Dear Santa: A Letter From A Grown-Up

Dear Santa,

I know I don’t write to you anymore. You see, I’m a grown-up now. A mom with a full-time job and a house and leaves that need blowing and laundry that needs folding and gifts that need buying and wrapping. My son doesn’t believe in you anymore. He believes in the spirit of Christmas, yes, but not you. He doesn’t want to make lists or stand in line for those few precious minutes of your time. He doesn’t want to ask you. He just asks me. So, there is no “you” to rely on. There’s only me now. And, I haven’t written to you in years. Decades of years. But, this year I’d like to ask for something and I’m counting on you remembering me from when I had pigtails and gingham dresses and big dreams. I’m not so different now, you know. Just without the pigtails and the gingham. Still believing that you’re real. And that you’ll hear me.

I think hope would be a nice gift this year.

Not just for me. But for all of us. We’re all so busy, Santa. We work and we parent and work while we parent. We only stop when we absolutely have to and even then sometimes we still keep going. Sometimes we see no other way through it. But here’s what I’m asking for this Christmas. Help us to see. Help us to stop and see. And believe. Not necessarily in you. But, in the hope that’s all around us. The hope for more time. We can make that time. The hope for more peace. We can create that peace in our own homes. The hope for more of the important things. And less of the things that steal that time and peace that we need so badly.

I know you know what I mean, Santa.

Look at all you have to do in just one night. Look at everyone — every child — you give to in that handful of hours. Making dinner and helping with homework would be an easy day for you, I’m sure. And yet I’ve never seen an image of you defeated or complaining or tired. You are always the perfect image of, well, hope. Your smile makes us feel like any gift is possible. Your ho-ho-ho fills us with happiness. You’re a warm, safe place where we can ask for our biggest wish without judgment.

I guess that’s why I’m writing to you.

I need a little hope without judgment. I need a little love without fear. I need a little rest without guilt. Not just me. We all need those things. We all need you sometimes, Santa. Not just in December. And, not just as children. But always. In that small place in our hurried, mortgage-paying hearts where we’re shy but smiling with pigtails and gingham. So, if you could find just a few, brief minutes on December 24th to make your way to my tree that the cats have destroyed, I would appreciate it. You don’t have to wrap my hope. Or even put it in my stocking. You can simply leave it there. Even if it’s the smallest little bit that you have to spare, I’ll find it.

Good luck, Santa. We may all be too busy and grown-up to keep in touch these days. But, we’re still rooting for you. I promise.

Love,
Me