Dear Santa,
I know you’re not in the business of hopes and dreams.
You are more accustomed to dreams of iPads and cell phones handcrafted toys.
Children write to you with open hearts, and a believing spirit.
We craft magical tales for them during this time of year.
Many of them are not even selfish, like I am.
A couple of years ago, I helped a child write a letter to you asking for a washing machine for his Mom, because his Mom cried when hers broke.
Last year, I helped a child write a letter to you asking you to explain to his Mom how much he loves her and that he doesn’t need any toys.
How can I compete with such pure love?
I can’t.
I am selfish. And through my head? A million things I wish for. For myself. To avoid further pain for myself, and to give myself some peace of mind.
Not really things though. They are hopes. Hopes that my Mom and my husband stay healthy. Hopes that I will get to be a Mom. Hopes that I will someday learn how to feel “good enough,” (whatever that means).
Maybe I should be hoping to be more like those kids.
Unwavering faith.
Sending a letter out into the Universe, simply knowing that someone is reading it, and that is enough.
Love,
Me
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Linking up today with Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop
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