5 am every Christmas morning. No need for an alarm clock. I would run down the stairs with or without my siblings in search of a full stocking. Even though there were were the same treats every year (chocolate coins, a candy cane and an orange) I still vibrated with excitement. When I went to bed the sock hung limply empty and somehow in the night magic happened. I knew it was my mom. They never kept that a secret but it was still just as magical. Now that I have my own daughter I am excited to carry on the tradition!
When I was young, Santa was this white bearded guy on wrapping paper that other kids believed in. My Mom was very strict. Christmas was about Jesus. Period. It wasn’t until I was grown up that I heard about St. Nicholas.
Santa was real afterall. But he didn’t live on the North Pole, he lived in Europe. He had no reindeer or elves to help him. He was simply a guy who was blessed with riches and wanted to share them with the poor. One night some girls hung their socks up to dry over the fireplace and in the morning they were filled with golden coins. It didn’t matter whether the girls were naughty or nice or whether they had written a letter or sat on Santa’s knee in the mall. In honour of Jesus, Nicholas reached out to those in need with love.
In the excitement of stockings and presents, let’s not forget the real Santa story behind them and the even greater story of the baby who came as a light in the darkness with great news:
“Peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled” – Hark the Herald Angels Sing.