(This is the editorial given when a young girl wrote the New York Sun asking if Santa was real. It's also been an animated story shown in my childhood and just was recently recreated using digital animation. To me, the message is beautiful and what I'd love to teach my son.)
VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] 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 eternal 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 they 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 may 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, fancy, 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 he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Leaving Christmas in Christmas...
I can remember when I was a little girl how furious my mother became when she saw "xmas" on anything. She would continue walking around the store ranting (much to my embarrassment) about how there was a reason the word "Christ" was in Christmas and to leave it out was blasphemy and a reason for outrage. At the time, nearly 30 years ago, I thought she was over-reacting just a bit. I mean, c'mon, who could be upset at the word "Christmas"? It's not like people didnt know what the "x" meant.
I was wrong.
Today, it's everywhere or I should say it's NOT everywhere. In New Jersey, there are billboards declaring the entire holiday is a myth. In Philadelphia, the German Christmas Village is now the German Holiday Village because neighbors and a "few workers" complained. Schools are no longer allowed to sing O Holy Night or O Little Town of Bethlehem or even Silent Night in their Holiday concerts. The nativity scene is not permitted on city/state/federal properties and many offices "discourage" the display of anything but secular decorations. Even at my workplace, there are no more "Secret Santas" and the Christmas party became the "Holiday Party" then it became the "Annual Event" and is held in June.
Yes, yes, I know. Christmas is a Pagan holiday and was before Christ was born. Yule was stolen by the Christians so that they could ease the pagans into Christianity by using established "holidays" as their own. The same thing happened with Easter (Ostara) and Hallowe'en (All Hallows Eve). It wasnt right to usurp the existing holiday and make up Christian reasons for the decorations (Christmas Tree, yule log, gifts, etc). But it happened and is now so woven in our framework that I dont think it can or should be separated again.
In this Golden Era (turn on Sarcasm font) of Political Correctness, I think we're going too far. No one is forcing you to celebrate Christmas. If you dont, if you're Jewish and celebrate Hanukkah, or you celebrate Kwanzaa, or if you are
So, before I just start ranting without making sense or start repeating myself...
Yes, Virginia... there IS a Christmas. It lives in the heart and soul of everyone who remembers it. It lives in mine. And NO ONE can take that away from me unless I let them.
So MERRY CHRISTMAS!!
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Must be a trend...
Not the kind of trend one wants to see, but ...
You know, if I thought it would really help, I'd tell everyone what happened in my first marriage and what lessons I'd learned.
I learned, first and foremost, never to settle. I dont care if it's in a romance, in a job, in yourself. Life's just too short. I wrote in a journal once that I missed feeling passionate about the person I was with but "that's ok, I dont need passionate love". How sad is that? It wasnt enough to like my ex. He did some rotten things to me, things I'm not ready to write on the internet yet. But, I also wasnt in love with him. I just thought nothing else would come along and thought, why not.
"Why not?" lasted me though 5 years. By then I was fed up with settling and missing out on feeling passionate about anything and didnt know how to handle it. So I cheated on him... alot (well, by some standards). I didnt like myself much for that decision, still dont as a matter of fact. And yes, for all you out there who think, "It just happened" or my favorite, "well you cant control who you love..." It was a decision for me to step outside my vows and it was a decision to get on a plane and fly to Atlanta and it was a decision to let that other guy share my bed. I DECIDED and had plenty of moments to stop and say "No, not this way."
I learned that I should have been a better person and been truthful with myself and him and told him things werent working, that I didnt love him. I should have left him first, gotten my marriage settled first, THEN searched for love. Not the other way around. I owed us both that much. Then I could look back on my past without so much regret and shame. I could still hold my head high or at least a little higher than I do now.
Just within that last week or so, I've heard so many stories of this person leaving that person, telling them they just werent in love anymore or marriage wasnt what they expected, or that it was too hard. They went and found someone who made them feel better about themselves or gave them that energy you get from new relationships or whatever it was they felt was missing and they threw away the other person like they were a piece of used toilet paper stuck to their shoe.
They, like me, CHOSE to respond to desire instead of treating their partner with the respect that every human being deserves. Oh how I wish I could rattle their heads together, but the damage is already done. That's why I say I wish I could tell people what I'd learn. But adultery is a sin as old as time... wouldnt be one of the Ten if it werent so. That's the saddest part. I could expose my sins, my shame, and no one would learn a thing. They'd just rationalize why they have the right to go on with their lives they way they want.
