Christmas in Jul... er, August

Dear Editor- I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, If you see it in The Sun, it's so. Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

-Virginia O'Hanlon

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus? Thank God! He lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

(Printed as is, from the New York Sun, 1897)

Just Thinking

Driving back home tonight there were trees for miles, then tilled and planted ground stretching out into the dark, a shoe on the side of the road and a shirtless little boy standing under a dim light in a carport that looked as though it could barely hold a single car, but must have been some fabulous, imagined world for him to play. I only find these dubious delights in the delta.
It’s strange being back here again after so many years. Tiny lanterns speck the night sky, green then gone, locusts buzz their short-lived song, and looking out from my bedroom window into a true, near-noiseless dark, unsullied by traffic or golden arches, seems unnerving. I would happily leave it today for a little more hustle and a bit more bustle, and to be mere minutes from the closest artery-clogging drive-thru, but I can’t help but be calmed by this old friend.
This is where I grew up, and it all reminds me of being that little boy. I smiled when I saw him. I smiled because I imagined that he was happy. The thought that he might be in the only place where he couldn’t hear his parents arguing or where he might avoid a beating didn’t enter my mind. He was me, that boy. He was me and he was simply pleased to be alive.
I’m quite certain there were no thoughts of whether he would be loved by someone special this time next year, or if he’d pass some silly test and have a future. He was just there, thinking child-thoughts, the idea that he might someday grow up never entering his mind once.
I haven’t thought about those days in a long time, but this short detour I’ve taken home has stirred those memories. There’s a lot that’s happened. A lot between now and then—a lot of turmoil, a lot of joy, confusion, unwavering clarity, self-doubt, faith, enemies and some amazingly faithful friends. So, here I am. Here. Now.
I like where I am now. I haven’t been able to say that in a long time. I’m almost satisfied. I mean, don’t get me wrong, my future’s important to me, and I would love for it to be important to someone else sometime in the near future, but right now is good too.

Risking It All.

I had this place that I would go when I was eight or so. It was in a dilapidated lean-to behind a storage building by our house. There was a small sectioned-off area in that lean-to that used to be a dog pen at one point. Sometimes, I would go out to that old dog pen and just sit. It was my respite; my place away from everything and everyone in the world. It was, in essence, my own little world. It was a place where I was just me and I could sit on the unfinished edge of the wooden beams that made up the edges of the pen and just be. One day, the old roof finally gave in and it was no more. I think I’ve been searching for that place again my whole life since.
Maybe we’re all searching for that little patch of wonder and comfort that we feel most ourselves in. We’re looking for that place in the landscape of life that we slide into comfortably, like a second skin. We desire that space where we can just be who we are without blushing at what others might think. We just want to have our voices speak without hindrance, sing and not care how it sounds.
But, in the end, as nice as tearing ourselves from the tapestry of life sounds, we find that we cannot ultimately do it all alone. So, we spend our lives meeting people, wondering if they’ll be the ones who will understand us for who we are and even, gasp, like us for it. We want to be honest and believed, believed in and loved completely. And we wonder if we were truly naked before them, if they’d fold all of our secrets into themselves and become one with us, or run away baffled and sickened.
We were made to depend on others to fill emotional needs in us. But, it is in our nature to pull away from others. And our pride tells us that it is wrong to not do things ourselves. We are told from a very young age that if were a big boy or girl that we’d be able to take care of ourselves, ourselves. And so, many times, for the rest of our lives we carry the burden of shaking that child. Part of that burden causes us to die inside because we feel that to let others share our burdens makes us weak.
But, the truth is, we must give ourselves away. We’ve got to open ourselves up to the opportunity of relationship, even though that means opening ourselves up to be hurt once again. A part of us that we’d rather hold inside, because it is fragile and tired of being wounded, must nonetheless be exposed. If it isn’t, we risk becoming more bitter and angry. Relationship must be chanced; our souls must be given the opportunity to be entwined with another lest they shrivel up and eventually die to emotion almost altogether.
Yeah, relationship is difficult and a hell of a chance to take, but it is what we are made for, so we must chance it. Love does not come without risk. That’s just the simple truth of life in this fallen world. But, when real relationship is finally formed; when real love is finally felt, it is worth every bit of pain. That pain, in fact, becomes a compass which leads us to truth; that place where we can be ourselves without shame.

Unemployed, and Loving it!

Well, today's my last day. I ate waaay too much food and got a money tree. I'm a happy camper. But, as happy as I am, I'm not quite as happy as I will be when I open my eyes tomorrow morning (evening?) and smile at the recognition that I don't have to go to work today, or tomorrow, or the next day. Ah, unemployment can be a beautiful thing when it's planned.

