Story Day 16 — The Little Girl Santa Claus Didn’t Know

I guess it’s OK to just post a cute story.  Not one that has a lot of significance….but a cute story full of hopes and dreams.  If only wishes could come true so easily!  Then again….. many other beloved Christmas stories are similar to this!

I hope you enjoy it!


A poor woman wandered through the city streets on a cold and miserable winter evening. She was expecting a baby and about to give birth. Each step brought her closer to that moment. Eventually she had to squat down behind some dustbins. If you had been there you would shortly afterwards have heard the baby’s first cry. But of course you weren’t there, for little Maria was born on Christmas Eve. At that time you were probably waiting impatiently for Santa Claus to knock on your door.

The poor woman wrapped her baby tightly in a shawl to protect her from the cold wind. She looked down at her, smiled and carried her gently to some cardboard boxes where she lived. No doubt you think that Santa Claus should have given Maria a present, but he had never heard of the poor woman and no one had told him that a tiny child had been born that Christmas Eve. No one in the whole city knew her or that she was expecting a baby. Santa Claus landed Rudolf the reindeer and his sleigh in the town square.

He consulted his big book of names, and went from door to door handing out presents. On his way he passed by the cardboard boxes where the poor woman lay with her new-born child. He thought he heard a baby cry but could see no one. To be quite certain he consulted his book again, but there was no mention of a child living there. “It’s just my imagination,” he thought, and continued through the city with his gifts for the children.

Maria turned 1, 2 and 3 years and still Santa Claus knew nothing about her. She lived with her mother, and all they had to eat were the scraps of food they could find in the dustbins. They were badly clothed, in hardly more than rags, and very poor. At night they still lay under their cardboard boxes as they had no real house to live in.

By the time Maria turned 4 and Christmas Eve came around once again she realised something was wrong. They sat in their cardboard house and watched as Santa Claus landed in the nearby street. Santa took a large sack of presents and went from door to door with gifts for the children, but he didn’t come to her.

Maria turned to her mother and asked “Mummy, why don’t I get Christmas presents like the other children?” Her mother did not know. “Perhaps it’s because we are so poor,” she replied stroking Maria’s hair consolingly. “Didn’t you get presents when you were little?” she asked. “No,” her mother said, “I was never given any presents either. Maria thought this most unfair. She glanced across at Santa’s sleigh and wondered whether she should run across to it and wait there until he returned. Then she would say to him “Here I am Santa Claus, why don’t I get presents like all the other children?”Yes, that’s what she would do!

She ran from the cardboard boxes and jumped into Santa’s sleigh. Her mother shouted after her to come back. But just then Santa came out of a house and hurried back to his sleigh. Maria became frightened when she saw Santa Claus coming towards her so she ducked down between the large sacks of presents. Santa Claus jumped in, grabbed the reins and shouted “Gee up Rudolf.” Before Maria had time to think, Rudolf set off down the street.

From her hiding-place among the sacks she saw her mother standing by the cardboard boxes watching what happened, in dismay. Maria wondered whether she should jump off, but suddenly they were airborne. She peeped cautiously down, the wind blew through her hair and she could see tiny houses with yellow lights far below. Above her the stars twinkled and the moon smiled down at her. Santa Claus held the reins and Rudolf galloped as fast as he could go.

She was rather frightened, and that isn’t so surprising, but she believed Santa Claus to be a kind man. She studied him for a while from her hiding-place. He looked as if he was thoroughly enjoying himself. He smiled and laughed and sang Christmas carols the whole time. His white beard looked very soft and warm and his eyes shone.

She crept carefully from her hiding- place so he could see her. She was very embarrassed as you can well imagine, but also very excited. When Santa Claus saw her among his sacks of presents he was quite startled. “Ho, ho, what’s this, have I got a visitor?” he said and smiled. “And a little princess too, what a lovely surprise. Who are you?” Maria looked shyly down at her shoes and replied “I am a girl you don’t know.

