A few weeks before Christmas, when the Hill family was decorating the parlor for the holidays, Penny announced to her parents that she no longer believed in Santa Claus.

At first, Marian and Harold paused and simply looked at each other – as they all "decked the halls," the two of them had been discussing in bright, cheerful voices how much the girls must be looking forward to Santa's visit. But even though husband and wife had been preparing for this eventuality for awhile now, they hesitated to immediately confirm Penny's suspicions.

It wasn't until Elly declared she agreed with her sister that Harold gave his wife a resigned nod. Turning to face the girls, Marian said, "Well, no, girls, Santa Claus is not real, in the literal sense. But he is real in that he embodies the generosity, goodness and spirit of Christmas."

"But it's still a lie, isn't it?" Penny asked, looking a bit crestfallen.

Putting down the glass-spun Christmas ornament he had been about to hang on the tree, Harold knelt and drew both Penny and Elly into a hug. "It's not a lie, exactly," he gently explained. "Since children have difficulty understanding such lofty ideas, Santa Claus is a way that parents can use to teach them about these things."

Penny gave her father a bewildered look. "But why can't parents just tell kids to be generous and good?" she asked sensibly.

"Well, where's the fun in that?" Harold asked with a chuckle. "Do you remember lessons, if they're boring?"

Penny grinned – the mirror image of her father. "Not as well," she admitted.

"Not at all," Harold teased, tweaking one of her curls. "But I don't imagine you'll ever forget Santa."

Whereas Penny simply gave her father a small smile that acknowledged yet refused to completely concede his point, Elly beamed and said with a charming air of nostalgia, "No, we won't ever forget him."

Gratified that the conversation had gone more smoothly than she anticipated, Marian decided it was appropriate to make one final point. After Harold planted a kiss on each of the girls' foreheads and withdrew to his favorite wingback chair, she said, "Girls, now that you are beginning to put aside childish things, please don't forget how much you enjoyed believing in Santa Claus, and how magical it made Christmas for you. Every child deserves his sojourn in Fairyland, so please allow Robert to experience that magic, and arrive at the truth at his own pace."

Though Robert had been sitting on his mother's lap during this entire conversation, he was much too young to understand the significance of what was being said. Being barely older than nine months, Robert was wholly focused on the ornaments and garlands surrounding him, which he stared at with wide, fascinated eyes.

Always the more responsible of the two, Elly gave her mother a respectful nod and regarded her younger brother with a sweetly conspiratorial smile. Although Penny nodded her agreement as well, she still looked vaguely troubled.

"What's the matter, Penny?" Marian inquired, her voice laced with gentle, motherly concern.

After hemming and hawing for a few moments, Penny looked Marian in the eye and asked in a sad voice, "Does this mean that God is not real, in a literal sense? Is God another fairytale that parents tell their children?"

After twelve years, Marian had learned to expect practically anything, when it came to her daughters. But somehow, she had never anticipated a question like this. When Marian's sharp gaze alit upon her more dutiful daughter, Elly turned her head from her mother's searching eyes and guiltily confessed, "Actually, I was wondering that about God, too."

Stymied, Marian's gaze dropped to Robert, as if by looking at him she could arrive at the perfect response she so desperately sought. But Christmas, so age-old and familiar to Marian, was still a strange, unfathomable world to him; it would be quite some time before he could grasp, even in the simplest terms, any concept of the divine. And seeing her innocent baby boy – her little angel – gazing avidly around the room, made her heart ache. It wasn't so long ago that Penny and Elly were infants sitting in her lap, peering at all the lights and colors with enamored eyes. Now her daughters were growing up, and she could no longer answer all their questions.

But when Marian relinquished her cherished belief in Santa Claus, as all children must, it had never occurred to her to question the validity of God's existence as well. As a young woman, Marian had gone through a period of questioning, but her pondering was solely limited to whether the faith she was raised in was the true religion – if, of course, one religion could indeed be called true (Mrs. Paroo, who had converted from Catholicism to Presbyterianism upon marriage, took the rather radical view that God was God and, for the most part, it didn't matter which church one worshiped Him at).

But the matter of God's existence was something Marian had never questioned at all – let alone when she was a girl of twelve. She did not pretend to have the answers to the mysteries of the universe, but she had always had been certain He existed. So even if logically, Marian could understand how her precocious and intelligent daughters might arrive at these conclusions, a larger part of her was alarmed that her daughters were entertaining such notions in the first place. As such, her first thought was that she must do something to keep them from straying any further down this dangerous path.

