It was one of “those” days on Saturday. The kind of day that had silent tears of exhaustion and exasperation dripping down my cheeks at the dinner table while my husband and I tried to calm two screaming 2 year-olds, and the 4 year-old was on his umpteenth time out in his room. The kind of day where you question every parenting decision you’ve ever made – wondering how on earth are these MY children??
Of course if often takes a number of pieces to make up the puzzle of a perfect storm like that. One sick parent. One teething child. One overtired parent. One (or two or three) overtired child(ren). And my favorite, one hangry child. It really is impressive how all those stars can align for that kind of “magical” moment.
Normally I would begin the countdown to bedtime in my head on a day like that. “Only 2 more hours until this battle is over. And I can drown my sorrows in a gianormous cup of tea and my PVR.”
But this was no ordinary day. It was the day of Jack’s first Church Christmas concert. The Christmas Concert we had been (semi-diligently) practicing for weeks. The Concert we had been talking about all week. The Concert he had his dress shirt and sport coat all picked out for (thanks to his stylish auntie). That concert was tonight.
Folks, I confess (as I often find myself confessing to you), that I was veeeeerrrrry close to shutting down that plan. There would be no dressing up. There would be no joining his friends. There would be no singing. There would be no carols. Because, frankly, I was feeling a little battered after our battle of a day, and I just wasn’t convinced it was worth it.
BUT we persevered. We got those wrangy three dressed up. Packed a purse full of snacks (because when all else fails – snacks!), and a few candy canes for performance bribery. Buckled everyone up in the van, and off we went.
And as we drove to the church, our one daughter gleefully sang “Iwannagotochurch!! Iwannagotochurch!”, and our son notified us that he would, in fact, not be singing, nor we he be doing the actions.
<<Insert various types of parental reasoning/bribery to encourage child-participation here>>
But he would have none of it.
“Oh good.” I thought. “I’m so glad we’re going.”
Friends, have you ever noticed how sometimes the harder it is to get yourself (and/or your family) to church, the more important it is that you be there? Well, Saturday became one of those nights.
As we checked Jack in with his class, all of them eager and excited to be together and dressed up in their Christmas best, and found our seats among the parents and grandparents, siblings and neighbours of the children about to perform, I knew we had made the right decision. I felt the battle wounds of the day begin to heal as we waited to see these precious faces tell us the Christmas story.
True to his word, Jack did not sing or do the actions, but I was still proud of him. I felt proud of all those little ones singing “Away in the Manger” doing their actions, smiling at their parents (or in Jack’s case stepping out from the group, one hand to his forehead and one waving in the air exclaiming “I see my MOM!!” #whoskidisthis )
And then we settled in to watch the Children’s Choir present their musical, complete with well rehearsed lines and choreography, fabulous music and costumes, and the most precious nativity scene I have ever seen (much to the delight of my daughter as she kept exclaiming “Baby Jesus!! Baby Jesus!”). I was moved to tears. I know. I feel a little silly even admitting it. But in that sweet evening of singing, and Christmas story-telling I felt a restoration happen between me and my own children.
I love our church. I really do. There is a long list of reasons why, but that night I found a new one. For when a church sets aside a night especially for children, and when they pour energy and resources into the well-being of children not only within the church but the community as well, and when they make room for children, our children, to share the incredibly precious story of God coming to us as a baby, an infant and child – just.like.them. Well, when all of that happens, children are honoured. Your children. My children. And when children are honoured they feel valued. And even though they are wee, they know they are loved. Not just by their family, but by their church. And, most importantly, by God.
But Jesus said, “Let the children come to me, and don’t try to stop them! People who are like these children belong to God’s kingdom.”
Matthew 19:14 &15
I felt my heart so very full of gratitude for our Children’s Pastors, leaders and numerous volunteers that night. They weren’t just directing a musical, or corralling pre-schoolers, they were showing God’s Love to our precious kids, at one of the times when they need to feel it most. And as I witnessed those little souls who are most precious to me be loved so well, I too felt loved and cared for.
I thought I wanted to share a post with you on Advent, on preparing our hearts for Christmas in the midst of all the craziness that comes with December. But turns out I just wanted to share a post of gratitude to all those that help honour our children at such a magical and precious time of year. And maybe just encourage you, whatever stage you are at in the journey of motherhood, that even if it’s hard, even if it’s exhausting, it is so worth it to bring those children to place of experiencing the love of God right where they are at.
Be blessed this Christmas season, Mamas! You are amazing.
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