Believing in Santa and What it Taught Me About Faith

Christmas has always been my favorite holiday. I love the lights, the snowy weather, and nothing beats decorating the tree with Christmas music playing the background. Growing up in a household with no religious label, Christmas really was all about presents and Santa.

I have several memories of Christmas as a child and all of them have one thing in common: I would make myself sick with excitement! I was so sure that I had been my best all year and that Santa would reward me for my diligent efforts. My little body would shake and my teeth would chatter. Not because I was cold, but because I could hardly handle the anxiety of what was to come. When my sleepy eyes opened early each Christmas morning, what was to be found never ceased to amaze me. Some how, Santa knew exactly what I wanted, even the years when I didn't eagerly write him a special letter or whisper my desires into his ears when we took the annual trip to the mall to see Santa in the flesh. Every year I was filled with wonder.

Of course, my heart-felt trust in Santa did not come all at once. Before me, my older brother had special experiences with Santa. Possibly on more than one occasion, he slept on the couch in attempt to catch Santa in action. His faith in Santa was just as strong as any other child, believing in his existence until he was 13 years old. My uncle use to show me a world map with a Santa Tracker, giving us a minute by minute play of Santa's location. He was always on the other side of the world as my bed time would near, but seeing this "tracker" seemed to only solidify to me that he was real and on his way! Once, I was given a letter from Santa himself. My parents had divorced and my dad was re-married, adding a step mom and a step brother to my family. These new additions changed Christmas tradition a little bit, but a letter from Santa promising me that he will come just for us at a different time so we could enjoy Christmas as a family, made me feel special and cared for. In retrospect, Santa was a really integral part of my childhood and a happy one at that.

I remember when I learned that Santa wasn't real. I don't really know how old I was, but I do remember feeling a little skeptical for a couple years. Without thinking, my mom left me and my step siblings at home while she ran to the store. She encouraged us to stay inside and out of the garage where we typically would go play when the weather was bad. Naturally, as soon as the car reversed out of the drive way, we were in that garage. Finding several things I had put on my Christmas list, I was excited! Mom obviously knows whats up! It was normal for me to snoop. I use to open up my presents and wrap them back up. For whatever reason, I have never been one to like surprises or secrets. I've always felt like I need to know everything. Ironically, to my surprise all of the gifts I had seen in the garage were all marked "From Santa". Me and a couple of my siblings had recognized what was going on and chose to keep quiet for a couple more years.

When I was investigating the church, I was really desperate to find my place. Nothing in my life up to this point had felt right and I was increasingly impatient with life's time table. I was looking for drastic change that would perhaps place me on the path I wanted to be on. The Mormon church had always been a fascination of mine and at the time I believed that to be a sign of God pulling me in His direction. Some of the teachings really resonated with me and felt true. At church I was surrounded with intelligent, beautiful, kind people who seemed to really like me. To be baptized meant that my last wild oat would have to be sold and I would have to commit to a strict and straight edge life. To feel loved and cared for seemed like a benefit that far out weighed the cost, so I entered the waters of baptism with every intention to never look back.

I started to change the way I talked, the way I dressed, and even the way I acted. Before I knew it I was bearing my testimony on Facebook defending a church and a gospel I knew seemingly nothing about. In retrospect, I realize I knew only what the missionaries had taught me. If I were to give you run down of what I knew it would be this:

-A man named Joseph Smith prayed and God and Jesus appeared to him in a grove of trees, declaring that he was to be a prophet and restore Christ's church. An Angel of the Lord gave him a set of Gold plates containing a record of an ancient civilization that lived in the Americas, where Christ came after his death and taught the same gospel we learn in the bible. This record is what we now call the Book of Mormon

-Baptism by someone holding the restored priesthood is necessary, any other baptism does not count

-Temples are where you get sealed to your spouse for time and all eternity and perform baptisms for the dead

-The Lord asks for 10% of my income, before taxes

-No sex until marriage

-Pray for forgiveness, pray to have a relationship with God, and pray for answers to my questions, especially ones about the church and the Book of Mormon.