“Santa Claus looked shocked. “I don’t know you? It can’t be true,” he said “look here, I have lists of every little girl and boy in the whole world,” and he showed her his book of names. Maria was feeling much braver by this time. She looked at him and said “It’s quite true Santa Claus. You don’t know me, and you didn’t know my mummy either when she was a little girl. I was born behind some dustbins on Christmas Eve four years ago.”

Santa Claus looked very upset. “Is that so,” he said seriously. “Have neither you nor your mother ever had any presents from me? How dreadful. Now you must tell me your name.”Maria gave Santa Claus her name and he looked through all his books. He searched and searched but couldn’t find her anywhere. “Then I had better add you to my list,” he said. Santa Claus took out his pen and wrote her name in the book. “There we are, now I will make sure that a present is made for you every year.

” Maria realised that she wouldn’t be getting any gifts this year either. First they had to be made in Santa Claus’s workshop. She was terribly disappointed and turned away so that Santa Claus shouldn’t see the tears rolling down her cheeks.

But Santa Claus is a wise man and knew what Maria was thinking. “I am terribly sorry,” he said, “I only have presents for the children listed in my book.” He put his arm around her and gave her a hug. “Don’t be sad,” he said, “I have something even better here in my pocket.

“Santa Claus took out a glass ball and showed it to her. It was full of water and inside was a cosy little red house. “As you have never had a Christmas present and because it is your birthday today, I am going to give you this magic ball.” Maria held it in her hands and smiled. It was smooth and shiny and when she shook it, it became full of snow which fell slowly onto the roof of the house.

“Thank you,” she said and curtsied. “It is really lovely.” Santa Claus smiled at her fondly. “It is a very special glass ball. When you shake this one you can make a wish at the same time.” Maria looked at the ball and thought of all the things she would like, but then Santa continued: “But you will only be granted one wish, so you must choose carefully. It must be something you need very badly.

“By now they had arrived at the next town on Santa Claus’ list. He pulled on the reins and steered Rudolf down towards the ground. Maria clasped the glass ball tightly as they descended. The tiny houses grew larger and larger and she could even see a train far below. Rudolf looped around the church steeple and landed in front of the railway station. Maria would have liked to stay with Santa Claus and help him deliver the presents. She looked up at him and said “Do you think . . ?”

But Santa knew what she had in mind. He leant towards her and said, “I am very busy you know and must hurry around to all the children before Christmas Eve is over. Your mother is sure to be very worried about you, so here is a ticket for the train to take you back home. “Maria gave Santa Claus a big hug and thanked him again for the present. Then she ran to the station and caught the first train home. She had the compartment to herself and sat looking through the window at the dark and silent snow-covered landscape passing by.

She thought of Santa Claus, of the trip in his sleigh and the beautiful glass ball he had given her. As she thought of the glass ball she took it out of her pocket. Now she had time to study it properly. She looked closely at the red house with its cosy little window and white painted door. The snowflakes lay still on the ground and roof, but if she shook it the snow would whirl around and slowly fall again. Maria began to feel very tired. The train chuffed steadily along the tracks “clickety clack, clickety clack.” Marias eyelids slowly closed. She was looking at the little house as she fell asleep. In her dream she could see her mother inside it.

Then she became part of the dream. Maria and her mother lived in the little red house. Her mother opened a window to shake a rug while she whistled and sang happily. Maria dreamt she had a dolls pram which she pushed along the pavement. At that moment the glass ball slipped out of her hand and crashed to the floor. Maria woke with a start. Pieces of glass lay in a pool of water. The snowflakes were scattered about and in the middle of it all lay the little red house.

