises were from. My neighbor even volunteered to stalk my front porch every morning. Although I was mostly content not knowing the giver, I was still curious.
Through all of this excitement, I forgot I didn’t believe in Santa. I forgot I hated Christmas. Each day was offering me a new joy besides a surprise gift at the front door. I discovered the great delight of baking sugar cookies with our four-year-old daughter. In years past, the baking was a chore. Christmas shopping wasn’t a burden, our list was short and family received homemade gifts. Our friends received a Christmas card with a handwritten message. Even the cold, grey weather was comforting. I didn’t long for the colors of springtime; instead I found solace from the dark sky and consolation from the light of a simple white candle. I never once turned on the television, so I wasn’t aware of the Christmas sales, hot items of the season or the temptations of the last minute shopper. Evenings were spent reading Christmas books, listening to the Nutcracker, playing games and coloring. I taught our children about my childhood traditions of putting evergreen on the fireplace mantel, straw in the manger and hanging mistletoe in doorways. My husband strung lights, hung wreaths, and helped our children hang their stockings. He helped our daughter write her letter to Santa. I saw how Santa could be brought into the season without being the main focus and without corrupting my mood or Christmas spirit. We talked about Jesus’ birth, buying a goat through the Heifer Project, making gifts for family and what color of sprinkles our friends would like on their cookies. All our daughter wanted for Christmas was a pants belt and for her brother to have his own doll. Santa’s job would be simple.
By the tenth day of Christmas, the day we received ten walnuts and a silver nutcracker, all of our friends and family knew about our morning doorstep surprises and wished they had done something like this. They all responded with passionate wonder. I want to do that, they all echoed. Without these exact words their responses were saying: I want to reach out, I want to give, I want to believe and share in the spirit of the season.
On Christmas Eve, I went to bed listening for sleigh bells believing that if I was supposed to find out who was behind the mystery I would. At five in the morning our son, hollered out in his sleep. His cries woke me and although he fell back to sleep easily, I lay in the dark, tossing and turning. Like many children around the world that morning I hopped out of bed, unable to keep still. I went into the living room and turned on the tree lights, lit the off-white candles in the window and sat down with a cup of hot tea and my journal. The tea went cold before I had a sip and my journal remained unopened. I went back and forth to the window, peering out into the dark morning, I kept opening the front door. I even stood on a chair to peer out the window at the top of the door. Nothing. I wrote a note to the mystery elves, telling them that if I never found out who they were I wanted them to know they changed my Christmases forever. At eight o’ clock, when my family was awake pulling a pants belt and baby doll out of their stockings I checked the door one more time. Empty except for my note. Did they forget?
Forty-five minutes later, with Christmas wrapping strewn around the room our coffee mugs empty, I heard singing outside. “Honey”, my husband said gently, “You are going to want to answer the door.” The caroling was coming from our front porch. Opening the door, I was surprised to see my new friend Erika, her husband and their three sleepy daughters. I collapsed into Erika’s arms, “I’m so glad it’s you. I never even thought of you being the ones, “I wept softly. We wiped each other’s tears of joy. “You helped me to believe in Christmas again,” I whispered.
That morning and now, Santa for me is just another way to bring giving into the Christmas season. Not getting, but giving. We can teach our children the beauty of simplicity by example. The following Christmas, we did the same for an un-expecting family a few blocks away. And the smiles on their faces told me I was helping to carry on a tradition that was drenched in love and sprinkled with the true spirit of the season.
Re-post from 2011, The Twelfth Day, by J. G. McGlothern
https://heartwriter.wordpress.com/2011/12/25/the-twelfth-day/
Adorned in our converse tennis shoes, Santa hats, carrying our umbrellas my little family and I trekked around the corner to deliver gift number 12 to our unsuspecting neighbors.
Six years ago we were the receivers of the 12 days of Christmas, Every day starting on the 14th of December we received front porch surprises. One gift the first day, two the second and so on until Christmas Day, the 12th day. The following year we surprised a family two streets away and this year we chose friends who live around the corner and who have two teenagers.
On the first day of Christmas at 6 AM I snuck out into the dark of the morning with our first package, addressed to them, wrapped with love and care.
There are no rules really, except to have fun and like Buddy the Elf, spread Christmas Cheer.
My kids were just as excited about Santa’s visit as they were about being secret Santa to the May Family around the corner.
The list we made up as we went included:
One White Candle
Two Ornaments
Three Cardinal Bird Candles
Four Paper Doves (made by my 7 year old)
Five Chocolate Star Cookies (made by Trader Joe’s)
Six Satsumas
Seven Christmas Carols
Eight Christmas Words
Nine Surprises (ornaments, tea, hot cocoa, drawings, etc)
Ten Peppermint Candies
Eleven Tealights
And today after first attempting delivery at 9 AM noticing the house was dark, and their stockings were still full, (remember they have teenagers) we came back at 11 AM with 12 “Santa Whiskers”, homemade cookies, singing We Wish You a Merry Christmas to a smiling family of four on their front porch.
After catching up, laughter and gratitude expressed our neighbor hollered out, the one unwritten rule as we walked back home, Next year we will have to pay it forward.
Oh, yes, the joy in paying it forward, giving exceeds the joy of receiving. And isn’t that what Christmas is all about?
Hi, I’m Jenny Gwinn McGlothern, Certified Transformational Master Life Coach, Retreat Leader, Writer, Teacher and Seeker. As founder of my retreat business, Mama Needs A Refill, LLC, one way I know I fill my cup is by showing up to a blank page to write. Thank you for stopping by and reading my posts, because I will be honest that fills my cup too, knowing others are reading my filled page. Life is too short to blog about anything else unless it touches my heart. Please know I appreciate you joining me on this journey whether you visit regularly since I began in 2009 or this is your first blog stop.
Curious about becoming a life coach or upleveling your life? I am a co-facilitator at Seattle Life Coach Training. The program is transformative, the experience more life giving than words can describe, www.slctseattle.com.
Interested in life or spiritual coaching (individuals and couples) or want to learn more about my retreats in Seattle, please find me on FaceBook, www.FaceBook.com/MamaNeedsARefill or visit my website www.mamaneedsarefill.com. Holding sack lunch mini-retreats since 2009. The next January 5, 2018 is sold out. Two Seats available for February 9, Five Seats available for April 20 and Five Seats available for June 8. Contact Jenny, 206 255 0463, to reserve your spot.
Hi, I’m Jenny Gwinn McGlothern, Certified Transformational Master Life Coach, Retreat Leader, Writer, Teacher and Seeker, oh and that’s right–mother of two. As founder of my retreat business, Mama Needs A Refill, LLC, one way I know I fill my cup is by showing up to a blank page to write. Thank you for stopping by and reading my posts, because I will be honest that fills my cup too, knowing others are reading my filled page. Life is too short to blog about anything else unless it touches my heart. Please know I appreciate you joining me on this journey whether you visit regularly since I began in 2009 or this is your first blog stop.
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