A timeless question was asked 109 years ago in 1897 by 8-year-old Virginia O’Hanlon. Her father suggested Virginia write to the New York Sun for authoritative confirmation of the existence of Santa Claus. Francis P. Church, a columnist for the Sun, replied to her letter on the editorial page. The Sun ran that column every Christmas Eve for almost 50 years, until the paper ceased publishing. Virginia’s question and Church’s reply will continue to be reprinted for years to come.

We take pleasure in answering at once and thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Christmas Spirit:

Dear Editor,
I am 8 years old.
Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says “If you see it in The Sun it’s so.”
Please tell me the truth. Is there a Santa Claus?
Virginia O’Hanlon
115 West Ninety-fifth St.

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real
things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, not even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! He lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

One of our readers, Joe Beine, who also maintains a blog here in wp, has graciously contributed a story to read. Thank you Joe!

“I don’t have a pound to give ya,” Mally replied, not really sure how much money she had with her, although she knew it wasn’t much. The shopping mall had paid each of the musicians with a check, and Moira, the cellist and Mally’s best friend, had insisted that all the tip money be donated to the War Child charity.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” the dirty face said, peering at Mally through eyes that matched the dull gray color of the twilight sky. But Mally thought she could make out just a hint of a sparkle hidden somewhere in those twilight eyes.

“I know that,” Mally said. By now she had stopped walking and stood next to the woman, who appeared magically oblivious to the evening’s cold air. Mally moved her viola case to one hand, pulled a glove off the other and dug into a pocket, searching through her change. She found what was probably her only pound coin and pulled it out. The tiny spark in the woman’s eyes glowed brighter at the sight of the tarnished coin, and she quickly reached out to snatch it from Mally’s grasp.

Read the story here > To Hear the Angels Sing

Yes, this is all about the Christmas Spirit. Believe in it!

The Legend of the Christmas Spider is a favorite among children of all ages. Include a spider among the branches of your Christmas tree. My personal favorite is the Swarovski crystal spider, but they can be made of plastic, rubber or beads. Just use your imagination.

The Czech Republic, the Ukraine, and Germany have all been given credit for this legend.

Once upon a time, long, long ago, on a very cold Christmas Eve, a gentle grandmother was busily cleaning the house for the most wonderful day of the year, Christmas Day. Not a speck of dust was left. Even the spiders had been banished from their cozy corner on the ceiling. They all fled to the farthest corner of the attic.

The Christmas tree was beautifully decorated. The poor spiders were frantic, for they could not see the tree, nor be present for the little Christ child’s visit. Then the oldest and wisest spider suggested they wait until everyone was asleep and then they could get a closer look.

When all was dark and silent, the spiders crept out of their hiding place and went near the tree. They were astounded by the beauty of it. The spiders crept all over the tree, up and down, over all the branches and twigs, not missing a one of the pretty ornaments.

The spiders loved the Christmas tree. All night long they danced in the branches, leaving them covered with spider webs. In the morning, when the Christ child came to bless the house, he saw what the spiders had done and knew that the grandmother would be dismayed. She had worked so hard to make everything perfect. The spiders were God’s creatures and meant no harm, so with love in his heart and a smile on his lips, he reached out and gently touched the spider webs. The webs started to sparkle, shimmer and shine. Gold and silver threads covered all the branches of the tree.

According to legend, this is why people put tinsel on their Christmas trees. It has also become a custom to include a spider among the decorations on the tree for good luck.

From Germany, comes the Legend of the Christmas Pickle and Good Luck.

There is an old German tradition of hanging a pickle-shaped glass ornament on the Christmas tree, on Christmas Eve, hidden away so it would be very difficult to find.

Legend tells us that the mother and father would make this the last ornament to be hung on the tree after all the children were fast asleep. Early on Christmas morning, the first child to find the ornament would be given a very special treat left especially for them by St.Nicholas. Finding the pickle would bring good luck.

This tradition also encouraged the children to appreciate all the ornaments on the tree rather than rushing to see what Old St. Nick had left for them.

Of course children get excited about what they will receive for Christmas, but perhaps there is too much emphasis on receiving and not enough importance placed on giving. Christmas is a time for giving and for sharing, but not just with material things. More importantly, one of the greatest gifts any of us can give is the gift of oneself, the gift of our time, our attention, our love to the important people in our life and to those we don’t know, especially a person in need.

Today’s reviewed books feature these themes in strong, loving ways. Share them with a child; you’ll both benefit.

“The Christmas Day Kitten” written by James Herriot, illustrated by Ruth Brown, St. Martin’s Press, 32 pages. Read aloud: age 3 and older. Read yourself: age 7-8 and older.

Mrs. Pickering has opened her home to a stray cat she names Debbie, who visits when she chooses, soaks in a few moments of solitude, eats a little food and then is gone. Mrs. Pickering never knows when Debbie will return, but Debbie has learned to trust and love Mrs. Pickering and that affection is clearly reciprocated.