Maria was heartbroken when she saw what had happened. She had actually broken Santa Claus’ magic gift! She tried to find all the pieces and put them together again, but it was no use. Maria fell on her knees by the broken glass ball and cried, her tears falling on the little house – drip, drip, drip. She picked up the house and pressed it close to her cheek. Then she saw something strange. Where the house had lain was a key, not a toy key, but a real big door key. Carefully she picked it up. It felt cold and heavy in her hand. She didn’t understand the significance of the key so she continued to weep over the broken magic ball.

The closer she came to the town, the road and the cardboard boxes where she and her mother lived, the more she despaired. She thought of all the thousands of useful things they needed, one of which she could have wished for by shaking the glass ball, but now it was too late. The glass ball was broken and they must continue living in their boxes as before, freeze at night and eat what they could find in the dustbins.

But when she arrived home something very strange had happened. On the spot where their cardboard boxes normally stood was a small red house. It looked exactly like the little house in the glass ball, but this was a real house to live in. Her mother stood outside and was very pleased to see her little girl again. She hugged her so tightly that it almost hurt. “My darling little Maria are you all right?”

Maria dried her tears and told her mother about Santa Claus, his book of names and about the magic ball which she had dropped and broken on the train. Her mother told her of how she had gone for a walk looking for food, and found the red house when she returned. She was wondering who owned it, because no one had moved in. The annoying thing about it was that all their belongings, including the packing cases lay underneath it, so now they had absolutely nothing at all, and that on Christmas Eve of all things. Maria looked closely at the house and remarked: “It looks exactly like the little red house in the glass ball.” Then she remembered the key she had found and took it out of her pocket. “Do you know something, Mummy, when I picked up the little house I found this key lying underneath it – do you think it fits?”

Her mother took the key and inspected it closely. Without a word she stepped up to the white door and put the key in the lock. She turned it slowly and with a joyful little “click” the door opened. They entered the house cautiously side by side, and there in the hall stood a dolls pram complete with doll – exactly like the one she had dreamed about. Then Maria understood what had happened. Her dream on the train had come true at the same moment the glass ball had broken and shown her the key. It was her house! Her wish had been granted exactly as Santa Claus had promised.

In that way Maria and her mother got a real house to live in, and Santa Claus came with presents every Christmas. He always gave Maria an extra big hug because he never forgot how surprised and pleased he had been to find her in his sleigh on that Christmas Eve.

I am Grateful!  How are You?


Story Day 6 — The Santa Within Me

Once again…. I was able to find an online version of a story I’ve had in my files for a long time.  I figured since it had once been featured in Reader’s Digest in 1979 there might be a good chance I’d find it!  Yeah for the internet!

It’s another kind of long one, but not bad….  but a great story!  I know there a lot of people out there that have Santa within them!  How I wish more people could do things like this!

Here it is….. Enjoy!

-vintage-christmas-card-of-santa-claus-delivering-gifts-to-two-girlsThe Santa Within Me
by Jay Frankston

There’s nothing so beautiful as a child’s dream of Santa Claus. I know; I often had that dream. But, I am Jewish and my parents didn’t celebrate Christmas. It was everyone else’s holiday – a big party I wasn’t invited to – and I felt left out. It wasn’t toys I yearned for; it was Santa Claus and a Christmas tree. So when I got married and had kids, I decided to make up for what I’d missed.

I started with a seven-foot tree, all decked out with lights and tinsel. The year was 1956, and we were living in New York City. My daughter Claire was only two, but her eyes sparkled as she smiled at the tree. It gave off warmth that filled every corner of our home. I Put a Star of David on top to soothe those whose Jewish feelings were disturbed by the display. And, it warmed my heart to see the glitter, because now the party was at my house EVERYONE was invited.

But, something was missing, something big and round and jolly, with jingle bells, and Ho! Ho! Ho! So I bought a bright, red cloth and my wife made me a costume. Inflatable pillows filled out my skinny frame. A Santa mask, complete with whiskers and flowing white hair, made me look genuine enough to live up to a child’s dream of old St. Nick.

