I believe

I am 39 years old, and I believe in Santa Claus.

Ever since as long as I can remember, Santa ALWAYS came to visit me at Christmas…or at least he left or sent me presents. I have never had a Christmas when I didn’t have something to open from Santa. All of these years, I assumed my Dad (and sometimes my Mom) was Santa’s little helper.

This year, my Dad and Joanne and my Mom sent me lovely Christmas packages. But there wasn’t anything in it wrapped and signed “from Santa”. This is understandable since most post offices advise senders not to wrap packages going overseas. I did receive a “secret Santa” gift from someone who works here at the hospital. It was a wonderful gift. But it wasn’t REALLY from Santa or “his little helper”, I knew this because I, too, had given a “secret Santa” gift.

I really thought that this was going to be my first Christmas without Santa finding me.

Christmas started relatively uneventful. I had gone to Mass on Christmas Eve. There wasn’t any Mass on Christmas day at our Camp because the Priest had gone to another to celebrate Christmas Mass. So instead, I went to work at the wood shop and then went for a haircut.

The hair stylist asked if I would be interested in a facial. I figured I had nothing better to do and I needed to kill at least another hour before I could reach anyone in the States due to the time difference. She said it would take about 40 minutes. Perfect.

I dozed in and out as she applied scrubs and lotions and masks and peels. It was very relaxing. Just what I needed.

When she was finished, I slowly mustered the energy to get up and go pay my bill. The cashier just smiled at me and said, “No charge.” Excuse me. No charge. As in free? But I haven’t paid yet. My groggy mind was having a difficult time wrapping itself around this concept. She then said that the gentleman that had just left paid for everyone. I asked her for his name so I could thank him. But she just smiled and said that he asked to remain anonymous. That he did not want our thanks but to tell us he just wanted us to have a Merry Christmas.

As I walked back to our living area, I got a little teary. It seemed Santa found me after all. Maybe it wasn’t the jolly ol’ elf that we take our children to see, and maybe it wasn’t Santa’s helper in the form of my Dad. But it was the spirit and goodness of Christmas…the giving of gifts with no expectation of a present in return or even a thank you. And if in my mind that is what Santa represents, then yes, I am 39 years old and I believe in Santa Claus. And I hope to continue to believe always.