One Christmas morning Mrs. Pickering telephones Dr. Herriot. Debbie had arrived early that day, and there is something terribly wrong. Dr. Herriot hurries to the Pickering house and discovers a bittersweet scenario. Sorrow turns to joy, however, when Mrs. Pickering receives the finest Christmas present she could ever ask for.

This superb story will cause readers to rejoice in the holiday spirit of love and giving.

“Prairie Christmas” by Elizabeth Van Steenwyk, illustrated by Ronald Himler, Eerdmans, 2006, 32 pages, $17.00 hardcover. Read aloud: age 5 and older. Read yourself: age 8 and older.

It’s Christmas Day, 1880, on the prairie in Nebraska. Emma is almost 15 years old, and instead of spending Christmas at home, she must go with her mother, a doctor, to deliver a baby. Emma can’t help but wish the baby would be born on some other day. But when she arrives at the house, she quickly comes to learn that she isn’t the only one whose Christmas has been interrupted. Two young children are waiting for their baby to be born, and they are worried. Emma decides she is must do something make the children’s Christmas special while they all wait to hear the newborn’s cry, and that’s precisely what she does.

A marvelous story about family, friendship, and the joy of giving, this selection is a wonderful story to share for the holidays or anytime.

“The First Christmas Stocking” by Elizabeth Winthrop, illustrated by Bagram Ibatoulline, Delacorte, 2006, 40 pages, $15.95 hardcover. Read aloud: age 5 and older. Read yourself: age 8–9 and older.

Long, long ago in the north country, a young girl named Claire lived with her parents in a small stone hut. Claire and her parents were very poor, and the money Claire’s mother made from her beautiful knitting help add needed income to her father’s meager wages as a coal miner. Claire sat with her mother every day and she learned to knit, doing as her mother told her, to “dream your dreams and knit them into the wool.”

When Claire’s mother died, Claire took over her mother’s job and she knit beautiful stockings. A wealthy woman heard of Claire’s stockings and came to Claire’s door two days before Christmas, promising to pay her handsomely for three pairs of stockings for her children. Claire worked day and night to fill the order, but on her way to deliver the stockings, she came across a boy in rags, freezing in the snow. Clearly the boy needed her stockings more than the rich woman and her children, and the ramifications of her act of kindness had greater impact than Claire or her father could have ever imagined.

An extraordinary tale perfectly supported by lush illustrations, this selection is rich.

When Santa Fell to Earth; By CORNELIA FUNKE; Chicken House; 2006; 173 pp.

Timeless. That’s the word for fiction of this sort. How else can a story originally published in German in 1994 Eand now translated into English for the first time Emake for such great reading? Cynics might say that it’s got to do with that Santa character Estories about him never go wrong, do they? But that’s just it: Everyone knows about the fat guy in red who visits at Christmas. How can a tired old myth be revived so that it still sparkles like freshly fallen snow on Christmas morning?

For starters, did anyone say “fat guy in red?” Funke’s Santa is young, thin and laughs, well, a little more like the rest of us. And he doesn’t stand around outside glitzy department stores urging you to buy more and spend more. In fact, he’s the last real Santa, the only one who still knows that there’s more to Christmas spirit than handing your credit card to the cashier. When his airborne sleigh gets driven to Earth by a storm and his reindeer bolts off, Santa finds himself in a narrow street called Misty Close Ewith two panic-stricken angels, a bunch of angry elves and the wintry cold for company.

And while Niklas Goodfellow Efor that’s what our unlikely Santa is called Eis waiting for his reindeer to return, he chances to make friends with two rather unhappy children, Ben and Charlotte. Ben’s relationship with his parents is going seriously downhill; and Charlotte has been having some terrible dreams, though it is never quite clear why.

Their fortunes take a decisive turn for the better once they’ve been invited into Santa’s caravan. They get treated to hot chocolate brewed by angels; they watch the elves making the world’s most beautiful toys; and they resolve to find Santa’s reindeer and bring it back. Meanwhile, there is always the specter of Gruesome Gerold Goblynch, the Stealer of Christmas, who wants nothing more than to turn Niklas into a bar of chocolate. Can Niklas Goodfellow escape the clutches of Gruesome Goblynch and his army of Nutcrackers and still make everyone believe in Christmas once again?

In this magical Christmas tale, he does, with a little help from Ben and Charlotte, of course. Funke’s 21st-century take on Santa debunks all the old notions of a plump Father Christmas squeezing his way down chimneys, bag bursting with toys in tow.

But the best things about the much-loved fable Ethe flying reindeer, the elfin toy shop, and most of all, the generosity of spirit that Christmas stands for Eare left intact.

It took 12 long years for the English-speaking world to discover Funke’s heartfelt story. Some things are well worth waiting for.

Note: Suitable for children 10 years and older.

In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be enrolled. This was the first enrollment, when Quirin’i-us was governor of Syria. And all went to be enrolled, each to his own city.

And Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the city of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be enrolled with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child. And while they were there, the time came for her to be delivered.

And she gave birth to her first-born son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

And in that region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.

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