I’ve always found it easy to believe in God; that there is something greater than myself and a guide for living a fulfilling and purposeful life. This has gotten me through some of the darkest and most difficult times in my life.

I believe that my parents passing along the legend of Santa was also gift. It taught me to give freely, do what I can to brighten someone else’s day, that charity can and should be anonymous, that everyone deserves to feel special on at least one day, and that believing there is magic in the world makes it seem more tolerable. Of course, they reinforced these lessons with their values and examples too.

However, I haven’t found it so easy to believe in myself lately. I began the national write a novel in a month challenge in November (NaNowriMo) and I didn’t get very far. I didn’t trust the words I was putting on the page. Of course, this is funny since I’m paid to write every day on a deadline and I’ve completed four books, as well as blogged for the Huffington Post and AOL. Yet, most of things I’ve written were checked by late mother. She was the voice in my head that would shoot me straight if I wasn’t clear or made mistakes of any kind. I know I’ve got to shake this and learn to believe in myself or else I’ll never accomplish the things that I want. So today I dragged out my Santa shirt for a reminder that if I believe it, I can be it.

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