People would tend to say that after they discover that Santa isn't a real person, they'd stop believing in miracles.

Like me.

And like in many other Christmas movies or cartoons, the main character discovers that dreams do come true, usually with a bonus about the 'true'  
meaning of Christmas. But like the movie, The Polar Express, one of my favorites, the main character has a hard time believing. It takes him a whole  
train trip to the North Pole and sit on The Santa's lap, and wish for a bell. But, back in reality, no matter how hard we try, there is no big adventure to  
baby-step you throughout your troubles. No, you must find them out yourselves. I learned this lesson a long time ago, I just didn't know how. I figured  
I'd know when the time came, but there were too many moments in my life were I thought I learned or I thought that spark of hope rekindled within  
me. But now I realize that last was no ordinary night, and I doubt it would ever happen again.

It was something I couldn't miss, and I'm glad I didn't.

Mom had sent me to bed. She had gotten back from a choir performance at church with a headache. I hadn't bothered to go. I was obsessed trying to  
get all my writing done; but at this time of the year, that was impossible. Tomorrow's subject couldn't be avoided. We had the Christmas tree (small as  
it may be), T.V specials were playing, the little lights we had were shinning as they always were. Mom wasn't the one who enjoyed the holidays. She had  
depression around this time of year. She had to buy presents that everyone would like, even though no one bothered to pipe up. She cooked everything,  
made all the plans, and didn't even get a present for herself. Helping her through these times were useless. She would just brush you off and continue to  
work, ever moaning about how she hated Christmas. She had told me a few weeks ago while in a rush. She had dropped something and groaned  
in frustration.

"I hate Christmas," She hissed. "It's no fun for me."

I stared at her, but said nothing. Hate Christmas? I didn't believe, and I could care less about what I got this year, but to loathe the holiday itself  
seemed unholy to me. The songs and the imaginary snowflakes I'd think were outside (we had none in Texas) always gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling no  
matter how frustrated I was. Maybe my Mom was just frustrated and didn't mean it, but then again, she was always frustrated. Maybe that's just how  
she accepted life now, and it sank my heart. I simply just walked away to think in my room. It's nicknamed the 'Thinking Lab', because that's where I  
always brainstorm. It's the only place in the world where I feel absolutely safe. I lay on my bed and thought.

'Hate...Christmas...' I repeated those words in my head with Mom's voice. Maybe she was right, she really did hate Christmas. Last year I was  
practically in tears. No one was happy, we were low on money, and I spent that day in my room, texting whoever was available. I came to a realization  
that maybe the spirit of Christmas was...gone in my family except for me. It was only weeks and we had no tree. We didn't put up lights  
anymore, and I never saw any wrapping paper. No music was playing, and there couldn't be a way to pass all my exams. I shook my head. 'Just  
keep believing...That's how you solve problems, right? Believe.' That's what I was always taught. You can do anything, if you just believe. I  
was believing all I could, but nothing happened. In fact, it may have just gotten worse. I was the only one who had Christmas in their heart? Was I just  
a childish fool who refused to grow up? Was I beginning to...Lose hope?

My best friend Winter and I were doing a Girl Scout silver award project. It seemed that this was the only thing to get people back into the spirit. We  
were helping out the Montgomery County Assistance League. This organization was always giving to needy kids, it just stank of holiday cheer, right? It  
just had to. We read stories and helped them color book while their parents bought the clothes. The kids seemed to not listen to anything we said, and  
they were more interested just sitting there. I love kids, but with some I can't help but feel awkward around. When I was little, I was always happy-go-
lucky and I thought other kids thought the same way. How wrong I was. We accomplished our Silver Award by basically just sitting there with kids. Mom  
had bought something from the League, and it turned out to be a 5'6" Christmas tree. She had claimed the other one was broken, which was odd,  
because last year it worked fine. My sister, Diana decorated it, and there it was. I felt like we were having a Charlie Brown Christmas.