It's just so sad.
When I say that I think someone was wrong for cheating on their partner, those who know me ask, "Well what about you and xxxx"? Yeah... I'm a cheater... You'd think that having lived that mistake and being strong enough to admit that how I handled things was a mistake would entitle me with the right to tell someone else they were wrong.
Nope.
You know, if I thought it would really help, I'd tell everyone what happened in my first marriage and what lessons I'd learned.
I learned, first and foremost, never to settle. I dont care if it's in a romance, in a job, in yourself. Life's just too short. I wrote in a journal once that I missed feeling passionate about the person I was with but "that's ok, I dont need passionate love". How sad is that? It wasnt enough to like my ex. He did some rotten things to me, things I'm not ready to write on the internet yet. But, I also wasnt in love with him. I just thought nothing else would come along and thought, why not.
"Why not?" lasted me though 5 years. By then I was fed up with settling and missing out on feeling passionate about anything and didnt know how to handle it. So I cheated on him... alot (well, by some standards). I didnt like myself much for that decision, still dont as a matter of fact. And yes, for all you out there who think, "It just happened" or my favorite, "well you cant control who you love..." It was a decision for me to step outside my vows and it was a decision to get on a plane and fly to Atlanta and it was a decision to let that other guy share my bed. I DECIDED and had plenty of moments to stop and say "No, not this way."
I learned that I should have been a better person and been truthful with myself and him and told him things werent working, that I didnt love him. I should have left him first, gotten my marriage settled first, THEN searched for love. Not the other way around. I owed us both that much. Then I could look back on my past without so much regret and shame. I could still hold my head high or at least a little higher than I do now.
Just within that last week or so, I've heard so many stories of this person leaving that person, telling them they just werent in love anymore or marriage wasnt what they expected, or that it was too hard. They went and found someone who made them feel better about themselves or gave them that energy you get from new relationships or whatever it was they felt was missing and they threw away the other person like they were a piece of used toilet paper stuck to their shoe.
They, like me, CHOSE to respond to desire instead of treating their partner with the respect that every human being deserves. Oh how I wish I could rattle their heads together, but the damage is already done. That's why I say I wish I could tell people what I'd learn. But adultery is a sin as old as time... wouldnt be one of the Ten if it werent so. That's the saddest part. I could expose my sins, my shame, and no one would learn a thing. They'd just rationalize why they have the right to go on with their lives they way they want.
It's just so sad.
When I say that I think someone was wrong for cheating on their partner, those who know me ask, "Well what about you and xxxx"? Yeah... I'm a cheater... You'd think that having lived that mistake and being strong enough to admit that how I handled things was a mistake would entitle me with the right to tell someone else they were wrong.
Nope.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
What do you do when the person you know, isn’t the person you thought they were?
Now, first let me say that I’m not talking about my husband. We might have our issues, but I’ve never looked at him and wondered what the hell he was thinking. I’m just venting.
Okay, okay, yes, something triggered it but still, this is a blog, I don’t have to say exactly what caused the vent, do I? Can’t you, the reader, be satisfied in knowing that something was sufficiently bad enough that it drove me to write it all down?
So I ask again. What do you do when the person you know turns out to be someone completely different? How do you look at that person in the same light again? How do you not go look over past events and past conversations and pick them apart, looking for clues you might have missed while you were stumbling around blind?
Yes, it is a known fact that people change, people evolve. I would have to be stupid to not realize that, well stupid or naïve, but still. But there’s evolution and there’s … who the HELL are you? I would blame it on growing older but the situation that triggered this has been going on for years. I am shocked, I am floored, and I am flabbergasted and overwhelmed by it all. It’s too much to take in, too much to process. I’d give details but the story is not mine to tell, and the person to whom the story belongs is too pained to tell it again.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
I miss it
What is it, you might ask?
Church. There, I said it. I miss going to church.
When I was growing up, we were one of those families who were in church whenever the doors were open. So many of my memories are steeped in the church that it's hard to think of one that isn't. There was church pageants, vacation bible school, Sunday school songs, etc. I was indoctrinated before I was weened from formula.
