Christmas is my favorite time of the year, and I am eagerly anticipating it just as I do every year. The joy of Christmas is wrapped up in traditions, in spending time with family, in the feeling of being overwhelmed on Christmas morning, in snuggling up in front of a fireplace on cold winter days to watch movies and tell stories. The joy of Christmas is in searching for just the right gift for each of the people I love the most, and watching their eyes shine when they open a gift that tells them they are loved.

However many years may pass, I still remember how I felt when I received the gifts that meant the most to me. The cake that looked like an open book and said, “Once Upon A Time” on it, the girls’ scrapbook they made me, or the baby doll with the curly blonde hair in the fancy dress with the broken teddy bear in her arms were all more than wrapped gifts beneath the tree. They mattered. Gifts have the ability to make someone feel cared about, remembered, and special. But nothing under the tree will ever be the greatest gift. 

Right around this time, a silent epidemic wraps around the country — the world, really. An epidemic of loneliness. I have a strong, supportive family made up of my girls, my niece, my mother and my sister. I lost extended family in 2003 when I finally told everyone about my childhood abuse and, twelve years ago, I became single after a very long relationship. While I’ve been very fortunate in knowing that I always had the support of those closest to me, loneliness is something I am familiar with. Loneliness can breed self-destructive thoughts like no one cares. Loneliness births hopelessness because loneliness can reinforce the worst thoughts you have about yourself. The fact that no one is there seems to validate, prove, all of the deepest fears. To be alone, or to feel alone, during the happiest time of the year would be excruciating. Unable to go anywhere in public without seeing Merry Christmas! signs, light displays, cheery Santas, and all sorts of other suggestions that others have what you so long for would be heartbreaking.

I was thinking about this, and about how the most important things this Season are not what’s in beautiful Hallmark wrapping paper beneath a twinkling tree. That made me think about miracles, and why I believe in them, and that sparked the idea of counting down the days this week to Christmas morning by listing all of the reasons I believe in miracles. If I close my eyes and think back to my earliest memory of faith, the foundation for my beliefs, what taught me to believe was presence. Physical presence of humans matters. I wrote an entire book about that. Connections with others strengthens us through encouragement, accountability, support and in so many other ways. But it’s not the presence of others that we truly seek during this season or any other. 

Sleep has never been easy for me. For any chance, I have to have a completely blackened room, with no noise, because light creates shadows. Shadows have always scared me. Noise drowns quiet things; I need to be able to hear the quiet things in order to feel safe. I don’t remember a time when sleep was easy for me, but I do remember when and how it became bearable. Scared and unable to sleep, I needed to believe that I was not alone. See, the need to believe is innate: we all want to believe in something. Relationships, success, goals, hard work, forgiveness, people (including ourselves), miracles, God: these are things that we long to believe in. Believing in something fuels motivation and inspires the courage to continue on. Anyway, so back to the story. When I was very young, I needed to believe I was not alone in that bedroom: that someone safe was with me. My tiny hand held palm up towards the ceiling, I prayed, and I asked God to hold my hand. I distinctly remember feeling somewhat skeptical: was a hand really going to come all the way to down to touch my palm? The answer came within a few minutes when a totally unexplained heat settled like a blanket over my hand. I felt it; it was real, and I fell asleep. When I awoke in the middle of the night, I panicked because my arm had moved; my palm was no longer facing up towards the ceiling. I was afraid that He’d let go of my hand if I didn’t keep it in the same position, and it was the thought of being alone again that terrified me. Palm back up, new prayer said… and the heat settled again over my palm. It was the presence that kept me calm, presence that gave me comfort and presence that taught me to believe in that which I cannot see.

The presence of God in my life has been cemented throughout the years in many, many more ways than that He holds my hand, but it is His presence that encourages and inspires me to continue believing in miracles. Much of the reason I love Christmas is because I love seeing wonder. At forty-three, I choose to believe in Santa — not because I think he really flies around the world dropping gifts down my chimney, but because believing in that which we cannot see encourages us to cultivate and nurture a spirit of belief. The word believe comes from the Proto-West Germanic word Bilaubijan, which literally means to give leave or permission to, to permit. Believing, therefore, is a choice. It is a choice that provides little girls and boys all over the world joy during Christmas. It is a choice that provides forty-three year single people like me hope every day of the year. The word miracle comes from the Latin word miraculum, which means “object of wonder.” Therefore, believing in miracles is choosing to believe in wonder; choosing to believe in wonder is choosing a life of joy, love and presence. 

My idea was to write one reason every day this week for all of the reasons I believe in miracles. The presence of God in my life is the most important one. Like any perfect gift, it brings me unspeakable joy, even when I do not understand whatever crisis is happening in my life, the lives of my loved ones, or the world at large. No trauma, regardless of how severe, can take away the greatest gifts we’ve ever been given. The warmth you felt when you received the most exciting, wonderful gift of your life will stay with you even when you’re alone, or sick, or angry, or in pain: the trick is focusing on that instead of everything else. Christmas is good at helping me do that. For me, when I see the wreaths, the bright lights, the gifts, the decorated trees, the snow…. it shines a light on the miracles I’ve seen. For me, being surrounded by the traditions and the scene of Christmas whispers remember when and unlocks the part of me that still believes in wonder. It brings to the surface the girl who listened with wide eyes to stories about princesses and thought I can do that even though that thought should have been outlandish to a kid of her age. It whispers He holds your hand and, in the face of tremendous obstacles, that makes my heart melt.

As with everything, one person’s experience is not the same as another’s. What one sees as proof, another may call science. For me, though, I want to believe. I love David Copperfield (he’s going to make the moon disappear in February and I.can.not.wait) and I don’t want to know how he does it. I want to be awed. He’s making the moon disappear to make a larger statement: if someone can create an illusion to make the moon disappear, why can’t we Save the Children? My point is: while I am truly blessed, I am no stranger to challenges. I am no stranger to trauma, to loneliness. I worry, just like the rest of us do, about paying bills and making sure my family is provided for. I’m not naive. But believing in the presence of someone who loves me enough to hold my hand in the dark, to walk with me through the shadows of the worst of my traumas, allows me to feel protected. Feeling protected allows me the freedom to enjoy the small moments. The presence of God in my life has sheltered me and given me a thirst for wonder and an eye for miracles.

Seven sleeps until Christmas morning. Seven days to delight in too much food, traditions, tracking Santa on Christmas Eve (yes, I do this), and sleeping beneath twinkling lights. Seven days to slow down, and to consciously remember His presence in my life, and to recognize what it has meant to me. I still sometimes, when I am particularly hurting, hold my hand out, palm up to the ceiling, and ask that He engulf my fingers in His. I don’t wake panicked if my hand has moved and turned over; part of me wishes I still did. I will soak in every moment of this season, though. In my mind’s eye, there’s a room of beautifully wrapped boxes. Inside each box is a miracle that has touched my life; every night of this week, I will unwrap one of these boxes, reveling in the knowledge that I am surrounded by the presence of Someone who promises that, no matter what 2024 brings, I do not walk alone.