Weeks passed and tensions grew higher. Just now I figured out what I wanted for Christmas, but they were all expensive games and electronics. My  
grandparents didn't even have time to get me anything remotely special. I had a bad habit of doing this, and still, I didn't complain. What I really liked  
were the beanie babies for my beanie baby collection. It's actually the only thing on my email list I got. Christmas Eve at my grandparent's house  
usually was one of the best nights of the year, but something changed. There were no outside decorations that nearly blinded everyone who passed by.  
There were no decorations inside, and the tree wasn't nearly as flashy as last year. Everyone was there except one, and that wasn't much. My two  
younger cousins didn't like what they got for Christmas either. But the parents just barked at them to stay quiet. Mom had threatened to leave the party  
early because everything was 'ruined'. Christmas seemed to be falling apart...Was I really the only one who had Christmas left in their heart?

Should I just stop believing?

I lay in my bed that night, staring at the darkened ceiling. Tears were forming in my eyes, and I began to pray.

"I know you're out there. You have to be. I know you are. You've showed me your magic at least fifty times. It's been life saving. But could you for once  
stop focusing on the big things and just listen? I just wish...That there would be joy this year. Last year seemed...Dull. Oh, who am I kidding?" I was  
beginning to cry, "I was sobbing last year. It had to be the worst Christmas ever. I just want people to be happy..." I stared at the ceiling, who  
stared silently back at me. I really was insane. I was talking to a ceiling, not God. Was there even a God? There had to be, maybe he just didn't listen.  
"But that's your job, isn't it?" I said out loud, retorting my own thoughts. "It's your job to listen to my prayers, whether answered or not. Aren't you  
listening? Why can't I hear you? Why are you giving me the cold shoulder what did I do?!" I tried my best to keep my voice down. What have I done? I  
scanned my actions throughout the year. A harsh pang hit my heart. I haven't been good this year. Everything I've done...Was nothing but a screw up.  
My grades, my friends, my family, my own emotions were all twisted and crushed because of me

I was the one who had ruined Christmas for everyone.

"I...I have been naughty, haven't I?" I was quietly sobbing now. "I don't deserve any of this...Why am I so god damn stupid?" I covered my  
eyes. "But please...I want everyone to be happy..I-I'm sorry...Even though that won't do anything..." I was beginning to question my own sanity. Some  
stupid prayer the night before was not going to change everything like a happy fairy tale. No, there are far less happy stories. Those are called the reality  
series. I happened to be one of the characters. "But fat fucking chance, right?" I didn't even know who I was talking to at the point, myself, the ceiling,  
or actually a big mysterious force out there just letting my words go through one ear and out the other. "You can't help me. No matter how hard you try,  
Brianna, Christmas is gone, and it's all of your fault!!" I was sobbing much louder now. Throughout all of this, no one seemed to hear  
me. Maybe they just didn't plain care. "You know what I want, Santa?" I suddenly switched the conversation with the old man that never was.

"All I want for Christmas is joy. I could give less of a fuck about what I get. I just want the joy I got as a kid....I'm sorry for everything..." I meant it. I  
was truly sorry for every sin I had done in my life. If I knew everything I had done meant that my family would never find happiness again, not even on  
this one day of the year, I would've acted perfect and never stepped out of line. I would've never taken the risk, never made the friends, I would've  
never begun to obsess over my future career.

But it was too late now, wasn't it? Of all the things I screwed up this year, this one was the absolute worst. "I'm so so sorry...God damn I'm so  
so sorry", I sobbed over and over again. My nose was plugged up and I had to sit up to let myself flush out. Then, in the darkest corner of my  
room, I saw the little light there was reflect off of this plastic object. I knew exactly what it was. It was the angel I got last year. It was absolutely  
beautiful. I had seen something similar at Walgreens and begged my Mom to get it that year. It was carved into the beautiful face of a woman, holding  
her hands together in a little cup. She had giant silver wings and her dress was transparent. Inside it was water with little silver flecks in it. There was a  
little spinner that spun them when you turned it on, and she changed colors. It was absolutely beautiful, and I loved it. It had kept my hope alive. But  
the batteries died half a year ago and we couldn't change them. She had been sitting there, patiently awaiting for me to use her again. I got up almost  
involuntarily and picked it up. I had forgotten it had died and tried to switch it one. It had flashed red, the first of it's series of color changes, but then  
switched off. I tried again, only no red light came on. It was absolutely dead.

