Post by Blu on Dec 7, 2004 15:21:02 GMT -5
Sometimes I have trouble deciding where to put these posts. When I find a real good one I want to put it everywhere. Wait...they are all good ones or I would not be posting them... ok. So I am posting this here. It's got everything, hope, inspiration, and Jesus!
The Magic of Belief
Sifting through my mental memory box, I find two images collected during my gradual discovery that Santa Claus is merely a myth. First, there was finding the box in the attic that went with the Revlon doll I’d received on Christmas morning when I was five. The doll had not been in the box when I found her under the tree, and I realized she came from a store. The following Christmas I said to my mother, “I’m not sure I believe in Santa Claus anymore.” “Don’t say that, Emily!” she pleaded, holding me close on her lap. “Of course there’s a Santa Claus. He’s the spirit of Christmas!” After that, Santa Claus was no longer a jolly, magical man in a red suit trimmed in white. He was an unseen spirit, like Jesus and God. The other is a vivid, treasured memory of what it was like to really and truly believe in Santa Claus. My brother Steve and I were going to sleep together in the same bed on Christmas Eve so that we could share the excitement of that special night. I suppose he was four and I was three. The air was thick with magic. “I think I hear sleigh bells on the roof,” Steve whispered. We were not lying down, but kneeling at the bottom of the bed, leaning over the foot board, straining to see out the door into the dimly lit hallway. We knew he was coming. I waited many years to recapture the thrill of such a sure knowing about the miraculous. I was a 40-year-old mother when I listened to the story of a friend of mine who had been close to death in the hospital. As she lay in her bed, immersed in a pool of pain, Jesus came to her, just as real as you or I. “He was like pure love looking at me,” she said. He led her down a path toward a river where people beckoned from the far bank. The colors were more vibrant than those we see in our everyday lives. She told Jesus that she couldn’t go any further with Him – she had five children to care for. So He brought her back, to her pain and gradual recovery. Before that time, I had read stories in books and magazines, written by people who had met Jesus, or an angel, or experienced a miracle of healing. But reading stories written by strangers is not the same as hearing such a miraculous tale from the lips of a friend – an ordinary mother, just like me. Tears welled in my eyes. The Hallelujah Chorus crescendoed inside of me. The air was thick with magic. My friend had met Jesus. He had come to her when she needed Him most. Now I knew that He would come to me, too.
I felt like a small child on Christmas Eve again. Back then I knew that Santa was coming. Now I knew that Jesus is coming. Jesus, who did come as a baby on the first Christmas Eve, comes again for everyone who looks for Him. First, as a blessing in our hearts and souls. Then, as a friend, to light our way in the darkness when we are lost, or sick, or dying. When will I see Him? When will the embodiment of love look in my eyes and show me how precious I am? I don’t know when it will happen, but I know that it will. Whenever I think about it, the air is thick with magic. He is coming.
By Emily VanLaeys, a writer in Oneonta, New York, is the author of Dream Weaving: Using Your Dreams to Create Life’s Tapestry.
To finish reading this article go to:
www.edgarcayce.org/venture_inward/11122002/the_magic_of_belief.htm
The Magic of Belief
Sifting through my mental memory box, I find two images collected during my gradual discovery that Santa Claus is merely a myth. First, there was finding the box in the attic that went with the Revlon doll I’d received on Christmas morning when I was five. The doll had not been in the box when I found her under the tree, and I realized she came from a store. The following Christmas I said to my mother, “I’m not sure I believe in Santa Claus anymore.” “Don’t say that, Emily!” she pleaded, holding me close on her lap. “Of course there’s a Santa Claus. He’s the spirit of Christmas!” After that, Santa Claus was no longer a jolly, magical man in a red suit trimmed in white. He was an unseen spirit, like Jesus and God. The other is a vivid, treasured memory of what it was like to really and truly believe in Santa Claus. My brother Steve and I were going to sleep together in the same bed on Christmas Eve so that we could share the excitement of that special night. I suppose he was four and I was three. The air was thick with magic. “I think I hear sleigh bells on the roof,” Steve whispered. We were not lying down, but kneeling at the bottom of the bed, leaning over the foot board, straining to see out the door into the dimly lit hallway. We knew he was coming. I waited many years to recapture the thrill of such a sure knowing about the miraculous. I was a 40-year-old mother when I listened to the story of a friend of mine who had been close to death in the hospital. As she lay in her bed, immersed in a pool of pain, Jesus came to her, just as real as you or I. “He was like pure love looking at me,” she said. He led her down a path toward a river where people beckoned from the far bank. The colors were more vibrant than those we see in our everyday lives. She told Jesus that she couldn’t go any further with Him – she had five children to care for. So He brought her back, to her pain and gradual recovery. Before that time, I had read stories in books and magazines, written by people who had met Jesus, or an angel, or experienced a miracle of healing. But reading stories written by strangers is not the same as hearing such a miraculous tale from the lips of a friend – an ordinary mother, just like me. Tears welled in my eyes. The Hallelujah Chorus crescendoed inside of me. The air was thick with magic. My friend had met Jesus. He had come to her when she needed Him most. Now I knew that He would come to me, too.
I felt like a small child on Christmas Eve again. Back then I knew that Santa was coming. Now I knew that Jesus is coming. Jesus, who did come as a baby on the first Christmas Eve, comes again for everyone who looks for Him. First, as a blessing in our hearts and souls. Then, as a friend, to light our way in the darkness when we are lost, or sick, or dying. When will I see Him? When will the embodiment of love look in my eyes and show me how precious I am? I don’t know when it will happen, but I know that it will. Whenever I think about it, the air is thick with magic. He is coming.
By Emily VanLaeys, a writer in Oneonta, New York, is the author of Dream Weaving: Using Your Dreams to Create Life’s Tapestry.
To finish reading this article go to:
www.edgarcayce.org/venture_inward/11122002/the_magic_of_belief.htm