God is... was... someone I turned to when things were rough. And frequently, things were rough. Daddy's illness, money troubles, things that I'm not sure little children should know about clouded my view for years. God was my rock, my comfort, my port in the storm. But even at that age, I had trouble believing fully in Him. I can remember seeing my friends "getting blessed" during services and I felt nothing and I was so jealous of them that I actually stuck my fingers in my eyes to make myself cry.
How lame is that?
I turned to my church family as one would to their blood family. My memories are full of the stereotypical Southern church services where we'd sing in stuffy sanctuaries - and they all smelled the same way - old wood, pledge, and some unexplained smell that can only be found in old churches. We'd fan ourselves with these large cardboard fans that came from one of the local funeral homes and usually had a picture of Jesus knocking on a wooden door or praying in Gethsemane. Then there would be table after table of foods, made by good, Christian women. And there'd be a separate table just for desserts. I can still feel the sting of getting my legs pinched on those folding wooden chairs and the smell of the coffee in the percolator.
Church to me was more than a service, more than an expression of my faith. It was my extended family. Which is why, years later, when certain things happened that changed how I saw my "family" that it made so painful to leave, but even more painful to stay.
That was nearly 15 years ago. And I miss it.
I miss the music, the songs, hearing songs like, "He Touched Me" or "It is Well" and the feeling in my heart when I'd sing them. I miss the lump in my throat, the quiver in my voice as I sing, "How Great Thou Art". I miss the sermons, of hearing someone else's take on scripture. I miss the fellowship, the smiles. I miss it all. Well, most of it.
See, when this feeling hits, this feeling that I miss it, then I remember all the reasons I left it. Then I fight with myself over missing it. I also fear, that even if I did start going to church, that I'd never find what I was missing.
Now there's Logan to think of. I want him to have my memories. Well most of them. I dont want him sitting in VBS and watching a movie about the end of the world and be too afraid to sleep or afraid that the rapture has happened and he's missed it when I dont answer his call. Those are other things I dont miss.
I wonder if there's a missing church support group?
Church. There, I said it. I miss going to church.
When I was growing up, we were one of those families who were in church whenever the doors were open. So many of my memories are steeped in the church that it's hard to think of one that isn't. There was church pageants, vacation bible school, Sunday school songs, etc. I was indoctrinated before I was weened from formula.
God is... was... someone I turned to when things were rough. And frequently, things were rough. Daddy's illness, money troubles, things that I'm not sure little children should know about clouded my view for years. God was my rock, my comfort, my port in the storm. But even at that age, I had trouble believing fully in Him. I can remember seeing my friends "getting blessed" during services and I felt nothing and I was so jealous of them that I actually stuck my fingers in my eyes to make myself cry.
How lame is that?
I turned to my church family as one would to their blood family. My memories are full of the stereotypical Southern church services where we'd sing in stuffy sanctuaries - and they all smelled the same way - old wood, pledge, and some unexplained smell that can only be found in old churches. We'd fan ourselves with these large cardboard fans that came from one of the local funeral homes and usually had a picture of Jesus knocking on a wooden door or praying in Gethsemane. Then there would be table after table of foods, made by good, Christian women. And there'd be a separate table just for desserts. I can still feel the sting of getting my legs pinched on those folding wooden chairs and the smell of the coffee in the percolator.
Church to me was more than a service, more than an expression of my faith. It was my extended family. Which is why, years later, when certain things happened that changed how I saw my "family" that it made so painful to leave, but even more painful to stay.
That was nearly 15 years ago. And I miss it.
I miss the music, the songs, hearing songs like, "He Touched Me" or "It is Well" and the feeling in my heart when I'd sing them. I miss the lump in my throat, the quiver in my voice as I sing, "How Great Thou Art". I miss the sermons, of hearing someone else's take on scripture. I miss the fellowship, the smiles. I miss it all. Well, most of it.
See, when this feeling hits, this feeling that I miss it, then I remember all the reasons I left it. Then I fight with myself over missing it. I also fear, that even if I did start going to church, that I'd never find what I was missing.
Now there's Logan to think of. I want him to have my memories. Well most of them. I dont want him sitting in VBS and watching a movie about the end of the world and be too afraid to sleep or afraid that the rapture has happened and he's missed it when I dont answer his call. Those are other things I dont miss.
I wonder if there's a missing church support group?
Monday, July 5, 2010
Giving this a try
Not sure who'll be interested enough to read one of my blogs or if I want anyone to read it. I just see so many and wonder if I shouldnt be using it as an outlet.
