Heeeeeeee’s coooommmmmmiiinnngggg!!!!!!!!!

I know he’s coming because my daughter helped me heave our jack-o-lanterns into the trashcan last week, soft and moldy from a month of sitting on our front porch greeting the neighbors with spooky smiles. I know because my favorite clothing stores have replaced the neutral shades of fall with sequins on every item. I know because there are people outside in thirty-eight degree temperatures stringing flashing lights along their bushes as the rain drips down their backs.

I know he’s coming because after eleven months of strolling to the mailbox without a hint of anticipation, I now rush towards it each afternoon awaiting glimpses of friends and family I haven’t seen in a while. I also know because when I open my mailbox to retrieve the festive greetings I’m so anxiously hoping to find, catalogs from every company ever established in the proximity of the world come tumbling out, their covers displaying all the latest in ornaments, stockings, and the $600 Lego set my son has requested this year.

I know he’s coming because although I don’t drink much coffee and I certainly can’t afford an eight-dollar cup of it, I suddenly find myself longing to sip on a gingerbread latte from Starbucks. I know because when I walk the ten steps from my bedroom to the kitchen each morning, I end up with at least a dozen pine needles stuck to the bottom of my fuzzy socks. I know he’s coming because my early morning quiet time is now being routinely interrupted by two children in matching plaid pajamas who rush around the house in search of a visitor from the North Pole they creatively named “Elfie.”

I know he’s coming because when I’m sitting alone in the carpool line at my kids’ school enjoying the calm before the storm, I realize I’m humming songs about a snowman who dances and, apparently, smokes? Plus, there’s a car behind me in said carpool line sporting antlers and a nose. I know he’s coming because despite the fact that I do not have a job, I have something that needs to be accomplished every day this week . . . and the next . . . and, oh please help me, the next.

I know he’s coming because I have begun to stash things inside bags, inside boxes, inside drawers my children never open. I know he’s coming because my house is awash in red and green, embroidered footwear hangs from my mantel, and I just spent close to a hundred bucks on “baking items.” Yes, parking lots are full, stores are swamped, and bank accounts are dwindling.

It’s official.

He’s coming. I know he’s coming.

The signs appeared early and the magic is everywhere, flowing through the air, bringing twinkles to eyes and tingles to hearts; making the whole world seem as if it’s glowing. On the twenty-fifth day of December, in all his Christmas glory, he will arrive, and children of all ages will scream and shout and jump for joy. And lives all over the world will be forever transformed.

Oh, wait. I’m sorry. Did you think I was talking about Santa? I mean . . . I totally love Santa. Actually . . . I am Santa. Most of the moms I know are. But I wasn’t talking about Santa. Don’t get me wrong. I know Santa Claus brings packages and toys and fun and, temporarily, happiness. He even has the power to make children scream and shout and jump for joy. But Santa isn’t in the business of changing lives forever. Santa can’t bring grace and mercy and peace and salvation and eternal life.

Only He can. And He’s coming.

He won’t come in a sleigh. He won’t come down a chimney. He won’t leave gifts.

He is the gift.

The greatest gift. The ultimate gift. The only gift we'll ever really need.

And He’s coming.