No, Virginia, there is no Santa Claus.

By now, most of you have probably already heard about that poor Wal Mart worker who was trampled to death last (Black) Friday. In the midst of all the fingerpointing as to who should be held liable -- I dare say, or at least, I dare point my finger at those people who actually trampled on him. Que se joda to those who were driven by greed. Yes, I understand that times are tough, that's why people get like that in the face of a big sale. But the fact that you can still shop tells me that you are not in the brink of death due to poverty. If you're poor or "feeling the credit crunch" then how's this for size: DON'T SHOP. Save your money for something more important. Or if you must shop, remember what the real act of giving is all about. This isn't what Christmas is about. If I had known that somebody got me a gift this way, I'd eat it up and vomit it back out in front of them. This is how much this story disgusts me. What a senseless and sickening death. I am beyond livid.

The other day, my husband and I dropped by the local grocery to pick up a few things. There was a guy ahead of us in the check out line. He looked disshevelled, a little dirty, and he looked like he was going through a crunch or two (or ten.) In his hand, he had two items: a cheap 12.99 watch (that actually looked kinda pretty) and one of those scented lotion/shampoo/soap kits. When he was about to pay, he held out all the coupons he managed to gather before paying for the remainder of the total bill. It almost broke my heart because he looked like he didn't have a lot of money, but he still managed to get something pretty for two very lucky women in his life. This is what Christmas is about.

No, Virginia, there is no Santa Claus. There is no beatific, plump, white-haired dude up north ready to reward you for being good. (Yeah, I was that kid in grade school who made the other kids cry because I told them so.)

I look further up, beyond the North Pole, beyond the skies, beyond the stars. Jesus does not always reward me for being good (well, because I'm not always good...) because he doesn't work that way. He doesn't reward and punish based on our meager understanding of reward and punishment. But get this: he loves me despite the fact that I am not good. He died for me. This is my "reward" -- my undeserved reward.

This is what Christmas is about for me. You may have a different god from me, you may call him a different name, but I refuse to think that rabid shopping is what Christmas is all about.

No, no, no, no.