I Believe.

In our house this year, there's been some talk lately about believing.
As in each other.
As in Santa Claus.
As in each other about Santa Claus.
You pickin' up what I'm layin' down??
*Because my sweet littlest Thing reads this occasionally, I want to be as thoughtful as I can here, while at the same time being honest. 

Belief.
It's tricky and at times downright challenging, and perhaps because of recent events in our world and country there has not been a more difficult - and critical - time to have it.

Here's what I believe.

I believe in a lot of things I cannot see, and that much of the time, those are the things that are the most real.
I believe that people believe in different things in different ways, and that is okay.
I believe that if you believe in something, no one else can tell you it's wrong.
I believe - I want to believe - that there's magic in our lives, not just at Christmastime, but everyday.
I believe that if you know how magic works, it's not so magical anymore (which I learned by being an amateur magician at age 10. Once I knew how to do those tricks, it kind of took the joy out of it).

One of my very favorite readings is something that was written 115 years ago, and it couldn't be more contemporary or resonate more than as if it was written yesterday.
And maybe it doesn't answer the real question that Virginia was asking, but I think it can be read to answer many other questions that not only children, but even adults are still asking, 115 years later.

I know you've read it.
But if you haven't read it in awhile, read it again.
I hope it brings a little bit of belief and magic back to your hearts.

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"DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.
"Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
"Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.'
"Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

"VIRGINIA O'HANLON.
"115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET."

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Merry Christmas ~