December 13, 2016

The Day I learned how to believe

One snowy day—many years ago—I was driving in my car. The back seat was fairly quiet—wait no that was a different time . . . on this drive my car carried precious cargo: twins that were four years old, a two year old, and a five month old. Questions streamed to me by the minute, and this particular day they were all centered around one thing . . . Christmas. The streets were lined with lights and glowing windows. Snow covered much of the ground, and on every corner stood some sort of symbol of the holidays.


I had probably answered a million questions when THE ONE came blaring out. I knew it wasn’t going to be many more years—for us to keep our secret, with twins that were already smarter than me, but I thought for sure I at least had one more year. We had just passed a blow up Santa waving on the street when Bailey blurted it out, “So Mom . . . Bostyn and I want to know the truth—you know—about Santa. Is he . .  . real? I mean, he goes in EVERYONE’S houses and brings them presents? So how come some kids don’t get any, and CHIMNEYS? Seriously? ” Trying to protect—what I believed at that time was—their childhood innocence, my response was anything but the truth. “Well . . . girls, what do you think?” Bailey spoke up again, “Mom . . . that is why we asked you . . . so . . . is he? “ The conversation repeated a few more times—they demanding to hear it from me, and me afraid to shatter the fun of believing. My answer was the same with every question: “What do you guys think?”

Soon the car went quiet—I . . . not knowing how to tell them what they already knew, and them  . . . sick of getting the same question to their questions. I looked back a few times to two girls staring blankly out the window. I could feel their frustration, but did not know what to do about it.

My mind raced through all the excuses one could muster, but I couldn’t get myself to say any out loud. About to settle and just create a story about how reindeer fly and elves make toys I looked back in my rearview mirror again. This time they were holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes. Bostyn leaned over, kissed Bailey on the forehead and said, “Don’t worry Bailey . . . at least we know Jesus is real.”



Faith isn’t about the things that we can see—it is about a hope for the things we cannot. There are many Santa’s in the world trying to bring joy at Christmas, but the true symbol of that glorious holiday is our Savior who will be a light every day of the year—for you, for me, and for all of us Santa’s doing our best to bring light to our babies’ eyes.

For every disappointment we will face—like the day we find out one of our dreams was just a made up character in a red hat and suit—Christ will make up the difference, He will settle the scores. Because He loves you—no matter where you are going, no matter where you have been. He loves you, even if you have never believed in Him.

The greatest joy we can ever receive this Christmas doesn’t come wrapped under our tree, or shine in the sparkle of a string of holiday lights. It is miracles in our lives. It is hope in our hearts. It is love in our families, and healing inside our minds. It is relationships mended, and hearts changed. It is medical discoveries, and lives spared in tragedies. It is angels watching over us. It is a path that leads us to Christ, as our teacher, as our Savior, and as our friend.


He is the light, He is the joy, and He always was and always will be . . . the greatest gift.


Merry Christmas! 
Love, 
The Birks

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