'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house ... every creature was stirring, so I began to rouse (definition: stir, wake up - only word I could think of lol).
It's 1:53 a.m. and Christmas feels different this year. One of my brothers is out of town to play in a bowl game - the first Christmas we're not all under the same roof. My other brother is up watching television in his room. My youngest brother is waiting anxiously in his bed with his eyes squeezed shut, in case my dad peaks his head in.
Me?
I just came from getting a not-so-discreet midnight snack in the kitchen. Afraid to scare my brother, I tiptoed around in the dark (knowing good and well how clumsy I am), loudly crashing into walls, doors and chairs downstairs. If my youngest brother does still have some faith in Santa Claus, he probably thinks he's arranging gifts under the tree right now.
Christmas feels different this year. Not even fifteen years ago, I was huddled under a blanket with my little brothers scared to death of getting a glimpse of this giant intruder clad in red. That was when Santa came to my house. My classmates would always tease me for believing in him, but inside, I laughed at them. Yeah, their parents put gifts under the tree, but at my house? Oh no, we were one of the few houses that Santa visited. Why? Because we were believers. Fierce believers.
Deep inside, I think I still am. I believe in the spirit of Santa and everything that he represents - giving selflessly, family, faith, appreciation, etc. But I always knew that once that glimmer of faith began to fade, that's when he would stop making house calls and parents would have to step in - hence the reason why so many of my skeptical elementary school classmates didn't know him. I don't know that my youngest brother's faith is as strong as ours was. But then, who can blame him? With a house full of twenty-something year old brothers and sisters who stay up late into the night on Christmas Eve, you'd start to doubt too. Just last year he would beg all of us to go lay down around 10:30 p.m. This year my dad had to force him to go lay down.
Times are changing in the Moore household. But I guess change isn't always bad. We're growing up and one of the blessing of growth is that you get to experience being more of a giver than a receiver ... and giving feels so much more rewarding than the former. I just hope Santa comes to visit my kids - the concept of unwavering faith is the greatest gift I can give them.
Merry Christmas!
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