Santa’s no longer welcome at my house. I thought I’d be enchanted with him forever. But before I hit thirty I knew he’d been stringing me along. And I realized he couldn’t offer anything I truly wanted. I’d been completely deceived by the glitz and candle light, which, while pretty, still left me in the dark.
Santa couldn’t deliver the Hallmark-card family I yearned for. No slippers or even diamond earrings were going to make up for my disillusionment. No amount of shopping, gift giving or cookie baking could balance out the guilt I felt about how I fussed at my small children or criticized my husband. I needed a new me, and Santa couldn’t produce it.
Then Jesus came calling. When I understood that He wanted to trade me divine forgiveness for my shame, I placed my faith in the cradle-to-cross Savior.
I learned that Christmas is all about the second chance, the clean slate, the renewed spirit that Jesus offers. He was the miracle and Santa a sham. I plugged the chimney, metaphorically speaking, and put up the manger on the mantle.
So you won’t find Santa here. We celebrate Jesus born and Jesus resurrected.
Forget the little hooves on the roof top. I’d rather have the angelic hosts singing to high heaven and its King. I love the Light of the World more than the colored strings on my Christmas tree. The trappings of the season (interesting word, “trappings”) can’t compare with the truth behind the celebration.
I pray that your festivities would be focused on God-Come-Down. Merry Christmas.
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