This was the year it unraveled for my older boy.

St Nick left treats in our boots, just like he does every year. Dad got his usual bottle of beer (gluten-free), mom got an avocado, the younger found a grapefruit and the older a bag of chili lime cashews. Yum. St Nick knows us all very well.

Which the boys notice. “Hey, do you think he just takes these things out of our fruit bowl and cabinet and puts them in our boots?” We’ve heard this question before. When you eat differently from most, the special items the fairies and mythical saints drop off on their way around the world look suspiciously familiar.

“Maybe he lives here,” the almost 11 year old says.

The statement hits me. I look at him sternly. “If you know something, don’t spoil it for those that don’t.”

They have five minutes to get ready for school.

We’re standing side by side at the kitchen sink when I say this, and he gives me a confused look.

I realize, he was just testing.

I watch the cascade of changing emotions course through his body as he continues to get ready for school. I notice how the realization hits me, too. I feel AWFUL. Like I’d smashed his favorite lego creation. No – worse. You can rebuild legos.

Dad’s heading out the door with the youngest and Jesse comes back into the kitchen. We both burst into tears.

“I’m so sorry,” I say.

“Is it all of them? The tooth fairy, too?”

I promise we’ll talk that night. I tell him that Santa is a beautiful kid magic, and he’s ready to know about the real magic, a deeper magic. I tell him again how sorry I am, that I thought he knew. I ask if he was testing, and he says he was. I comment that we need to be careful what we ask for, because we might get it.

Then, through his tears he laughs. “You guys did a great job! All that special handwriting on the notes. You totally had me!”

*************************************

I know this would be a perfect place to end this post, but I have to tell you about the evening conversation.

The youngest tucked in bed, it’s our time to talk.

Jesse is a musician. He has a bewildering, wild talent. He’s already proficient in two instruments and holds his own pretty well in a few more. I ask him, “How do you feel when you play music?”

“Like I’m doing what I’m meant to do,” he replies immediately.

“That’s the magic,” I said.

He nods. He gets it.

“It’s possible to feel that way all the time, about everything,” I say. “Your dad and I go on retreats and do rituals to get in deeper touch with that.”

He simply sits for a moment. “Sometimes when I just feel good, I look around and think, wow, it just is.” He has the glow of a bigger knowing on his face.

He turns 11 tomorrow, Christmas day. He’s commented a few times that this year feels different. We can see the changes in him. He’s testing in a lot of ways, and he’s taking on more responsibility. Even when he doesn’t want to. He’s able to hold a paradox.

Santa may not be coming in the flesh, but there’s still magic. Can you feel it? Jesse does. I do, when I take the time to sit still and breathe.

May you take the time this holiday season to feel your body, to feel the earth and air, water, fire and spirit as it offers itself to you, all the time. May you snuggle with your loved ones. Tell them you love them. May you feel your griefs and your joys fully, and know that you and they are the real magic, the truly human mystery.

This entry was posted on Saturday, December 24th, 2011 at 4:47 pm and is filed under Meditation, Seasonal Change. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.