But what could she say? As she had always lived among God-fearing people – no matter what the doctrinal disputes – Marian never before had to list the reasons behind this deeply-held belief. And it was always challenging to articulate beliefs that formed the core of one's existence – especially when one was caught off guard and had to do so on short notice. Marian knew she needed to tell her daughters something more than "He does exist," as they were no longer of an age where they would unhesitatingly accept such a simple answer. They were starting to question many things in greater depth, and what she told them now would be crucial to their burgeoning spiritual development. One misstep here and their faith in God could be irrevocably tarnished. But what could she say?

It didn't help matters that in difficult situations like these, Marian had gotten used to relying on Harold – he could always come up with a good explanation on the spur of the moment that placated their daughters' curiosity. She would have appealed to her husband for help, but she had never been quite sure of his beliefs on the matter. Certainly, Harold had always attended church with her, said grace at family dinners and led the girls in their prayers before bed, but the two of them had never discussed such subjects in depth. And Marian had never asked him if he believed in God. When it came to the matter of faith, she was of the same mind as Queen Elizabeth, and had "no desire to make windows into men's souls." It was enough that Harold quietly supported her as she fostered the girls' faith and saw to their religious upbringing. And, Marian acknowledged, she didn't particularly want to know if the answer was no.

Indeed, Harold said nothing, seemingly content to leave the explanations to her. So after pausing to gather her thoughts, Marian said, "God is a much different matter than Santa Claus, girls. I" – she glanced at her still-silent husband – "we would never tell tales about something so important. God exists, but Santa Claus does not – at least, not in the same way that God does. My answer to these questions would have been the same, no matter how old you girls were when you asked them."

"But would you have really told us Santa Claus didn't exist, if say, we were only six?" Penny asked skeptically.

"Yes, wouldn't that have spoiled the magic?" Elly added.

"If you had asked, I would have told you the truth," Marian said honestly. "We expect you girls never to lie to us, so it's only fair we wouldn't lie to you, either." We might tell half-truths or conceal certain pieces of information, she reflected as she met Harold's gaze and saw the amused gleam in his eyes, but that was to be expected, and something the girls would come to understand when they grow up and have children of their own…

"But how do you know God is real?" Penny persisted.

Yet again, Marian was stymied. For her, the answer was experience and intuition, but she wasn't certain these were concepts her girls were ready to accept. Even though Penny and Elly were starting to lose their childish credulity and develop the rational skepticism of the adult mind, ambiguity was still a rather foreign and frightening idea. It was plain from their worried expressions that they still craved certainty about the way the world worked, even if they could no longer be satisfied with simple answers to their questions. And as their devoted mother, Marian longed to give her daughters that certainty.

But Marian was also wise enough to know there was no delaying the inevitable. "Well, we don't know with one-hundred percent certainty whether God exists or not," she admitted, her voice calm and steady despite her nervousness. "No one does. No one can know that for sure, not until they've died. But even though we cannot see or prove God's existence, we can still have faith. God sent us the prophets and His son so we could know He exists. As Jesus said, 'blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.'"

The girls nodded thoughtfully and, as the apprehension in their expressions faded, Marian began to relax. Lord, please guide our girls' hearts as they undertake their spiritual odysseys, she prayed. She looked at Robert, who was now eying the Christmas tree with great interest. And please watch over our dear son, as well.

But before Marian could shift the conversation to safer topics, Penny turned to Harold. "Do you believe in God, Dad?"

Marian's eyes snapped from Robert to her husband's face, and she gazed at him with silent, anguished appeal.

But Harold didn't appear to notice – at any rate, he didn't meet her gaze. Instead, he regarded his daughters with a pensive expression. Then, after several tense moments during which Marian's stomach tied itself into horrible knots, he said, "When I was a child, I believed in God just like every other child. But when I grew up, other things became more important. For a very long time, I never thought of Him at all, one way or the other. It wasn't until I met your mother that I started to think seriously about the subject, more seriously than I ever had before. For the first time, I not only thought of God, I fervently hoped He did exist." Harold paused and sought Marian's eyes with his. "Honestly, I still don't know if He does. But when I look at our family, and all the other blessings I've been fortunate to receive, I believe that He just might, after all."

As Marian felt herself welling up with tears of relief and gratitude, Harold rose from his chair and came over to sit next to her on the sofa. After planting a brief but affectionate kiss on his wife's cheek, he turned and stroked his son's soft brown curls. Robert, who had fallen asleep in his mother's arms, fidgeted slightly and gave a few drowsy blinks before lapsing into another doze.

