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Wednesday, December 21, 2016

The Dollhouse

The year I turned eight, I wanted a dollhouse for Christmas. In those days, dollhouses were made of painted pieces of sheet metal with hard plastic furniture. Still, the houses were grand two story affairs, not at all like the converted bungalow where I lived. 

On Christmas Eve, I went to bed hoping Santa wouldn't forget my dearest wish. Sometime during the night, I awoke to hear my father fussing as my mother assisted him in putting something together. I lay very quiet in my bed and realized my parents were following directions to put a dollhouse together. Until then, I assumed Santa Claus brought everything fully assembled. 

As I continued to listen to Mom and Dad hastily placing everything  under the tree, I came to the conclusion that there was no Santa Claus. I wasn't sad or terribly disappointed. It all seemed very logical, but the special joyous magic of Christmas vanished. In it's place was the knowledge that Mom and Dad--despite all their hardships--fashioned a miracle for their children, created out of love.

I grew up a lot that Christmas and though I didn't believe in Santa Claus anymore--I still believed in miracles--but most of all in the power of love.  

May the miracle of love surround you this Christmas and bring you a bright New Year.

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