Here is a recycled seasonal offering from the archive which I hope you’ll enjoy again.  I don’t think from earlier comments that I managed back then to convey exactly what I was trying to say and I’d really like to explain why I wrote this piece in the first place.  I honestly and genuinely DO believe that Father Christmas is real.  Whenever I tell anyone this I tend to get strange looks.  But let me explain.
 
I see Father Christmas as being just as real as the Holy Spirit – indeed, I believe Father Christmas to be an aspect of the Holy Spirit.  Once a year, a universal surge of goodwill descends upon parents the world over and their love is made manifest through the leaving of presents.  Our spiritual connection with the source of all being is through the head chakra which is traditionally represented graphically by the halo, and which can be seen metaphorically as the chimney to the home of our being (our hearts if you like) down which the Holy Spirit in the guise of Father Christmas descends.
 
J M Barrie was particularly profound when he had Tinkerbell advise the Darling children that a fairy dies every time a child no longer believes, and that is equally true of Father Christmas.  It is not until we become parents ourselves that he is resurrected and we understand the real truth.  My two grandsons are 12 and 5 this year, so I am especially looking forward to that almost palpable air of magic that only exists each Christmas Eve after the shops have finally closed.
 
A very Merry Christmas to you all
 
 
Santa Claus
 
I found my small son crying
and asked, “What’s this about?”
He said there was no Santa Claus –
of this he had no doubt.

I cuddled him and gently asked
what put this in his head.
Apparently, at school today
some bigger boys had said.

“They said it’s you and Mummy
who leave the toys for me
and Father Christmas doesn’t come
to bless our Christmas tree”

He looked at me imploringly
I had to put him right
and tell him where I knew his presents
came on Christmas night.

“If it’s Mummy or it’s me
as these big boys believe,
why do we never leave you toys
except on Christmas Eve?

And why do you think Mummy
or that Daddy would do this –
Don’t you think, if it were us,
we’d want a great big kiss

when you wake up on Christmas Day
to presents on your bed? –
and wouldn’t we wait anyway
till Christmas Day instead?”

I told him Father Christmas loved him
more than he could know
and, so long as he believed in him,
that love would never go.

His small face shone, the tears had gone.
Love filled my very pores,
I knew the reason I’d been born –
and the truth of Santa Claus.
 
 
© Mike Lewis 2002