After a few moments, Marian noticed Penny and Elly were gazing at the two of them with quiet awe. She couldn't help sharing her daughters' sense of amazement; though she and her husband were no longer averse to the girls witnessing kisses and other, minor affectionate gestures, such occasions had never before been coupled with Harold so openly displaying his vulnerability in front of the entire family. Previously, Marian had been the only witness to her charming and confident husband's rare moments of doubt and uncertainty; with their daughters, Harold cultivated the image of the wise, all-knowing father who always had a solution for every situation, whether it was to engage in a moment of levity, provide solace and a sympathetic ear, or offer an honest but appropriate answer to a question.

Once established, most men would have stubbornly clung to this role out of pride. But yet again, the clever professor had displayed his ability to analyze a challenging situation and come out on top: Instead of looking chagrined that their beloved dad did not have all the answers, Penny and Elly's expressions were filled with gratitude and guilty relief. They had taken quite a risk in voicing their concerns and, instead of dismissing, belittling or scolding them, as many parents in God-fearing River City might have done, Harold had treated them with the utmost care and consideration – and took quite a risk, himself.

"I'm sorry for doubting," Elly said, sounding subdued.

"Me too," Penny softly agreed.

Marian shook her head. "There's nothing to be sorry for, girls," she said gently. "You're simply asking questions that many philosophers and great men have struggled with throughout history. As Socrates said, 'the unexamined life is not worth living.'"

Elly nodded, apparently satisfied to leave things at that. But Penny, who was merely emboldened by her mother's reassurance, smiled and said, "If God does exist, then why doesn't He show Himself to everyone and prove it, once and for all?"

Elly elbowed her sister. "Hush – you're going to get us in trouble if you keep asking so many questions!" she hissed.

Marian laughed. "You're all right, girls – even if they did poison Socrates. But I do think there's been enough heavy philosophical rumination for one evening. It's time for you two to get to bed."

Penny's eyes widened. "But – "

"Listen to your mother," Harold said firmly. "No one, least of all your poor, tired parents, can contemplate the answers to all life's mysteries in one evening. You have plenty of time tomorrow and all the tomorrows after that to think about the subject, and draw your own conclusions. After all, Rome wasn't built in a day."

XXX

Later, after the girls were tucked in for the night and husband and wife were putting Robert in his crib, Marian turned to Harold. "You were very honest," she said admiringly. "And yet, you were still as eloquent as ever. How do you do it?"

He gave her his trademark grin. "Well, what else could I have done but told the unvarnished truth? These are questions I grappled with when I was their age – questions I still grapple with. Unfortunately, I didn't have anyone I could really ask them to – my mother was a devout Christian and would have been horrified that I was voicing doubt – so I was forced to come to my own conclusions, about God's existence and other matters." His grin faltered. "And you know what path that led me down. I want our girls to feel they can talk to us about anything. If they can't talk to us, they'll talk to others – others who might not have their best interests in mind. I want us to be the ones guiding our daughters – not the world."

Marian nodded. "Belief in God is something every person has to decide for one's own self," she acknowledged. Then she sighed. "One just hopes one's children arrive to similar conclusions as oneself."

Harold chuckled gently. "Not everyone is so fortunate to have your steadfast faith, Marian. Some of us are plagued with a bit more uncertainty in that arena."

Marian gave her husband a sad smile. "Well, I wasn't expecting to have to deal with these thorny subjects so soon – I was hoping it would be at least a few more years before the girls began to ask such challenging questions. Then I might have been a little better prepared to answer them."

Harold sighed. "I was hoping it would be a few more years before they stopped believing in Santa Claus," he said ruefully.

For a moment, they stood there and looked at each other with wistful smiles. Then Harold drew Marian into his arms.

"Penny and Elly are growing up," he said gravely.

"Yes, they are," she agreed, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

As Harold stroked Marian's hair and bestowed tender kisses upon her curls, she moved her hands along his back. Though their embrace started out as an innocently affectionate caress, Harold's mouth soon discovered the sensitive spots on her neck, and he unashamedly began to nuzzle them. Smiling at her husband's eternally amorous nature, Marian moved closer and subtly but suggestively pressed her hips against his, delighting when his breathing began to quicken.

Marian was just about to suggest they retire when Robert let out a small whimper. Ever the dutiful parents, they immediately ended their embrace and turned their full attention to their son. Thankfully, when Marian laid a gentle hand upon Robert's cheek and crooned a soft lullaby, he subsided and fell fast asleep once more.

"The girls might be getting older, but we still have many years of Santa Claus to go, don't we, Robert?" Harold fondly asked their sleeping son.

"If the girls don't inadvertently spoil things," Marian said wryly.

Giving her the ardent grin that always made her heart beat faster, Harold wrapped his arm around Marian's still-slender waist and began to lead the way to their bedroom. "Look on the bright side, darling," he said in his low, velvety voice. "If they do let the cat out of the bag, it would leave us with more time on Christmas Eve for other activities… "