-No coffee, tea, alcohol, drugs, or smoking

-Prophets and apostles are on the earth today and lead this/His church

-The only way to return to God was to follow what is taught within the church

All simple, right? Except, when bearing my testimony, I was using phrases like, "I know" when in fact I did not know. I wasn't even 100% sure I believed it all. However, when the Elders or members in church bore witness, their eyes would swell with tears and their voices would tremble. I could feel their conviction. I wanted that, and when I asked how people got to that point they would say, "You earn a testimony by living the gospel and sharing its truth with others." Along with the Spirit's confirmation, this was how I would blend into the Mormon world I just entered. And at the time, they were right. I was doing what everyone else was doing and it felt good. I was making friends and the life I once knew was growing small in my rear view mirror.

Prior to committing to baptism, I had gone back and fourth with missionary discussions and even agreed to be baptized but I backed out. I would refer to google often when I had questions and then ask the missionaries about what I had read. Some of church history felt unsettling when I learned about polygamy. I would ask, "Did Joseph Smith really have multiple wives?" The missionaries would say, "Yeah, but that time was a different time". It was coupled with, "By their fruits ye shall know them. He was an imperfect man who brought about a perfect church and through study of the Book of Mormon and prayer you can know for yourself. When you do his imperfections will not bother you." That made sense to me. Look at how wonderful all of these true believers were! The humanitarian efforts, visiting and home teaching, and the opportunities within the wards proved to be good fruit. Those good feelings were enough. I'll be honest. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I am a passionate person with no filter. Embracing the church boldly with my whole self was the only way I could do it. Go big or go home, right? It was not out of character for me to get up every Fast Sunday and bear a testimony full of "I knows". Just like gaining trust in Santa, I started to learn about the church and abide by its precepts.

Throughout the years, any question or doubt I had was first brought to the Lord in prayer, and then to any conference talk or scripture I could find. My patriarchal blessing was comforting in times I doubted the happiness of my future. I would seek the counsel of church leaders and follow the basic steps to keep me in line with the covenants I made. Pray, Read, Church, Repeat. Go to the temple, pay tithing, fiercely fulfil church callings... I was a happy, true believing Mormon. As a missionary or even as a wife of a faithful priesthood holder, trials were always met with typical Latter-Day Saint resistance.

Questions were being left unanswered and the conditional love given to those who didn't fit the Mormon mold (aka me) started to weigh heavy on my shelf. I was circling the wagon; experiencing temporary insanity. When it felt like too much to handle, the encouraging words of members echoed in my mind, "Don't give up! Just hold to the rod! Your faith will be rewarded. If not in this life, in the next." I felt trapped by the possibility that at any second the Lord would release me from my confusion and finally, like flipping the light switch in a dark room, I would be illuminated with truth and my troubles about this religion would dissipate. When I ran out of nails to hold my shelf firmly in place, I tried thumb tacks. I was holding on by a thread.

When I read the CES letter, it was like that fateful Christmas morning. All of this was true until it wasn't. Santa was real, until he wasn't.

Faith seems a lot like perception. When evidence proves something false how long does one hang around with that information before they split? It was always up for debate; up for God to prove and us to test. At one point in time I needed the church. I needed it to be true. Still new and deep into this faith crisis, I have come to the current conclusion that what feels true to me right now may change later and that is okay. When I was an active member I thought my only life purpose was to be found within the four walls of my religion. Whatever doctrine, principle, law or command associated with the church was my truth. It wasn't until none of that felt right any more did I truly realize that I am a unique individual with unique imperfections and talents. I cant believe any church, let alone the Mormon church, contains all truth under its roof.

So, what has believing in Santa taught me about faith? Faith brings about our deepest fears and our deepest desires and combines the two. Fear of the afterlife subsides when we have a belief in a glorious heaven and loving God. Who doesn't want that comfort? Santa was oh so comforting because he was reliable, proven so every Christmas morning. I knew he would always come through!

While Faith in God is much more complex and not as reliable as Santa (or at least in my own experience), both have served me a purpose at one time or another. Faith really is made up of whatever we need it to be. Now I have faith in other things, like my marriage and my career because they are solid and my success in both is chalked up to my own agency and hard work. I am deeply troubled by the truth claims of the Mormon church, enough to start a whole blog about it.

Having Santa's cover blown taught me to enjoy the innocence of a child as an adult. It helped me appreciate magic of Christmas time and the dedication of my parents. It helped me explore my admittedly small imagination, encouraging me to seek truth, whatever that meant or wherever I could find it. I suppose learning of Santa's falsehood set me on a quest to get to the bottom of MY truth.

Perhaps some day I'll be able to let go of the church and find the peace this process was designed to bring. Until then, I will seek resolve as I find my new place living a post Mormon life.