When I tried on the costume and looked in the mirror, there he was, big as life, the Santa of my childhood. I felt myself becoming Santa. I leaned back and pushed out my pillow stomach. My voice got deeper and richer. “Merry Christmas, everyone.”

Claire was almost four and Danny not yet one when Santa first came to our house. They stood in awe and I saw in their eyes the fantasy and magic of what I had become. Santa was special. He was the personification of kindness and gentleness. He was a little scary, too.

For two years I played Santa for my children, to their fright and delight, and to my total enjoyment. And, when the third year rolled around, the Santa in me had grown into a personality of his own and he needed more room So, I sought to accommodate him by letting him do his thing for other children.

One day, late in November, I saw this pretty little girl trying to reach a mailbox slot, and saying, “Mommy, are you sure Santa will get my letter?” My mind began to whirl. All those children who wrote to Santa Claus, whatever becomes of their letters? A phone call to the postal service answered my question. The dead-letter office stored the thousands of letter in huge sacks.

The Santa in me went Ho! Ho! Ho! and we headed to the post office. As I began rummaging through the letters, I became a little flustered at the demands and greed of so many spoiled children. Most of the letters were gimme, gimme, gimme letters. But, the Santa in me heard a voice from inside the mail sack, and I continued searching until I came upon one letter that jarred me.

Dear Santa, I am an 11-year-old girl, and I have two little brothers and a baby sister. My father died last year, and my mother is sick. I know there are many who are poorer than we are and I want nothing for myself, but could you send us a blanket ’cause Mommy’s cold at night. It was signed Suzy.

A chill went up my spine and the Santa in me cried, “I hear you Suzy.

I dug deeper into those sacks and came up with another eight such letters, all calling out from the depths of poverty. I took them with me and went straight to the Western Union office and sent each child a telegram: Got your letter. Will be at your house. Wait for me. Santa.

I knew I could not possibly fill all the needs of these children, but if I could bring them hope, if I could make them feel that their cries did not go unheard… I budgeted $150 and went out and bought presents. On Christmas day, my wife drove me around. It had snowed graciously the night before, and the streets were thick with fresh powder.

My first call took me to the outskirts of the city. The letter from Peter Barski had read:
Dear Santa, I am ten years old and I am an only child. I’m not sad because I’m poor, but because I’m lonely. I know you have many people to see and you probably have no time for me. So, I don’t ask you to come to my house or bring anything. But, could you send me a letter so I know know you exist?

Dear Peter, my telegram began, not only do I exist, but I’ll be there on Christmas Day. Wait for me.

Peter’s house was wedged between two tall buildings. Its roof was of corrugated metal and it was more of a shack than a house. With a bag of toys slung over my shoulder, I walked up the steps and knocked. A heavyset man opened the door.

He said a word in Polish and his hand went to his face. “Please,” he stuttered. “The boy… at Mass. I go get him. Please wait.” He threw on a coat and, assured that I would wait, ran down the street.

I stood there in front of the house, feeling good. Then, across the street, I noticed another shack; through the window I could see little back faces peering at me, and tiny hands waving. The door opened shyly and some voices called out, “Hi ya, Santa.”

I Ho! Ho! Hoed! my way over there, and a woman asked if I’d come in, and I did. Inside were five kids from one to seven years old. I spoke to them of Santa and the spirit of love, which is the spirit of Christmas. The, seeing the torn Christmas wrappings, I asked if they liked what Santa had brought them. Each thanked me – for the woolen socks, the sweater, and the warm underwear.

“Didn’t I bring you any toys?” They shook their heads sadly. “Ho! Ho! Ho! I slipped up.” said I, “We’ll have to fix that.”

Knowing that we had extra toys in the car, I gave each child a toy. There was joy and laughter, but when Santa got ready to leave, I noticed one girl crying. I bent down and asked her, “What’s the matter?”

“Oh, Santa,” she sobbed, “I’m so happy.” And the tears rolled from my eyes under the rubber mask.

