“Oh God, please, please, pretty please, with sugar on top, let Santa bring me a sister!” This wish enshrined in a prayer was the plea of my 8-year-old heart. I thought I had figured out the real power of Christmas. I begged God, Jesus, and Santa Claus to bring me a baby sister for Christmas.
“Pray with me, Brucie!” At four years old, my little brother Bruce had no choice but to follow my schemes. Besides, we already had two older brothers, so adding a sister seemed fair. Don’t misunderstand; my brothers are the best big brothers ever created. They played with me and protected me. I loved them dearly but was tired of being the only girl. I dreamed of playing Barbies with someone who wanted to play with Barbie dolls unencumbered by GI Joe.
“What would it be like to share an all-pink bedroom with a sister?” I wondered.
December 24, 1971
When my parents left for the hospital on December 24, 1971, my heart was filled with hope. All hope was lost, however, when my father came home on Christmas day with two rude awakenings. The first was that I had another baby brother. And the second, we couldn’t open our Christmas presents until the following week when my mother and new brother came home from the hospital.
Futility is a noun depicting a useless act or gesture. At that moment, prayer felt like an act of futility. Months of wishing, dreaming, hoping, and praying that Santa Claus would come through were all for nothing.
I have loved my brother Stephen since I laid eyes on him, and Mama let me hold him. He was MY baby—a living doll to play with, fix bottles for, and push his stroller. Yet, today, December 24, 2024, I still remember the sting of futility regarding prayer.
No one ever told me that Santa wasn’t real.
I learned that lesson the following Christmas at the ripe old age of 9 when my father had me help him wrap presents while he put together the bike Santa was bringing for Bruce.
As a 61-year-old woman, I see the flaws in my 8-year-old prayer life. I can laugh at begging God to make Santa act on my behalf. What a glaring indication of how my faith was structured. But I was eight, and it was Christmas, so that’s Santa’s realm of power, right? Wrong. I mixed the reality of a Savior with the myth of Santa and came up deeply disillusioned.
The Real Power of Christmas
As we celebrate the birth of Christ, our Savior, Immanuel, the One who was, is, and will always be, let’s remember where the true realm of Christmas power lies. I know that it lies in God loving the world so much that He sent His only Son to earth to redeem us from sin.
I’m grateful to be in a different place from that Christmas 53 years ago and even the one last year. Don’t let the futilities of a misguided prayer life invade your soul. Keep your prayers grounded in the only One with the power to make it all make sense. He knows exactly what you need and when you need it. O come all ye faithful, come and adore Him, come and acknowledge Him. He is Christ the Lord—the true power and source of Christmas hope, peace, joy, and love.
*For those of you who prayer walk, ponder the real power of Christmas found in Christ.