My Letter to Saint Nicholas - 2023

 My Dearest St. Nicholas,

Her gift to me was one that came clutched in her tiny hand but, directly from her heart. She is eight years old and the artificial flower was white. Some stains from age were there, trying to hide beneath the dust. Dust that had long settled in on the fabric that formed the tired petals into a rose. A perfect rose, I’m sure she thought. 

I held back tears as I hugged her and wondered if she’d truly ever know how much her heart touched mine that day (and how hard it was for me not to cry). I thanked her, though it was tough to talk around the lump that had formed in my throat. 

My children are grown now. They’re not eight years old, or even twice that anymore, and I often find myself wandering back in time to visit the eight year olds they once were. Those days seem as far away as the stars that pierce the midnight sky. 

I miss so much from when they were younger but, I am grateful and blessed they have had the chance to grow up. They are figuring out the life they want to have. And, it is now that I pray more often than I ever had before. “Just keep them safe”, I whisper, “They have yet to receive a tattered, white rose.” Which is really a piece of a child’s heart. Where it is given without having to say, “I’m trusting you with this.”

My children have given me many “roses” over the years. Bits and pieces of heartfelt love and trust. There were times I didn’t always handle those gifts with the care they so deserved. And my tears have fallen countless times and I pray the salt can heal their wounds. 

I believe that God speaks in subtle ways and the whisper may not be heard over the noise life brings. But, Santa, a whisper came to me on the petals of a dusty, white rose that day. A small gesture, a quiet voice that, in ways unknown to me, gave permission to heal hurt hearts. 

So, Santa, my children (no matter their age) are my most precious gift and their hearts, like a delicate rose, will be handled with the care and love they need and deserve.

Merry Christmas, Santa. And, yes, I do believe.