I can’t remember ever believing in Santa Claus.
Apparently – according to my mother; this happened before I have any memory of it – I was very young when I decided entirely on my own that the Santa story couldn’t be true. Something about his coming down the chimney? or maybe about his pack or sleigh not being big enough to carry everything? I don’t think it was the awareness that there were too many children in the world to visit in one night. (It had to be something I could understand as a very tiny tot, and numbers wouldn’t have been that, I don’t think.)
In any case, I decided on my own, against my parents’ desires, that Santa Claus wasn’t real, and I announced that realization to my family. It happened when I was so small that my brother, two and a half years my senior, still believed in Santa, and I ruined it for him. My parents were not happy about that. At least my little brother, 11 months my junior, was still too little to understand.
I know this happened because at some point every Christmas of my childhood, my mom would tell the story. She had mostly gotten over the unhappiness of it, but not completely, and even though she told the story as if it were funny, it stung. Badly. I had a tender heart, and I was remorseful for having ruined Santa for my brother, even though I couldn’t possibly have intended malice at, maybe, three or four years old. I had simply declared what my logical mind had reasoned out without comprehending the consequences.
Finally, in my mid-teens, I begged my family to retire the story. There was nothing I could do about it but apologize yet once more, and it just hurt to hear again how I was responsible for spoiling Christmas. Mom hadn’t realized how I felt, and she stopped telling the story.
-oOo-
Within the past few years – since I moved to Salt Lake – a reporter for a French newspaper came to my apartment to interview me for something historical. I don’t remember what; I didn’t rate any mention in her published article. The first question she asked wasn’t really a question: “You don’t really believe in all those stories about angels and gold plates, do you?” And when I said I did, she didn’t even try to hide her puzzlement mingled with scorn. Her world view had no place for someone who could accept such fairy tales, even (or especially) someone surrounded by serious-looking books who had been referred to her as a serious person with useful knowledge about Mormon history. Whatever questions she asked after that were perfunctory, and she left as quickly as she could. It wasn’t that she was anti-Mormon; it was that she couldn’t accept that a rational person living in the 21st century could be so daft as to believe what she considered childish nonsense.
But I’ve always believed. Part of that is based in experience: I’ve had too many witnesses of the reality of God, the mission of the Savior, the veracity of Joseph Smith’s testimony, to disbelieve. Another part of it must be an innate gift not subject to doubt: As the obnoxious “Book of Mormon” play puts it so mockingly, I “just believe” at some level even beyond experience.
I’m logical and (normally) rational. Have been all my life, as the Santa story illustrates. I’m perfectly capable of reasoning myself out of irrational beliefs, given time and information. I’ve never been able to reason myself out of a belief in the gospel, though. The very few times I’ve seriously considered it – as, for example, when my confidence in God and the living Church was so severely shaken while I was a missionary – have all fallen flat: Does the failure of X or Y or Z mean I should stop believing? I’d think it through carefully, but that’s where it ended. No matter how irrational it seemed, no matter what “magical thinking” seemed to be involved, I still believed, and believe now.
We live in times that discourage belief and faith, and that promote doubt in the unseen and reliance only on the measurable. The seeming impossibility of finding satisfactory religious responses on issues that matter so deeply today as fairness and equality and respect and love and justice, sadly but understandably lead many to abandon what seems like an insupportable fairy tale when contrasted with the very real sorrows of very real people.
But I’m one of those who do believe – deeply and genuinely and, apparently, unalterably. I can’t solve anyone’s troubles and I can’t change conditions anywhere and I can’t even be consistently as loving and civil and inclusive as I ought to be. But I believe … and if knowing that gives anybody a rock to lean against in the storm, I’m here.
Ardis, Thanks for everything you do. And a BIG Merry Christmas!
Ralph was the youngest of seven children. He was about eight when somebody asked him if he still believed in Santa Claus. He replied, “I would be a fool not to.” That was the end of Santa’s visits to that family–to his older siblings’ disappointment.
There are a number of fiercely held beliefs in the modern world that I have not accepted. I won’t list any here, because there will readers who accept those beliefs, and I don’t want to start a fight.
But when I see how messed up the world is, the idea that God designed it as a test–a test with open books and plenty of extra credit awarded when the test is finished–makes more sense than anything else I’ve heard.
Thanks for this, and for your many posts throughout the year. At the moment I need stars to share their light, and your faith throws beautiful light. I hope you have a joyful Christmas.
Thanks, Ardis, for your practical and faithful insights here in all your personal posts. Hope you have a good Christmas.
Thanks Ardis. This does matter to me. I’m not anti-intellectul and I’m not a rube. I’m not even struggling with my testimony (I don’t think) but it always does me good to know there are folks out there who know a whole bunch and still believe.
This is a lovely gift. Thank you.
Thank you, Ardis. And me too.
We were just watching a clip from an old Marx Brothers movie: “Hahaha, you can’t fool me; there ain’t no sanity clause.”
Anyway. I am around people who are dealing with the reality of Santa Claus (people on the younger side) and the realities of faith. Both experiences can be complicated. Thank you for sharing your sentiments. And Merry Christmas!
Yes, I remember as a teenager, there were a couple of things I had to ask my mother to stop bringing up. Or at least not to mention it at every. possible. opportunity.
I always find it odd that Latter-day Saints get singled out more than others for believing outrageous things. The most outrageous things about Mormonism aren’t angels and gold plates or prophets or temples or whatever. The most outrageous things have to do with walking on water, parting the Red Sea, or carpenters who were resurrected. We have a story about a talking snake, and people think the most outrageous thing about it is that we think the talking snake was in Missouri.
I remember someone once asked Mitt Romney about weird Mormon beliefs, and he said something like “One of our strangest beliefs is that there was a guy who built a large boat and took two of every species.” I thought Mitt hit the nail right on the head. We get a lot of grief about “racist” stuff in the Book of Mormon, but by far the most racially problematic passages in Mormon scripture are in the texts we share with other Christian and Jewish believers.
Ardis, you have ever been thoughtful and generous with your knowledge and belief. Thank you for this and the many other wonderful posts you’ve shared. I wish you a good Christmas and an even better New Year.
Left Field, you remind me of on day when someone called Dr. Laura on the radio and complained that her daughter was marrying a Mormon and she couldn’t stand it. He believes in gold plates and nonsense like that. Dr. Laura asked if she believed in the Bible. She said of course. Dr. Laura then asked, “So, the burning bush is better?”
Ardis, I’m know what you mean by always believing. I have too, but it’s still great to hear it from others.