Having the Christmas Spirit

So, this Christmas season, I am attempting to do something different than in the past... this is the first year that I've really felt motivated to be part of the Christmas Season, and all. We've hung all our decorations, and done things that normally I wouldn't do, because "the kids don't know any different." I'm beginning to be afraid that they will start remembering these holidays, and they'll remember that their mom never did anything for them. SO.... My new "thing" is that I have been reading a Christmas story each nite with them as we prepare for bedtime.

Yes, it's true, we cut a ring from our green and red paper garland, and count our days left 'til Christmas, then I gather the girls and we read a story. It's usually me and them, since TJ has usually been at work or out of town. Anyhow, this experience happened last week, and I've been wanting to share it:

It was the same old thing, I think I'm doing something great and grand, and something that I think might mean something to them, but why does it have to be so darn hard? We gathered 'round their bedroom, and I prepared the assigned story for the nite (which comes from a set my mom gave me when I left home). And the girls COULD NOT figure it out. They were running around their room, they wanted to sit on their bed, on the rocking horse, and the bunk bed ladder... anywhere but on the floor and listen. Then Madison needed her chair, and she kept moving it all around her room, I guess to find the right spot... because one would have been better than another? Anyway, after several minutes of the monkeys, I got pretty upset, and grabbed the little plastic chair from her, slammed it on the floor and told her to sit down and be quiet. --I know, so reverent and Spiritual, right? As we prepare to read our Christmas story and try to feel happy about Christmas and all the joy it brings.

The girls sat in total shock, I couldn't even start the story, because I had to gather myself from getting so mad. And so then I read the story. (I'll include the whole story below, if you'd like to read it, but I'll Highlight the part that touched me for retelling purposes.)

I didn't question Timmy, age nine, or his seven-year-old brother, Billy,

about the brown wrapping paper they passed back and forth between

them as we visited each store.

.

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Every year at Christmas time, our Service Club takes the children from

poor families in our town on a personally conducted shopping tour. I

was assigned Timmy and Billy, whose father was out of work. After

giving them the allotted $4 each we began our trip. At different stores

I made suggestions, but always their answer was a solemn shake of

the head, no. Finally I asked, "Where would you suggest we look?"

.

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"Could we go to a shoe store, sir?" answered Timmy. "We'd like a pair

of shoes for our Daddy so he can go to work."

.

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In the shoe store the clerk asked what the wanted. Out came the

brown paper. "We want a pair of work shoes to fit this foot," they said.

Billy explained that it was a pattern of their Daddy's foot. They had

drawn it while he was asleep in a chair.

.

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The clerk held the paper against a measuring stick, then walked away.

Soon he came with an open box, "Will these do?" he asked.

.

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Timmy and Billy handled the shoes with great eagerness. "How much

do they cost?" said Billy.

Then Timmy saw the price on the box. "They're $16.95," he said in

dismay, "we only have $8."

.

.

I looked at the clerk and he cleared his throat. "That's the regular

price," he said, "but they're on sale, $3.98, today only."

Then with shoes happily in hand, the boys bought gifts for their

mother and two little sisters. Not once did they think of themselves.

.

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The day after Christmas the boy's father stopped me on the street.

The new shoes were on his feet, gratitude was in his eyes. "I just

thank Jesus for people who care," he said.

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"And I thank Jesus for your two sons." I replied. "they taught me

more about Christmas in one evening than I had learned in a lifetime."

.

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When I read those last few lines, I became all choked up, I couldn't even read them. I paused for a long time, Madison finally asked me if I was okay, and if I was crying. (of course I told her no, but it was so sweet.)

It's so amazing that children are so innocent and pure and sweet. They have only good intentions, and there I was being mad at them, mad that we can't hurry and get on with things, so we can get to bed. I'm letting things get to me, and make me frustrated, when none of those things even matter.

Today I realised that without all the extra stress from Christmas, we have the opportunities to step back from the chaotic-ness and slow down, and realize what's important to us. What really matters, and how much love we have for one another.

I'm so grateful for my kids and for the many things I learn from them.