Cleaning is for the Obsessively Vain

I'm thinking about having a party with some of my friends here in town since I'm going to be leaving soon. So, I got to thinking about the condition of my apartment. I mentally surveyed the place and decided that it wasn't that bad, and wouldn't need much work so that I wouldn't feel embarrassed to have other human beings over.

Coincidentally enough, I got an email from my ex-girlfriend who had stopped by the apartment during her lunch break to drop off a pair of pants that she'd taken to the cleaners before our split. She proceeded to tell me that she almost started crying because the apartment was such a mess.

This got me to thinking about the standards that males and females have for "clean." For instance, it made perfect sense to me that my pizza box was lying on top of the trash can. The trash can is cylindrical in shape and just won't hold the large, rectangular box that cheesy delight comes in. The other trash sitting atop the pizza box is simply there because, hello, you can't open a trash can if there's a big pizza box on top of it!

The pile of clothes in front of the dryer are clean, but I figured that I'd be wearing the few pairs of underwear and socks piled there during the coming week anyway, so there didn't seem to be any need to carry them all the way into the bedroom and place them into the dresser. It's called a "time-saving device."

I will wash the dishes when I'm thirsty and there are no more glasses. No need to make the bed as I'm just going to get back in that night. I'll change the sheets when the smell keeps me from comfortably falling asleep. It's a simple system, but it has served me well.

However, the smallest amount of mess, and a female wags her head as if without her you are completely lost. Maybe I like stepping over things to get to the bathroom. Perhaps I'm okay with fifteen McDonalds' sacks in my backseat. Maybe I'm just a guy, and maybe that's okay. So, there.
...or maybe I just need to clean.

Take This Job and... lightly place it on your desk, ma'am.

Well, I quit my job. The last of my contact with the human race is officially severed. Let the slow slide into body odor and delivered groceries begin!
Next Thursday will be my last day as a functioning member of the work force. (I'm sure there will be much rending of garments and tears that day.) Plans include getting a license to sell homes (maybe they'll let me use them briefly before I sell them).
To be honest, I look forward to unemployment. I have some cash stockpiled, a free place to crash for a while and plenty of Clem Snide and a summer full of Last Comic Standing to keep me company. What more could you ask for? Really?!

Reluctant Dragon Slayers

I feared so much walking away from everything that had become how I defined life. Because, by doing that, I would be walking away from what I believed were important plans and my preconceived notions about what it was to be. I guess that’s why God makes it impossible to look back sometimes. When things are broken and can never be whole again, the only thing you can do at times is chuck it and start over.
I was little angry at God for that, but I was also a little excited. Scared-to-death-every-muscle-tense,-ulcer-type excited, but there was excitement in there somewhere. But I also worried that my fear might be bigger than my need to move on. Because, even when something is broken beyond repair and you can never have it again, it is quite possible to merely sit, thinking about how it was and would have been, holding dearly the pieces.
But, thankfully, step by grudging step, I moved into change. I moved because it was the only viable solution. It was the only thing that made sense. (Not that I’m known for always making the sensible, logical choice, but sometimes…) Maybe, I told myself, there’s something better.Since then, I’ve thought a lot about change. Maybe change is God preparing us for something better. Maybe that’s what change is all about. Maybe we wander through the underbrush of the unknown, scratched and scraped by senseless limbs and hidden thorns and cowering at every unknown sound, eventually to find a sort of promised land in the clearing. Perhaps there are such things as those new beginnings and fresh starts I’ve heard so much about. Or, maybe, the thorns and tightly gathered brushwood are all there are to this life.
I guess that’s the greatest obstacle to our desire to move on: at least we know the devil that torments us; at least we know what tortures and misadventures and even small joys to expect in the place we are, even if we are ultimately unhappy, it is what we know, and how we have defined living. And so the chance that what awaits us might be worse somehow plants us firmly where we are. Also, the fear that we don’t deserve, and will never get, anything better than what we have tends to overtake us. So, in the end, we pull the covers up over our heads, roll over and leave any ideas of something different to our dreams.
But, I fear that this isn’t living, this battling our dragons, but never disposing of them so that we will never feel without purpose (but will always be thought heroic). When what we have defined as our purpose is gone, all that is left for us is to find new purpose and new adventures to live, and that is far more frightening than any dragon.
Change is one of the worst inventions ever, but I lose my purpose when I avoid it. I become less than what God intended if I don’t move with him, letting him tend my wounds as we go. So, I’ve decided that if there’s not something better beyond the now, I will still trust God. When he gently nudges me to move again, I will gather my things, or if there is no time, pull only my coat tightly around me, and take my leave. To be honest, I’m sinful, and if he was just powerful, I might not go. If he was just my Creator, I might make up many good excuses to stay. But, I go also because he loves me, and love does no evil to the beloved.

-Chad