In December 1950, my mother helped me write a letter to Santa so he would know exactly what I wanted. With an Erector Set, I wouldn’t need anything else. I could build bridges, skyscrapers, and every other toy I could imagine.
I was hoping beyond reality, of course. All my toys were in the dime-to-dollar range, which was already more than I deserved. As I understood it, due to limited production capacity at the North Pole, only the most deserving kids were eligible for expensive prizes like an Erector Set. Each time I misbehaved, I was reminded that Santa would probably leave me a lump of coal or a bundle of sticks.
My slim hope faded into reality. I would only get what I needed—socks, underwear, and maybe a pair of blue jeans or a shirt. My stocking would be filled with the usual fruit, candy, and trinkets, always with a banana hanging out the top. And there would be a few cheap toys, which would break or be lost in a few weeks.
On Christmas morning, I screamed in delight and ran to the tree. There it was. My own Erector Set.
Since then, I’ve learned that Santa is only as real as what parents can afford. I’ve also learned how real God is. His production capacity isn’t limited, and I’m not ignored because I have faults. That’s why I often sit at my computer and write him a letter. I really do. I don’t have to print and mail the letter, because he sees the words as soon as they appear on the screen. Asking for anything I want is okay, because he will only say yes to what he knows is best for me.
Could it be that we sometimes lack because we feel too shamed, embarrassed, or undeserving to ask?

Leave a Reply