“Just because I can’t see fairies dancing on my lawn does not mean they are not there.”

This is a sentence taken from a letter written by a writer from the Chicago Sun to 9-year-old Virginia O’Hanlon in 1897 to explain to her that Santa Claus is real.

In the letter, he also wrote, “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, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, 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.”

Reading this paragraph over and over again convinces me that the best things in life are those that are not a part of our physical environment. Plato once wrote that the most beautiful rose in the world can never be as beautiful as the rose we conceive in our minds. His theory about the ideal also applies to our feelings. The perfection of happiness and joy can only exist in our imaginary thoughts. Just read poems or listen to songs about love and you’ll see what I mean.

To doubt the existence of Santa Claus is a pivotal and, oftentimes, a devastating moment of childhood that further damages the sense of wonder when the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy are eliminated from the once unlimited imagination of a young boy or girl. I realize there are many children who appreciate being told by their parents that the jolly old fat man is just a fairy tale. After all, parents should never lie to their children.

Well, don’t count me in that group, because Santa still visits my house every Christmas Eve, and I hope he comes down the chimney for years to come. Whenever I am challenged to prove his existence by those whom I affectionately call killjoys, I think of a story I once wrote about a conversation a little girl has with her father during the holiday season.

“Dad, if I think of something, does that make it real?

“No, everyone has an imagination that can think of things that are not real. For example, I can think of a horse with three heads, but that doesn’t make the horse real.

“So how do I know if what I think of is really real?”

“You have to be able to see it outside of your mind. If you can touch it or smell it or hear it then that proves it’s real.”

“Dad, you believe in God, right?”

He takes a deep breath. He sees where this conversation is going.

“Yes I do.”

“Well then, do you see God, or touch him or smell him? Does he talk to you?”

‘Well, not really.”

“Then God isn’t real?”

“He’s real because of something we call faith.”

“What’s that?”

He takes another deep breath, but continues. “Faith is when you believe in something that you can’t really see in the world.”

“Like God?”

“Yes, like God.”

“But you said if I can’t see something then it’s not real. So you must have seen God.”

“Well,” he smiles. “I guess you’re right. I did see God working a miracle.”

“When did you see God working a miracle, Dad?”

“When you were born and I picked you up and held you for the very first time.”

She skips over to him and kisses him on his cheek. “I have to go now, Dad. Gotta help Mommy make cookies for Santa!”

As the little girl leaves the room, she turns around to face her father.

“Can you tell God to tell Santa that I’d really like to have a princess doll for Christmas?”

I have often wondered why we have been given this ability to imagine the existence of what cannot be physically proven. And why do millions of people believe in a god they cannot see or hear or smell or touch and yet laugh out loud when they are told that ghosts, aliens and creatures like Bigfoot can be real?

I subscribe to the club whose members believe that if you can think it, then it can be possible. If you can dream it, then it can be real.

If right now my departed loved ones are sitting on clouds somewhere in heaven, then I’m going to keep looking out the window until I will see fairies dancing on my lawn.

Rich Strack can be reached at katehep11@gmail.com.