When my daughter asked me whether Santa was real, I gazed straight into her trusting eyes, held her little face in the palm of my hands and nodded fervently, “Yes, oh yes!”

Yes, because the spirit of Santa is alive and well in our world. I see his face in the face of the Salvation Army girls bouncing around outside of Rainbow foods, yelling at people to tell them their favorite Christmas carol so that they can belt it out, at the tops of their voices, to light up the winter cold and fill their charity’s coffers with new funds.

I feel the love of Santa, in the heart of the shop in Excelsior which sent out flyers asking for baby clothes, baby furniture, anything that would help a young lady and her baby - Serenity – to move on from her abusive marriage, move on from the battered woman’s shelter where they now reside, move onward and upward into the new job she’d secured for herself, to create a new life, a safe life, a joyful life for herself and her child.

I see the generosity of Santa in the tear-filled eyes of a woman marine, a trooper far from home, fighting for our country, fighting for what’s right, fighting for her life - as she holds up a photo of her children to the camera and whispers, “I love you.”

In my children’s school, the hand of Santa has been at work every day as the community came together this term to fight world hunger. In the commitment of the volunteers, in the donations of the parents, in the care of the children who have bandied together to breach this wrong and to make this unequal world a little more right, I see the handiwork of Santa.

In the classrooms, my children learn about the beautiful celebrations of December: Kwanza, Diwali, Winter Solstice, Hanukah and Christmas. And in my four-year old’s pleas for us to celebrate Hanukah – “because you get presents at Hanukkah, too mum!” I hear the echoes of Santa’s gentle, “Ho ho ho!”

In the sister who used part of her inheritance to gift her siblings with a cruise, in the mother who prayed for her child’s health and wellbeing each and every day, in the aunt who sent the great- nieces and nephew she’s never met, a box of Christmas goodies, in the four year old who begged to make a call to his uncle in far off lands, in thanks for the Christmas card that had been lovingly mailed to him, I know the heart of Santa.

As for myself, as I walk along paths crispy with snow, watch the sunlight trickle like liquid gold through the thorny shapes of leafless trees, I feel the excitement of the season rise in my chest. I think of gifts I have hidden, gifts I have sent, special gifts still waiting to be bought and a bubble of excitement rises within me, a bubble of anticipation, a bubble of joy – and I know in that moment I have captured the spirit of Santa, myself. For Santa is a herald, the red herald of Christmas, the herald who announces that this one particular day should be celebrated across the heavens and across the earth – for this day honors the birth of Jesus, our Lord.

And so, when your child walks up to you, stares deep into your eyes and asks whether Santa is real – take a long moment to talk to your child about the meaning of Christmas and why we celebrate it and what it all means. Tell your child about Jesus our Savior, tell of His holy birth, of His mother - the blessed Virgin, of Joseph who trusted, of the choirs of angels who sang for joy, tell of the fear of the shepherds and the faith of the three wise men who followed a star. And then, very quietly, take your child to the window, peer out into the dark night and teach your child a little about the spirit of Christmas and about the man who wears it so well -  the gentleman in red.

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