As I stepped out on the street, “Panie, Panie, Prosze…? Sir, sir, please,” I heard Mr. Barski say across the way.

Peter just stood there and looked as Santa walked into the house. “You came,” he said. “I wrote and… and you came.”

When he recovered, I spoke with him about loneliness and friendship, and gave him a chemistry set and a basketball. He thanked me profusely, and his mother asked something of her husband in Polish. My parents were Polish, so I speak a little and understand a lot. “From the North Pole,” I said in Polish.

She looked at me with astonishment. “You speak Polish?”

“Of course,” I said. “Santa speaks all languages.” And I left them in joy and wonder.

The following year, when the momentum of Christmas began to build, I felt a stirring and I knew that the Santa within me was back. So I returned to the post office and to those heartbreaking letters. I enjoyed playing Santa so much that I did it the next year and the next. Then, at age ten, Claire handed me a poem that began:

I know that Santa’s make-believe
But I still love him so
‘Cause he’m my daddy
Ho! Ho! Ho!

So, now she knew. I took her to the basement where the toys were and let her rummage through Santa’s shop, ogling at the the imposing array. She read the letters and cried with me and became a true Santa’s helper, sorting and wrapping the toys in preparation for my rounds.

I made them for 12 years, listening for the cries of children muffled in unopened envelopes, answering the call of as many as I could – frustrated at not being able to answer them all.

As time went on, word got out about Santa Claus and me, and manufacturers sent me cartons of toys. Having started with 20 children, I had wound up with 120, door to door, from one end of New York City to the other, from Christmas Eve through Christmas Day.

On my last call a few years ago, I knew there were four children in the family and I came prepared. The house was small and sparsely furnished. The kids had been waiting all day, staring at the telegram and repeating to their skeptical mother, “He’ll come, Mommy, he’ll come.”

As I rang the bell, the door swung open and they all reach for my hands and hold on. “Hi ya, Santa. We just knew you’s come.” And these poor kids were beaming with happiness and laughter.

I took each of them on my lap and told stories of joy, hope and waiting, and gave them each a toy. All the while there’s this fifth child standing the the corner, a cute girl with blond hair and blue eyes.

I turned to her and said, “You’re not part of this family, are you?’

She shook her head sadly and whispered, “No.”

“What’s your name?” I asked.


“How old are you?”


“Come, sit on my lap.” She hesitated, but them came over. “Did you get any toys for Christmas? I asked.

“No.” she said.

I took out a big, beautiful doll. “Do you want this doll?”

“No,” she said, and leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I’m Jewish.”

I nudged her and whispered back, “I’m Jewish, too.” Lisa grinned from ear to ear. She took the doll I had handed her, hugged it, and ran out of the room.

I don’t know which of us was happier – Lisa or the Santa in me.

Merry Christmas, my friends…

I am Grateful!  How are You?

Story Day 4 — Santa and Sarah

I hope you like today’s story.  It seems I’m not having to go very far to find stories to bring here to my posts!  Other people are sharing stories on social networks too, so I get lots of choices of stories to share with you!

Here’s one a friend shared on her FB wall.  Once again, it touched my heart….. probably because of the fact that we are dealing with a cancer patient in the story.  I guess it hits a little close to home!

Here’s today’s story:

santawithchild“Santa and Sarah”

Three years ago, a little boy and his grandmother came to see Santa at the McAllister Mall in Saint John. The child climbed up on his lap, holding a picture of a little girl.

Who is this?” asked Santa, smiling. “Your friend?

“Yes, Santa,’ he replied. “My sister, Sarah, who is very sick,” he said sadly.

Santa glanced over at the grandmother who was waiting nearby, and saw her dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “She wanted to come with me to see you, oh, so very much, Santa!” the child exclaimed. “She misses you,” he added softly.

