I Want to See Santaaaa!!!

I'm a klutz, I guess. The lady at the jewelers told me that twice in almost five years is "less likely a bizarre coincidence, than it is your using that hand to do more"...or something like that. Basically, she was telling me in a nice way that bending the titanium prongs on my wedding ring is not a defect in their jewelry. It's because I'm klutzy and hard on my rings. So...having noticed one of my prongs "off", I had to relinquish my jewels for repair. My hand felt unbelievably awkward without my rings for the two weeks they were away. But it was worth the wait knowing they'd be renewed to their former glory.

After what seemed like forever, I finally got the call saying the repairs had been made, and that I could come and pick up my rings. I loaded up the girls and made a special trip into town (have y'all gotten the idea yet that I don't get out unless I have to?!). I only had Emma with me the day I dropped them off, so getting through the mall with both girls would prove a slightly greater challenge. With it about the be the weekend, and the season of Christmas shopping, it was a less that ideal time to brave the mall, but we parked, and made our way to the entrance.

Looking ahead to the doors we were to go through, I noticed a familiar couple not too far ahead of us. The man was wearing a bright red suit, with a great black belt and buckle, and sported a full white beard. His wife wore a red velvet floor length dress, trimmed with white fur. Yes, indeed, it was St. Nick and his red-cheeked bride, Mrs. Claus! I motioned to Olivia, and said: "Olivia, look who's here!". I wish I could have captured the look on her face when she saw them. She gripped my hand a bit tighter, and moved from walking slowly behind me, to nearly dragging me behind. We haven't talked about Santa all that much, but from the Christmas shows and books she's seen and heard, she was desperate to meet the big man.

Once inside the mall, we were able to catch up with Santa. Even in my estimation, he looked pretty genuine. I told Olivia she could go say hi, and she was nearly speechless when he turned to her, said hello, and commented on her pretty Christmas tree shirt. After that, he and Mrs. Claus turned to go downstairs. I guess their smoke break was up, and it was time to go back to taking pictures with the kiddies.

We headed for the jewelery store, but Olivia kept her eyes on Santa Claus as long as she possibly could. When she could no longer see him, she began asking me if we could go find him. I said we could, but only after we stopped to pick up my rings. While in line at the jewelers, she continued to ask about finding Santa. He truly was all she could think about. Her desire to find him again was only usurped by the eminent need she had to use the bathroom. Evidently the excitement of seeing St. Nick stirred more than her joy.

Once back from an emergency trip to the bathroom, we walked along the upper floor, and spotted a wintry wonderland down below. Walking closer, we saw him in all his glory, sitting on a throne of lies, surrounded by poinsettias, and totally fake snow. Kids and their parents with credit cards in hand were lined up 20 deep to get pictures with Santa. We stood, admiring Santa and his wonderland for a bit longer, before it was time to go. I genuinely appreciated her wonderment. She'd never seen a Santa before, nor ever been to a mall. Everything was enormous, new, and contained everything fun and beautiful. I let her soak it in and admired her excitement.

Appreciating her wonderment, but now desperately needing to return for naps, I informed my minions that it was time to go home. Those words seemed to be a death sentence on the Christmas spirit, and with them marked the moment Olivia's legs gave out. All of a sudden she was unable to walk, or speak rationally. All she could do was cry out: "I waaaaaaant to seeeee Saaaaaaaanta!!!". I quickly realized what great acoustics the mall possesses, and began making a dash for the door.

Unable to both carry Emma and drag Olivia, I pulled a: "I'm really sorry that we have to go home now, but I can't carry you. If you want to go with me, then you need to walk."

**crickets**

I took a few steps, pretending to walk away from her, which suddenly gave her the strength to rise up off the floor, and run screaming, to grab my hand. I tried to distract her, because a few steps later we were out the door. When she heard the doors close, that's when it got real. She knew we weren't going back in, so the drama increased ten-fold. She lost the use of her legs again, flopped down onto the concrete walkway, and kept crying to go back and see Santa. Loudly.

I moved her over to sit on a stone bench, and decided it would be a good time to do a little filming. Let me tell you, I've got some gems. Filming enabled me to not get too concerned that it was my child disturbing the peace, and focus on capturing some great family memories. A few passers-by pursed their lips at the scene she was making, while other, more generous ones nodded and smiled in my direction, as if to say "I've been there."

After so long, I decided it was time to pack up the party, and finally get home. My poor, extremely tired, star-struck, and disappointed girl, ended up requiring help to the car. I made quite the pack-mule with Emma in the carrier, purse over my left shoulder, and Olivia held to my right. She cried for a while in the car. That is until I began watching the blackmail video(s) of her, at which point she dried her tears and wanted to watch, too. Uhh-huh.

That was last week, and as I've retold this story to a few friends and family, something has slowly been eating away at me with each telling. Olivia's response to seeing Santa was precious, as was her desire to be near him. In between dramatic pleas, I asked what she wanted to do if we went back in to see Santa, and she responded: "I just want to seeeee him! He wants us to stay!".

I absolutely can't blame her for acting like that. She's heard stories about Santa, and seen pictures, but there he was in the flesh. Living, breathing...the very man himself. Even as the magic and excitement of birthdays and holidays has waned with my adulthood and increased responsibilities, I still remember being a kid, and having that intense sense of wonderment. It's a precious thing that I want to foster in my kids for as long as I can.

So, what's my problem you ask? Simply put, during this season of celebrating Christ's birth, as I see my child with the utmost longing to be near Santa, I must ask myself: "Am I as zealous to spend as much time with Jesus?". I have to confess to getting "busy". Sure, I've got kiddos that keep my hands pretty full, a home to maintain, and some animals that require tending, but that's no excuse. During this season of Advent, am I truly counting down the days to His birth with anticipation? Am I intentional with my time so I can be still and listen to Him? And I anxious just to be near Him? And when life presses in and time is running short, will I kick and scream my way to His throne just for a little more time?

These are only hard questions if the answer is no.

While I feel myself falling short of where I want to be, at the same time, I feel His grace drawing me in. Telling me He's still on His throne of truth, waiting for me to sit at His feet; just to spend time with Him. He's not absent during smoke breaks, or limited to working hours. He's available, and wants me and you to be available, too. To be present.

While Olivia's story with Santa is amusing, I hope that you'll let it remind you, as it has me, of our greater need to long for, and desperately seek out time with our Lord. Not to simply be satisfied with warm fuzzy thoughts about him, but to enter into His presence, through time in the word, and in worship. And yes, if we must, even do a little kicking and screaming for more time just to be near Him.