Just like my hope.

I set it down gently and sat on my bed. I don't know who I wasn't talking to, but my words were the most sincere out of anything I had ever said in my  
life.

"Merry Christmas, you LIAR." I hunched over in my sitting position and sobbed until my face touched my feet. I sobbed for about 20 seconds until a dim  
blue light came on. I looked up, and I nearly soiled myself. The angel...It was working. At first I thought it was something supernatural out to  
get me, even though I claimed not to believe in those kinds of things. I stared at it, wide-eyed, my face soaking wet. "T-This..Can't be real.." I breathed.  
"I have to be dreaming." But I wasn't. This was actually happening. I put two and two together, and all of the sudden, it hit me like no blow I could ever  
forget.

The true meaning of Christmas is hope. It's fun to give, to receive and be with your family, but as Jesus Christ was being born, everyone felt  
hope. Hope is what that fuzzy feeling was. Hope is was carried me throughout all the year. It was hope that lighted that angel with mysterious forces.  
Unable to control my tears of incredibility and happiness, I got up from my bed, and stood in front of the angel. I stared right at it, blinking back the  
tears, and with my entire being, mind, and soul, I simply whispered,

"I...Believe."

The angel shut off. My heart stopped. Maybe this all was a coincidence. But they battery was absolutely dead, it couldn't have happened. But then it  
came back on, brighter than ever before, going through its colors. It was almost blinding to look at. I simply smiled. I laughed. And then I cried. I felt  
like I could to anything. I had hope. I believed. I believed that just maybe, we would have a Merry Christmas this year.

The next day came early. About at 7. I had gotten a tablet, some books, some gloves, chocolate, silly string, a baby sock monkey, and a scarf. My mom  
and dad came to sit down, and they expressions they wore, I felt like throwing up my heart in glee. They were happy. They were smiling, they  
laughed, I laughed, we all laughed. We had the most fun I could remember since who-knows-when. Maybe...Maybe this was all...Because of me?  
Maybe for once, I hadn't screwed up. Maybe this year, I was the cause of something good. Something wonderful.

Then I suddenly remembered. My angel needed new batteries. I brought her into the kitchen and we were able to find batteries. I looked forward to  
turning her on every night for a few minutes just to gaze in beauty, and remember this day. But then the oddest thing happened.

"It doesn't work anymore..." My mom said sadly. What? That's impossible!

"B-But it worked last night..." I trailed off. Should I really tell here.

"Oh, I see what's wrong," She peered into the battery cases. One was full of rust. "That's what happened when you leave batteries in for too long."

Oh yeah. I had never changed the batteries for a half a year. But...It worked so well, if not better last night...How is this possible? I just stared  
at her, having no clue what to say.

"But it's ok, we can fix it." She smiled at me.

I simply walked away.

"No worries!" She called.

I walked back into my room and looked at the ceiling. No, at God. Right in the face. I could feel it. A warm smile crossed my face and tears crawled down  
my face. A miracle. They were real. God does exist, and I do believe.

"I guess I owe you an apology..." I mused, my smile went sheepish, but I was still crying. "But...It's nice to know that I haven't been talking to a ceiling  
my whole life." I couldn't look up now, I was so embarrassed.

"Thank you...For everything. Again."

Maybe I didn't ride a train all the way to the North Pole. Maybe I will never see Santa Claus, but I know he's there. I know he's in my  heart. I know that  
Christmas was saved because of my selflessness. I knew that I had that magic silver bell.

And I could hear it ring, ever so softly.