What Christmas Means to Me
-Sophia Baeta

As a kid, I eagerly anticipated Christmas all year. I started listening to Christmas music in September. I know.

Our family has gone to Jordan’s furniture store to see the Enchanted Village for as long as I can remember. I recall waiting in line for hours and walking through the holiday display in wonder at its intricacy and beauty. It felt like a lifetime making our way through the bustling crowd, giving ourselves plenty of time to see every tiny detail of the village. Similarly, we walked around La Salette, taking our time and looking at the statues of Our Lady, never knowing what it truly meant.

On Christmas morning, my brother and I woke up at an ungodly hour, restless from excitement. We would sit together and watch a movie, hoping that the time would pass quickly. Hoping that we could open our presents sooner.

As the years went by, the magic of Christmas slowly dwindled. Sitting on Santa’s lap went from something I looked forward to something I only did so my mom could get the picture she begged for. Walking through the Enchanted Village felt like a mere few minutes as I brushed past the scenes I had seen tens of times before. From Christmas Eve into the morning, I slept soundly, wanting more time in the comfort of my bed. Christmas seemed less magical.

The moment the last present was opened, the anticipation faded. What I’d waited the whole year for had passed me by in under an hour. It didn’t feel right. Why all this preparation, all this music, decoration, and light, for something temporary?

My favorite Christmas movie has always been The Polar Express. I’ve found many disagreements over the poor animation and simple plot line, but regardless, it’s always been important to me. My family and I would watch this movie every Christmas Eve, and it instilled the lesson within our childlike minds that what we believe in is often more real than what we see. I never understood the depth of this movie until I began attending church for the first time in December of last year.

With this new perspective, my view of The Polar Express and Christmas as a whole changed completely.

I viewed the Hero Boy, the one who hesitates to get on the train, as each one of us humans, who question if we should pursue a journey of faith with God. The North Pole, a place of joy and fulfillment, was symbolized as Heaven, a place that one could only reach through belief in the magic of the train.

Each ticket given to the children was specific to them and led them on a journey of self-discovery and humility. Just as the conductor has individual purposes for the children, we, too, are given special purposes and paths by God.

Finally, the bell. Only those who truly believe can hear its ring. This is a constant symbol of the beauty of true faith, and that reason alone cannot lead us to salvation.

Throughout the story, the Hero Boy is rather cynical about the idea of Santa or the North Pole. It doesn’t make sense to him, so it must not be true. Right? As he enters the commotion of elves in the North Pole and the bell from the reindeer’s harness finds its way into his hands, he realizes that he can’t hear the beauty of the bells. He rings it and finds no sound. He affirms to himself, “I believe.” Not only does Santa appear behind him, but he is also finally able to hear the enchanting tone of the bell’s jingle.

Much like the Hero Boy, we may look towards our own human logic before embracing a journey of faith. It’s only through taking that journey that we can appreciate the beauty and purpose behind our lives. Only then can we hear the bell’s ring in all its beauty. Only then can we let go of the temporary and live for something eternal. Only then can we understand the true meaning of Christmas.