Once upon a time, in the enchanted city of Lyndhurst, Ohio, my siblings and I would partake in our most hallowed annual tradition—the “Christmas Eve Camp-Out.”
Every year on Christmas Eve, the four of us would pile into a one of our bedrooms for an all-night slumber party. The bedroom we chose to sleep in was always well thought-out, and was naturally based on what direction we thought Santa Clause would be arriving from that year.
As we took turns gazing out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Santa’s sleigh, the excitement in the room was always so visceral. So real.
Some years it got the best of us, draining us into a deep sleep. Other it did just the opposite, fueling a sleepless night of uninterrupted Santa-watching and lengthy discussions about what we might find under our tree.
Regardless of how the night unfolded, Christmas morning always began with an inspection of our stairwell. If Santa had been through the chimney, we’d find a red ribbon taped across the top of the stairs. The ribbon was like a line of demarcation. If we went past it—unaccompanied by our parents—all of our gifts would vanish. Yes, vanish. It served as our final obstacle to all the Christmas glory that awaited us downstairs in our family room.
The ribbon was also a small snippet that symbolized the entire Christmas experience.
It was magical.
More often than not, there comes a time in all our lives when the wonder of Christmas begins to fade.
As the years passed, and our childhood’s fizzled away, so too did the charm of it all. One by one, my siblings and I had the inevitable Santa Clause talk with my Mom, coming to grips with the hollow realization that Christmas will never quite be the same again.
Sure. Christmas was still a special time. But the magic was decidedly gone.
It became less of a whimsical event and more of a standard family gathering.
I accepted the void, chalking it up as just another one of those grown-up realities that we all have to come to terms with at some point.
My wife and I recently finished decorating our house with our Christmas tree and all the seasonal knick-knacks that come along with it.
One of the traditions we've adopted as a family is The Elf on the Shelf, which is a 2005 children's picture book that tells a Christmas-themed story. The story describes how Santa's "scout elves" hide in people's homes to watch over events, and then report back to Santa on a nightly basis so he knows who is naughty and who is nice. The book comes with small scout elf who, after returning from the North Pole every morning, finds a new hiding spot somewhere in the house.
My oldest son, Blake, will turn four years-old in March. For all intents and purposes, this is his first real, meaningful Christmas in the sense that he actually understands what's going on, who Santa Clause is, and so on.
Blake has chosen the name of "Chip" for our household scout elf, who made his way out of storage last week.
To my surprise, the morning after Chip arrived for his seasonal duty, Blake rushed out of his bedroom to see if Chip had, in fact, moved to a new location. Thankfully, Chip was now perched on top of the refrigerator, rather than the light fixture he hung from the day before.
As my son, eyes wide, scanned through the downstairs, he discovered Chip's change in location. As his eyes lit up, he turned to to me and shouted, "CHIP MOVED! HE REALLY MOVED!"
And then, right in that moment, it happend.
I felt it. I felt the magic again.
For the first time in nearly thirty-years, the same hairs that stood on the back of my neck during our "Christmas Camp-Outs" now stood again as I watched my kid light-up with excitement and experience the magic for himself.
Parenting seems to provide an endless supply of rewarding moments and memories. But this holiday season I am most thankful for the gift of Christmas magic that has been reignited through my two boys.
This year, I encourage you to surrender to the magic. Whether or not you have kids, or grandkids, or whatever your situation might be. Let yourself believe again—in something, in anything, in Santa, in God, in love, in each other.
I know I will.
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