Santa tried to be cheerful and encouraged a smile to the boy’s face, asking him what he wanted Santa to bring him for Christmas.

When they finished their visit, the Grandmother came over to help the child off his lap, and started to say something to Santa, but halted.

“What is it?” Santa asked warmly.

“Well, I know it’s really too much to ask you, Santa, but..” the old woman began, shooing her grandson over to one of Santa’s elves to collect the little gift which Santa gave all his young visitors.

“The girl in the photograph… my granddaughter well, you see … she has leukemia and isn’t expected to make it even through the holidays,” she said through tear-filled eyes. “Is there any way, Santa, any possible way that you could come see Sarah? That’s all she’s asked for, for Christmas, is to see Santa.”
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Santa blinked and swallowed hard and told the woman to leave information with his elves as to where Sarah was, and he would see what he could do. Santa thought of little else the rest of that afternoon. He knew what he had to do. “What if it were MY child lying in that hospital bed, dying,” he thought with a sinking heart, “This is the least I can do.”

When Santa finished visiting with all the boys and girls that evening, he retrieved from his helper the name of the hospital where Sarah was staying. He asked the assistant location manager how to get to the Hospital.

“Why?” Rick asked, with a puzzled look on his face.

Santa relayed to him the conversation with Sarah’s grandmother earlier that day.

“C’mon…..I’ll take you there.” Rick said softly. Rick drove them to the hospital and came inside with Santa.

They found out which room Sarah was in. A pale Rick said, he would wait out in the hall.

Santa quietly peeked into the room through the half-closed door and saw little Sarah in the bed.

The room was full of what appeared to be her family; there was the Grandmother and the girl’s brother he had met earlier that day. A woman whom he guessed was Sarah’s mother stood by the bed, gently pushing Sarah’s thin hair off her forehead. And another woman who he discovered later was Sarah’s aunt, sat in a chair near the bed with a weary sad look on her face. They were talking quietly, and Santa could sense the warmth and closeness of the family, and their love and concern for Sarah.

Taking a deep breath, and forcing a smile on his face, Santa entered the room, bellowing a hearty, “Ho, Ho, Ho!”

“Santa!” shrieked little Sarah, weakly as she tried to escape her bed to run to him IV tubes intact.

Santa rushed to her side and gave her a warm hug.

A child the tender age of his own son — 9 years old — gazed up at him with wonder and excitement. Her skin was pale and her short tresses bore telltale bald patches from the effects of chemotherapy. But, all he saw when he looked at her was a pair of, huge blue eyes. His heart melted, and he had to force himself to choke back tears. Though his eyes were riveted upon Sarah’s face, he could hear the gasps and quiet sobbing of the women in the room.

As he and Sarah began talking, the family crept quietly to the bedside one by one, squeezing Santa’s shoulder or his hand gratefully, whispering “Thank you” as they gazed sincerely at him with shining eyes. Santa and Sarah talked and talked, and she told him excitedly all the toys she wanted for Christmas, assuring him she’d been a very good girl that year.

As their time together dwindled, Santa felt led in his spirit to pray for Sarah, and asked for permission from the girl’s mother. She nodded in agreement and the entire family circled around Sarah’s bed, holding hands. Santa looked intensely at Sarah and asked her if she believed in angels.

“Oh, yes, Santa… I do!” she exclaimed.

“Well, I’m going to ask angels watch over you.” he said. Laying one hand on the child’s head, Santa closed his eyes and prayed. He asked that, God touch little Sarah, and heal her body from this disease. He asked that angels minister to her, watch and keep her. And when he finished praying, still with eyes closed, he started singing, softly, “Silent Night, Holy Night….all is calm, all is bright.” The family joined in, still holding hands, smiling at Sarah, and crying tears of hope, tears of joy for this moment, as Sarah beamed at them all.

