Holy infant, so tender and mild

I don't know about baby Jesus, but I don't think my kids were ever tender and mild.  The noise level around them bounces between rowdy and ear-splitting.  When G was a toddler, my sister phoned, heard the background noise and asked "oh, do you have some kids over for a playdate?" and I said "no, it's just G. By herself."  Once R came on the scene and had to compete for airtime, things really got loud.

Which is why we rarely bring our kids to church services.  But for Christmas, we steel ourselves for wriggling and whining and audible complaining, in the hopes that something beautiful will sink in.  This year, as we were getting settled (ie, scuffling) in the pew, the pastor came up to 3-year-old R and said "Come with me and you can hold the baby Jesus."  G, who a moment earlier had proclaimed "I do NOT want to walk with the other kids" in the processional shot up like an arrow.  "Can I come? Wow, R gets to hold the baby Jesus!  I want to see!"

If we had known this would happen I would have been a nervous wreck.  Our kids only know how to run pell-mell.  There is no other speed for moving.  The most common directive in our house is "Be careful! Don't drop it!"  And now they were responsible for the holy infant.

There they came, walking, no, PROCESSING, down the aisle - little R holding baby Jesus gently in her cupped hands, looking...awed.  G, guiding R with a hand on her shoulder, beamed.  If it's possible to beam with pride while also looking completely humbled, that's how they looked.  They laid the baby in the manger into the stable gently, so gently.  Tender and mild.  Both of them.  All of us.  A Christmas miracle.

A blessed Christmas to all, and to all a good night!



 

The Night Before the Night Before Christmas

When G was 4 years old, we went to see the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center.  The crowds, the noise, the street vendors hawking their wares, was overwhelming.  Every 2 feet, G would stop and point to another tschochke and say "I need this!"  I dragged her along, until she dug in her heels in front of a man peddling Spiderman toys.  "I need more Spiderman!" G declared.  "You do not need more Spiderman," I said. "You have plenty of Spiderman stuff.  You have a Spiderman bed, for crying out loud." 

There was a moment of silence, before G opened her mouth wide and wailed loud enough to stop traffic:  "IT'S NOT ENOUGH!!!!!" 

Fast forward to last night, the night before the night before Christmas, and G is now 8.  "It's not enough" has pretty much been her life view, and the build up to Christmas is usually agony, worrying if she'll get everything she wants.  But this year, she's less anxious, and more excited.  She received a couple of early gifts she wasn't expecting.  She enjoyed shopping for her dad and sister.  She wrote a note to Santa "Has anyone ever given you a thank you note, Santa?  Thank you!"  And then, at dinner, she announced:

"I'm happy.  I love my life right now."

I put down what I was reading, and asked if I heard her correctly.  I had.  I started hearing angels singing in the heavens.  "Let's stop for a moment and enjoy this feeling," I said.  "How wonderful to love your life."

"Oh yeah?" R chimes in (almost 4).  "I hate my life."

Here we go again!

'Tis more blessed to give..

Today, 3-year-old R and I visited our good friend Kim, bearing gifts.  There was lots to celebrate, between the arrival of a new baby to their family, R's playmate becoming a big sister, and Kim's own birthday. 

R, surveying the wrapping, ribbons, presents strewn across the carpet: "We gave you a lot of stuff." 

Mom:  "It's fun to give, isn't it?"

R, to Kim:  "Sometimes I give Mom a headache."

After quite a lot of laughing,

Kim, to me:  "Aren't you glad you have a blog??"

So we can remember this forever?  Yes.  Definitely, yes.