The Magic of Believing

"It is the personal thoughtfulness, the warm human awareness, the reaching out of the self to one’s fellow man that makes giving worthy of the Christmas spirit.”
~ Isabel Currier.

In the spring of 2006, my husband and I took four of our children to Hogle Zoo in Salt Lake City.  Just as we entered the zoo, my youngest daughter who was four at the time shouted excitedly, "It's Santa Claus!"  We turned around and sure enough there HE was entering the zoo right behind us.  At least it was someone who looked exactly like Santa was supposed to look, minus the traditional red suit.  He definitely was a jolly round soul with a beautiful white beard.  My little four-year-old ran to him crying, "Santa!"  Embarrassed, I went to collect my excited little girl from this poor Santa-looking man, but that's when something amazing happened.  The man, without missing a beat, stepped right into the role of being Santa.  In fact, in no time at all, he even had me believing he was Santa.  He accepted the firm hug around the legs from my exuberant daughter, asked her if she was being good, and then asked the same of each of my other awestruck children.  He then invited us to come and see him and his reindeer the following December.  I can't remember the place now, but he kept his reindeer nearby in the city of Sandy.  After admonishing my children to be good, Santa wished us all a cheery morning and then excused himself to go "help the animals at the zoo."   My nine-year-old who was almost past the "believing" stage at this point in her life turned to her younger siblings and told them in a wise voice, "That's what Santa does when it's not Christmastime, he helps the animals at the zoo."  It was a magical Christmas moment that I will always remember even though it was a warm day and nearly summertime.

 

Norman Vincent Peale once said, "Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful.”

This wonderful Santa, "warm with human awareness," made the zoo more beautiful that spring day.  He brought with him the magic of believing.  One of my favorite movies this time of year is Miracle on 43rd Street.   I love the response by the editor of the New York Sun written to Virginia O'Hanlan and to all of us:

Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus

By Francis Pharcellus Church, Editor of the New York Sun,
in response to a letter by Virginia O’Hanlan

“We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the
communication below, expressing at the same time
our great gratification that its faithful author is
numbered among the friends of The Sun:

Dear Editor,
I am eight 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

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 external 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 you 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 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, 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 lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.”

Don't you just love that!  I love the magic of believing!  One of my favorite Christmas stories about the magic of believing is the following by Kitty L. Mickelson entitled, From Santa With Love:

          At Christmas no request is too large or small, no person is too young or old to hope their dreams will come true.

          I remember back when I was nine years old standing in the line to see Santa.  If I wasn’t the eldest child in line, I was certainly the tallest.  My friends didn’t believe in Santa anymore, but that didn’t bother me.  I believed.

          When it was my turn, I not only told Santa what I wanted for Christmas, I assured him how much I believed.  He reached into his sack, handed me a candy cane, and sent me on my way.

          “That was quick,” said my dad, who was waiting for me.  “Did you tell Santa what you wanted for Christmas?”

          “This year I only want one thing,” I replied, spreading my arms wide.  “My own spaceship.”

          My father’s face went blank.  I guess he had expected me to ask for one of the special dolls that were popular then in the early 1950′s.  But I had been hooked on Space Patrol and Captain Jet since we got our first television set and thought nothing could be more exciting than driving through the universe.

          However, during Christmas vacation, Clyde, our town bully, made me his special target.  “Santa Claus,” he derided me.  “I suppose you’ve seen a reindeer fly, too?”

          “No,” I said defensively.  “Some things I just know.”

          “Like getting a spaceship for Christmas?” Clyde hooted.  “You must have rocks in your head!”

          I didn’t answer.  Clyde was three years older than I was and he always had the last word.

          On my way back to our neat house with the fenced-in yard, tears burned my cheeks.  For the first time I had doubts.  When I got home I found Father sitting in the living-room recliner.  “Why the long face?” he asked.

          “The kids say I’m crazy because I asked Santa for a spaceship,” I sniffed.  “Do you think it’s crazy?”

          The Christmas tree lights reflected in his glasses.  “The only thing that matters is what you think.”

          I sighed.  “It does seem silly, I guess.  I don’t even know how Santa would get it here, do you?”

          “Not offhand,” said Father, smiling.  “I believe anything is possible, though.”

That Christmas morning I woke up early still hoping that somehow my dreams of a spaceship could come true.  I ran downstairs to find that Santa had been there.  Our stockings on the hearth were filled to overflowing, and the milk and cookies I’d left out the night before were gone–but there was no sign of a spaceship.  I was disappointed but not really surprised.  Asking for a spaceship was dumb.  Clyde was right.

          Christmas music flowed from the radio and the tree lights burned brightly against the pine branches.  While Mother poured cocoa into our cups and Father distributed the presents, I quietly rummaged through my stocking.  Among the small items, I found a note.  It directed me to look in the front yard.  I ran to the door and threw it open.  A group of kids with awestruck faces were huddled in our driveway, their Christmas presents forgotten.  I ran outside and pushed through the circle, hardly able to believe my eyes.  There stood a five-foot long spaceship, built of plywood, with four wheels and a padded seat that faced a panel of instruments just like the ones in a real cockpit.  Though only pedal power could make it move, there were enough switches and dials on the control panel to keep any child happy.  Everyone was pleading for a chance to ride my spaceship–even Clyde.

          Our imagination took us to many far galaxies that day.  In between those trips I saw my father’s face, watching from the window.  I knew the spacecraft had not come from Santa.  My father created it with a hammer and nails and, most of all, love.

          Years have passed since then, but the memory of the spaceship is still alive at Christmas time.  My father had not only given me my heart’s desire that year, he helped me to discover what he already knew–that Santa Claus is the magic of believing.

I am thankful all these years later to my Hogle Zoo Santa and to all who continue to invite the magic of believing.  Andy Rooney said once,  "One of the most glorious messes in the world is the mess created in the living room on Christmas day. Don’t clean it up too quickly.” I believe that!  Children grow up so fast!  I hope we can all keep the magic alive!

"Christmas–that magic blanket that wraps itself about us, that something so intangible that it is like a fragrance. It may weave a spell of nostalgia. Christmas may be a day of feasting, or of prayer, but always it will be a day of remembrance–a day in which we think of everything we have ever loved.”
~ Augusta E. Rundell