This weekend, I thought I lost my son.
My son, my miracle, so many ways to rip out my heart. First, my sitter writes me to say that she's noticed my son running into walls and tripping over things. Immediately, I'm thinking the worst - that some nervous system disorder was robbing my son of his health at just 15 months. My husband told me that ever since reading the sitter's note, I've used the words "perfect son" more than once and mostly in the context of loving him even if he werent our "perfect son" anymore. We have a doctor's appointment on Wednesday and hopefully everything can be laid to rest as we havent seen him doing anything like that over the weekend.
The second heart-stopping moment was at the beach. My son would not let us take him in the water, well not by carrying him in, but I got him playing at the water's edge. He was so happy finding rocks and bringing them in his little hand to "wash" them in the water, running away from the tiny waves lapping at the edge. Then he saw his father, who was standing waist deep. Our son charged into the water and made it until it was about chest deep before I could get to him. Before I could get a grip on his suit though, a wave knocked his legs out from under him and he went under, face first. I pulled him from the water but in that slow motion of panic, I saw him ebb away first and his arms and legs dangling at his sides. He didnt panic, he just waited for Mama to get him. I pulled him up and out of the water, expecting to be greeted with sputtering and crying - his normal reaction to water in the face - but he just looked up at his dad and laughed. His father looked at me with a look that read, "How did you let that happen??" He neednt have accused me of anything, I was already torturing myself with what might have happened.
But now it's Monday night and we're back to our routine. Mama and baby had a bath together where we played like the water babies we are. Daddy threw the toys that "escaped" the tub back into the water while our son laughed true belly laughs. Then while daddy showered, I tried to nurse our son to sleep, but he was more interested in talking to "Nana" on the phone. Soon this night will be over as we slip into dream land.
I never knew it was like this - motherhood. I knew there was love. I knew there was unconditional love. But I never knew there was this madness, this frustration when we cant communicate, frustration when he doesnt do what I think he should be doing, this wondering how my mother survived it at all and... the love. This love that washes all that other crap away. One look at his smile or when he reaches up to me and says, "Mom-my"... and all I can do is thank God that I've been given this chance and pray I dont mess him up.
This weekend, I thought I lost my son.
My son, my miracle, so many ways to rip out my heart. First, my sitter writes me to say that she's noticed my son running into walls and tripping over things. Immediately, I'm thinking the worst - that some nervous system disorder was robbing my son of his health at just 15 months. My husband told me that ever since reading the sitter's note, I've used the words "perfect son" more than once and mostly in the context of loving him even if he werent our "perfect son" anymore. We have a doctor's appointment on Wednesday and hopefully everything can be laid to rest as we havent seen him doing anything like that over the weekend.
The second heart-stopping moment was at the beach. My son would not let us take him in the water, well not by carrying him in, but I got him playing at the water's edge. He was so happy finding rocks and bringing them in his little hand to "wash" them in the water, running away from the tiny waves lapping at the edge. Then he saw his father, who was standing waist deep. Our son charged into the water and made it until it was about chest deep before I could get to him. Before I could get a grip on his suit though, a wave knocked his legs out from under him and he went under, face first. I pulled him from the water but in that slow motion of panic, I saw him ebb away first and his arms and legs dangling at his sides. He didnt panic, he just waited for Mama to get him. I pulled him up and out of the water, expecting to be greeted with sputtering and crying - his normal reaction to water in the face - but he just looked up at his dad and laughed. His father looked at me with a look that read, "How did you let that happen??" He neednt have accused me of anything, I was already torturing myself with what might have happened.
But now it's Monday night and we're back to our routine. Mama and baby had a bath together where we played like the water babies we are. Daddy threw the toys that "escaped" the tub back into the water while our son laughed true belly laughs. Then while daddy showered, I tried to nurse our son to sleep, but he was more interested in talking to "Nana" on the phone. Soon this night will be over as we slip into dream land.
I never knew it was like this - motherhood. I knew there was love. I knew there was unconditional love. But I never knew there was this madness, this frustration when we cant communicate, frustration when he doesnt do what I think he should be doing, this wondering how my mother survived it at all and... the love. This love that washes all that other crap away. One look at his smile or when he reaches up to me and says, "Mom-my"... and all I can do is thank God that I've been given this chance and pray I dont mess him up.
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