Letters To Santa

When my sister and I were little girls, we would sit down with the JC Penny Catalog and circle all of the toys we wanted for Christmas. After we knew what we wanted, we would take out pen and paper and begin to write our letters to Santa. Once we were finished, we would give it to mommy and daddy, believing it would make its way safely into Santa’s hands. Children understand that seeing is not believing, believing is seeing, but something happens as we grow up. We come to the knowledge that Santa Claus is not real. We learn letters to Santa do not make dreams come true. So, as adults, we tuck our pen and paper away and quit dreaming.

We were living in Pierre, South Dakota, on Grant Street, in a two-story duplex apartment. My parents were a young married couple with two small children. They had recently just started a church called Living Waters Fellowship. As a kid, my sister and I did not know the difference between an apartment and a house. All we cared about was sliding down the stairs in our pajamas as fast as I could! However, my parents knew the difference. They dreamed of owning their own home in the country. Back then, both my parents were learning to walk by faith and to believe God for the impossible. My dad is a very practical man, and my mother is a dreamer. One day, they were out riding the back roads, just taking some time away to enjoy the countryside. Now, back roads in the Midwest are all dirt roads. I encourage you, if you have never gone down an old dirt road, find one. It will teach you more than blacktop ever could. As my folks were driving along, they saw twenty acres of land for sale — the most beautiful piece of property they had ever seen. There was a flowing creek with big cottonwood trees and rolling hills in the background. You could watch the sunrise over the hills, spotlighting a sea of grass or you could catch a harvest moon at dusk and hear coyotes howling in the evening as if looking for a warm place to bed down. My mother was captivated. She immediately told my dad they would build a house on that land. My father looked at her and said, “That’s just a pipe dream.” My mother never missed a beat. She replied, “I believe in pipe dreams.” We spent ten wonderful years on that pipe dream property, 953 Dry Run Road. My father and grandpa constructed the house my mother dreamed about. My sister and I hammered down the floor that became the family room, bedrooms, and kitchen. We stained every piece of baseboard that would run along the base of each wall. My mother painted every room. We watched a house become a home, a house that built me. My father built twenty acres of fence, with my mother beside him, step for step. He taught us girls how to scrape and set cedar posts to last a lifetime. We learned what hard work was all about; relationships and character.

My mother had her chicken coup out back and would cook fresh eggs almost every morning, and many evenings, chicken was on the menu (pause for hat removal). More cups of sugar were borrowed and returned on that dirt road than I can count. If I got up early enough in the mornings, I could catch my dad staring out the window, cup of coffee in hand, watching deer trek through the snow in the backyard as the frost lay heavy on the trees. There is nothing like being bundled up tight listening to the sound of horse’s hooves crunching through the snow as you are being pulled on a horse-drawn bobsled, and off in the distance seeing smoke coming up from the chimney; knowing inside awaits you a cup of hot chocolate by the fire. If only time allowed me to recall all of the sledding adventures and ice-skating on the neighbor’s pond. It sounds like a dream but it was real. I have memories on Dry Run Road that I wouldn’t trade for all the gold in China; friendships for a lifetime.

As we see our dreams laid out before us, we begin to believe it. It is the same concept as the house plan my grandpa drew up. When my parents saw the blueprint of their house, something came alive on the inside; It’s spiritual. God designed us that way. The Bible is full of profound truths that, when applied in our life, will change our circumstances. Faith is not a formula for getting things and it’s not Santa Claus. It is an applied principal to every area of our lives. Faith is the key that releases the windows of heaven into our situation, yes, even our dreams. Sitting around hoping dreams will come true will not do any good. Hope only keeps me smiling, but faith will cause me to seize the promise! God never intended for us to grow up and quit dreaming. Look around. God is a dreamer himself. He is very clear about his words and his thoughts. He tells us to write the vision and to make it understandable. I encourage you to take your pen and paper out again, and with childlike faith, make your requests known to God. Take what my mother said, all those years ago, and make it your own; “I believe in pipe dreams.”

Therefore, I say whatever things you ask when you pray, believe that you receive them and you will have them. Mark 11:24

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