My Dearest St. Nicholas,
As I get older, Santa, I have figured out that I want less of what costs the most. I want less worry as that would dwindle away my well being. I want less stress so I don’t have to pay with my health. I want less anger so payment isn’t the cost of my loved ones’ peace. I want fewer arguments so feelings are spared the price of hurting.
Santa, you don’t have to give me what is not possible. What I ask for instead are the tools to build a safe place somewhere in my mind and in my heart. Here is where I want you to give me freedom to choose between what is right and good and that, which is not. Give me hope and provide for me the strength to hold on to what is precious and a bit of courage to release what I know will tear me down.
I like sunshine and warmth; not stormy weather. But when the clouds roll in on chilled, damp air, showing me where to find shelter would be kind, but letting me learn to build my own would probably be the better gift.
I ask for patience to handle the small things, but strength to shoulder the bigger ones that burden more than just me. I ask not for help; but to help instead. I wish no harm to any enemies, but I would rather have no enemies to contend with. This I would be grateful for.
I want Christmas to be about more than just the gifts. Unless the gifts are peace, love, and joy offered without pretensions.
And one more thing, Santa, I would like to always remember where I have been in my life. The good places are fond memories that brighten my spirit. The bad places I’d like to keep close enough to see, but far enough away that they can’t hurt me any longer. For it is from out of these darker places that I have learned how best to behave…and this, too, is good for my spirit.
So, Santa, as I read over this letter and a tear glistens upon my cheek, I don’t have to wonder if I believe in you and in all that is good and possible.
Merry Christmas, Santa, and to Mrs. Claus as well.