Do You Believe?

We were sitting at a Christmas concert last weekend when my seven year old boy leaned over to me and whispered, “Do you believe?” 

The question felt secretive, magical.  

I responded, “Do you believe?”  (I wanted to respond to this mystical question based on where he was coming from.) 

He said, “Yes.” 

Then he asked his dad, “Do you believe?” 

“No,” J. shortly replied. 

To which Donovan repeated, “I do.” 

Having just heard from another mom that her son didn’t believe, I asked Donovan, “Do you know others who don’t believe?” 

He didn’t hesitate. “No. I don’t know anyone else who doesn’t believe.” 

So here’s my question to you: Do you believe? 

How I discovered the truth about Santa…

I remember when I first learned that Santa wasn’t real.  Growing up we had the tradition of all the kids sleeping in the same room on Christmas Eve.  Usually we slept at the end of the hallway in what used to be the master bedroom, therefore containing a bathroom.  Well, the year I was nine years old, we switched rooms and gathered in the room closest to the main bathroom.  At one point, I left my siblings to use said bathroom.  As I walked out the door I could see into the family room where my dad was putting together a scooter. He looked up to see me and I heard, “Darn it.”   

I rushed into the bathroom, panicked at what I had just witnessed!  I didn’t know what to think, what to do.  The next thing I knew, Mom opened the door to the bathroom and asked what I was doing (though it was obvious.) 

“I thought you guys were in Emily’s room,” she said. 

I quickly finished my business and made it safely back into the bedroom where I burst into tears.  I felt so sad!  My sister convinced me that Mom and Dad were just Santa’s helpers and I spent some time crafting a letter telling my parents I knew they were just helping Santa do his job.  Deep down I still wanted to believe, though the truth was quite evident. 

You want to believe…

Fast forward many years.  I’m in the middle of a conversation with another sister, one who has decided organized religion is not for her.  We went back and forth explaining our differing beliefs, wanting the other to understand.  Finally, she said, “You want to believe.” I was a little taken aback by this statement because it felt like more than a want to me, I was convicted! But as I’ve pondered that conversation, those words, and put them side by side with my earlier experience with Santa I think it’s true. 

I want to believe. I choose to believe.  Believing in anything is a choice! And just as my nine-year old self wanted desperately to believe in a man who wasn’t real, my 40-something self desperately longs to believe in a man who is. The difference is, there was proof that Santa did not exist (at least in the way we’re taught to believe as children). However, the opposite is true when it comes to my belief in Jesus Christ as my Savior.  I have had experiences, I guess I would call it proof, that Jesus does exist in my life and for the world. 

“Thou hast had signs enough…The scriptures are laid before thee, yeah, and all things denote there is a God; yeah, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator (Alma 30:44).” 

Not only does the world testify of a Supreme Creator for me, but also miracles and wonders have been shown to me personally throughout my life. Even to the point that I cannot deny my Savior. Though I have grown up eyes who don’t believe the existence of a jolly man coming down the chimney, I do believe in the existence of a Savior, a Redeemer, and a Friend who did come down from heaven to bless the whole world with unspeakable gifts! Yes, I choose to believe! 

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“Believe in God; believe that he is, and that he created all things, both in heaven and in earth; belive that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth…”  — Mosiah 4:9

“Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me” — John 14:1