Dear Jesus,

     Truth is….this feels a bit strange to be petitioning you in this way. At times I feel I don’t know you any more than a fat man in a red suit. First introduced to you both as a child, with child understandings and faith in things not seen. Came to know and to love you both through favorite bedtime stories and seasonal celebrations and traditions. Natural and man made.

But now in the light and true Spirit of the Christmas Season, I choose to call your name, not Santa’s. You, Jesus, are the reason for this glorious season and much more. I think I should say “Thank you, Merry Christmas! Happy Birthday! I sing a song of Heavenly, angelic proportions to rival Handel’s Messiah sung by my Arizona friend, and gifted to me across minutes and miles. This done secretly, in spite of threats to silence phones, in a very long Secret Santa concealed cell phone offering.

I come to you, leading children these days, not robed in white and blowing trumpets, but in 4th grade style with genuine smiles and laughter. A less reverant, albeit drummer girl playing drums. The children and I come marching, swaying like choir seraphs, then shouting, and shooting party poppers in the end. Loud and rowdy. Still, I think the “grown man you” would say, “Let them come unto me.” If we wer to approach the baby you, we might be scolded, but still push toward your manger.

I’d cheer you with a hearty Happy Birthday and many more loving sentiments….with my cold December morning chore bucket in hand, spilling to over flowing with life giving water for the chickens and dogs, I love as if my own sheep. With a holiday punch bowl of sweet thirst quenching, gifting drinks to wise men.

I come seeking my perfect Savior as if on a mountain top, a tree farm, a parking lot tree topping shop and go. With new, green living. Fragrant beauty. As if in this festival of trees, I bow down to you like an angel tree, all spent, heavy and bent with charitable pledges and children’s wish lists, clothing sizes, and toy surprises. I bend like a Charlie Brown Christmas where what you see is what you get.

I blink, and shine in color and wattage like delightful gingerbread houses loaded with candy. Like the grown up look-alike attempts that line Hoytsville road at night. Their frosted exteriors, and interiors seem to say “Welcome Home” to a prodigal daughter after a late night swimmers road trip. Offering a figuritive fatted calf, these lights, my light of Christmas shines halogen like, in National Lampoon form. An almost acceptable distraction this time of year.

When I radiate Your love with less thought of myself, when I put your countenance upon me, I am who I was meant to be. At times like this and sometimes others, I feel I can not contain this thing. Feel I will blow a fuse. Suspect I will most certainly be making trips to flip the circuit breaker on the cold North end of the house through snow drifts. I think I can not be ashamed in this thing. Whisper your name.

So in this and other recent humblings and realizations, I begin to change. In this I change my thinking on how to approach inviting students to write holiday letters. Traditionally, I have encouraged the children in their desire to write to Santa. This secular thing accepted largely by society, as many Christians subscribe to a lie that a fat man in red goes down a chimney to give gifts to deserving children.

But this year I tried something different in my school class. I told students I did NOT care who they addressed, so long as they wrote the confessional topic sentence and supporting detail sentences in “Stop Light Paragraph” form. They were to write reasons justifying their being “Naughty or Nice. They accepted this Sage assignment and turned out some priceless letters. The best gifts in heart renderings. Yes, some listing the usual store bought, but many with better motives and even some appologies.

I collected letters, to Santa, to Grandma & Grandpa, To Mrs. R., to reindeer and Rudolph, and to Elves. None to Jesus, although they felt to be to you. And so in the absence of such a formal greeting from my students, I take the opportunity to take their place in writing this letter to you now.

Perhaps in some immaculate Assension I hope this will find you.  Maybe it will find place in the hearts of perhaps a few bloggers walking a path to Bethlehem. I will not send it to the North Pole of Smith’s Corporate Offices.  I will not even send it to my friend who works at the Coalville Post Office.

          In some countries like Italy, where my Italian son resides, letters are written and then burned rising in smoke to the new year. Ha ha…Vatican style for some reason comes to mind. Ha ha…only it is put to the tune of “Gangnam Style” weird humor.

            If only I were more like the Pope, his holy father, or his hired almnist, my best intentions and wishes would maybe more effectively find their way up to Him.  My thoughts and deeds would fall as seed and root in my heart. Then I might feel more at ease in doing more good works among my fellow men and women.  I might now worry that these precious things might be dropped and tossed by my sin, into some toxic, recycle utah landfill.  All full of mistakes, regrets and inaction. All watered down like leachate. Leachate being the word of the day. 

I would rather deliver this letter in person, in going right to the source.   But seeing this fairly impossible, I will resign to writing, praying, and imagining it already signed, sealed and delivered. I think somehow it WILL find you, and already has, if not by magic, then by a miracle.

I think that for one with all power and glory….anything is possible. For a Father who employs winged doves, and winged guardian angels, and a Son who rises on the third day, anything is possible in God’s love. His love makes Santa pale in his midnight escapades.

               And so I give thanks, and offer a very short wish list knowing that if I didn’t get anything at all, I would still be happily satisfied in giving all to those more in need of the love and creativity I have to share.

Merry Christmas! And thank you from my heart…

Love, Mrs. Robertson

What I want for Christmas

Thank you. I already have everything I need…but maybe I could persuade you to help me with a few things that I want….

  • To learn to love more fully and appropriately, possitively in the present
  • To be a better teacher, mother, wife, and friend
  • To give more than I take
  • To help others find joy in Christ and in Christmas
  • To be in control
  • To be a better blogger upper, not bogger downer 🙂
  • To take my dogs on a long, warm, sunny, winter walk
  • To swim like a Mermaid ~~~&~~~

About hrobertson2013

“Each man ( and mermaid) will be like a shelter from the wind and a refuge from the storm, like streams of water in the desert and the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land”. Isa 32:2 NIV Warning: The author of this blog is not an ordinary individual. Even Mermaids need a rest from all that's real and grown up. Welcome to the wonder of blog. Come be audience to all that's wet and wild in her stories, poems and thoughts. Instructor by day, super hero by night, and mystical mermaid by summer. Whenever she has the fortune of diving into a pond, reservoir, or mountain waterfall, you'll find her there swimming, and singing songs of life.
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