When the song ended, Santa sat on the side of the bed again and held Sarah’s frail, small hands in his own. “Now, Sarah,” he said authoritatively, “you have a job to do, and that is to concentrate on getting well. I want you to have fun playing with your friends this summer, and I expect to see you at my house at McAllister Mall this time next year!”

He knew it was risky proclaiming that to this little girl who had terminal cancer, but he “had” to. He had to give her the greatest gift he could — not dolls or games or toys — but the gift of HOPE.

“Yes, Santa!” Sarah exclaimed, her eyes bright.

He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead and left the room.

Out in the hall, the minute Santa’s eyes met Rick’s, a look passed between them and they wept unashamed.

Sarah’s mother and grandmother slipped out of the room quickly and rushed to Santa’s side to thank him.
“My only child is the same age as Sarah,” he explained quietly. “This is the least I could do.” They nodded with understanding and hugged him.

One year later, Santa was again back on the set in Saint John for his six-week, seasonal job which he so loves to do. Several weeks went by and then one day a child came up to sit on his lap.

“Hi, Santa! Remember me?!”

“Of course, I do,” Santa proclaimed (as he always does), smiling down at her. After all, the secret to being a “good” Santa is to always make each child feel as if they are the “only” child in the world at that moment.

“You came to see me in the hospital last year!”

Santa’s jaw dropped. Tears immediately sprang in his eyes, and he grabbed this little miracle and held her to his chest. “Sarah!” he exclaimed. He scarcely recognized her, for her hair was long and silky and her cheeks were rosy — much different from the little girl he had visited just a year before. He looked over and saw Sarah’s mother and grandmother in the sidelines smiling and waving and wiping their eyes.

That was the best Christmas ever for Santa Claus.

He had witnessed –and been blessed to be instrumental in bringing about — this miracle of hope. This precious little child was healed. Cancer-free. Alive and well. He silently looked up to Heaven and humbly whispered, “Thank you, Father. ‘Tis a very, Merry Christmas!

I am Grateful!  How are You?

A Story a Day — Yes, Virginia, There Is a Santa Claus

I decided the other day that I wanted to do something everyday to help keep me in the spirit of Christmas.  I thought maybe reading a short Christmas story everyday was just the ticket!  Then, as I was laying in bed a while ago….. ( yes, I’m awake!  I can’t sleep right now!) ….. I got the idea that it would be fun to share those stories here on my blog with all of you!  So, everyday till Christmas, I will be sharing a story with you!  Some of them you may have heard, some of them maybe not….. but either way, I hope to help brighten up your Christmas season with them!

When I was in college, I had the opportunity to be a part of a community Christmas show.  It’s one of the funnest musical versions of a Christmas Carol that I have ever seen.  It’s called, “The Stingiest Man In Town”  No one ever does it…. but the music and story are very fun.  I got to play Scrooge’s girlfriend from his past.  You know… the one he didn’t end up marrying because he was so concerned about money?  Yeah… it was fun.  I had a nice song, but the best song in the show in my opinion was a song called, “Yes, There Is A Santa Claus”.  It was sung by what I think would be the Mrs. Crachit character.  It’s always been a favorite of mine and reminds me very much of the story that appeared in the New York Sun in 1897.  You may have heard the reply the newspaper gave to the little girl named Virginia who wanted to know if there was really a Santa or not.

Here’s the story:virginiasanta

Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus

Editorial Page, New York Sun, 1897

We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:

Dear Editor,

I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.” Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia O’Hanlon

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except what they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

I love that.  The song, I think, may have been based on this story.  Several years ago they made a cartoon version of “The Stingest Man in Town”.  Jim Backus of Mr. Magoo fame was the Scrooge character.  While it was nice to hear some of the music… the cartoon version left out some of the story and songs and wasn’t as charming as the actual show…. BUT…. they did do “Yes, There Is a Santa Claus”.  So….. here is the cartoon version of it.  At least you can hear all the words to the song this way!  I hope you enjoy it!

I am grateful!  How are You?