As you know from this post and this one, we started sponsoring Silindokuhle through World Vision in August. This has been one of our greatest blessings as a family this year. The kids are learning that their choices effect “our” little boy in South Africa. At our garage sale in the Fall, they carefully counted each dime and quarter and then celebrated when we reached the magical number we send in each month. When they packed Operation Christmas Child boxes, they hoped theirs would go to Silindokuhle! : ) We are Team World Vision, so when their blog asked for posts, I knew I wanted to do it.

In trying to decide what the true Christmas spirit was to me, I started by making a mental list of my favorite Christmas songs. That’s right, most of what I know comes from a song.

Favorite Christmas Song: O Little Town of Bethlehem. Ever since I heard Amy Grant sing it with an alternate melody and I really listened to the words.

Favorite Line: “Yet in thy dark streets shineth the Everlasting Light”

And that’s it for me. True Christmas spirit is light shining in darkness. God coming to earth. God coming to me. Me being filled with that light and going to dark places myself. Maybe those dark places are in my own heart. I know they are all around me in my world. I have to go; in body as often as possible, in spirit always. I can’t look for neat clean streets or hearts or situations. Light is almost invisible in a room already full of it. This Light is looking for darkness. This is the Gospel, the Good News.

Bethlehem, even in your mess, Jesus is born. Even in your dirty, dark streets, He shines. I remember that I have dark streets, too, but that God has never been stopped by anything like that. And, finally, I understand that if I really want to be part of who He is, then I’m going to try and be light in dark streets, too.

Even, or especially, at Christmas. That’s true Christmas spirit.

Do you have a favorite song lyric that embodies true Christmas spirit?

After college, I worked for a few years in the restaurant business. The people-lover inside me excelled in this industry. I still love the clinking and chattering sounds of a busy restaurant because it reminds me of those happy lunch hours when the diverse people of my city came into my little corner of the world for a turkey rueben and some iced tea. I was at home there.

But later, even in this job that I mostly loved (there were, of course, days that were so busy I cried in the back room wishing it would all disappear), I started to feel unfulfilled. Something was still not quite in place. Around that time, the church school I had attended had an opening for a kindergarten teacher’s aid. It was offered to me and I jumped at the opportunity for change.

I had no idea how much this one change would affect my life.

I always knew growing up that I wanted to be a mom, but I never really felt a mothering instinct. What I mean is, I wasn’t a particularly nurturing person. I wasn’t touchy-feely. I babysat occasionally, but it wasn’t something I did for fun. I just wasn’t very motherly. Now the flip side of this is that I’m extremely confident. I never doubted that I would be a mother and be a good one, I just didn’t have the feelings to accompany that security. (This is a gift and a curse, people, but I press on.)

I went into that first teaching gig with the idea that it would give me a nice change of pace, instead, it gave me a new heart. When those chubby little 5 year-olds walked through the doorway with their too-big backpacks and boxes of new crayons, they also waltzed right into my heart and changed me. As I tended to their needs, taught them the wonders of the letter “e”, and listened to their fabulous tales of recess excitement, a growing sense of nurturing happened in me.

I first noticed it when I heard myself calling them “honey” or “sweetheart.” Then I realized I was thinking about them when I walked through Wal-Mart, picking up new markers when they were on sale or snatching up tissue boxes with cartoon characters. That year I found the heart of a mother because I was acting like one. It would be a few more years before I married, but the seeds of mothering were planted when I was given little someones to mother.

I bring this up for a couple of reasons. First of all, those kindergarteners are graduating from high school this year. I still know most of them and can’t believe how ridiculously proud I am even though I only had them in my care for a year. The other reason is that I think the way this happened for me should give hope to young women who are afraid of becoming mothers as well as the young (0r not so young) women who fear they may never be mothers.

Now that I have a quartet of children myself, I still recognize all those same feelings that were first awakened by my kindergarten class. I mothered them, even though I was not their mother. Mothering is not just for physical mothers. Mothering is a reflection of God’s love for the world. Remember, even Jesus described himself with mothering imagery, “. . . how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings ” (from Matthew 23:37). We need you to mother because it shows us the heart of God.

Don’t worry about whether or not you will be a good mother. If you are in step with the Creator, you’ll know just what to do when the time comes. If you are already a mother but feel inadequate, ask for His help. Look for a mentor. Be hard on yourself in demanding change, but give yourself even more grace. We grow into being good mothers. It happens as we fight our own selfish tendencies and also develop the gifts within us. Be patient and diligent.

And here is my final observation as we head into the Mother’s Day weekend. I’ve been thinking about this lately as I analyze the way we parent our children – the good and the bad. One thing all parents do is dream extravagant dreams for their children. I imagine my girls can do everything that is in their hearts: police officers, dancers, inventors, doctors, etc. I want them to go to college and make a career and have it all. But I know it might not happen like that. My own path was far from traditional; I was married with three children before I went to college. But still my dreams for them are closer to an American dream than anything else, and I don’t know if my girls will go for that.

In fact, as I watch my three daughters tote baby dolls to church on their bony hips, I think I’m seeing a glimpse of the future. I can see the day when my talented, brilliant daughter sits down with me to discuss her future and the first thing that comes out of her mouth is, “I just want to be a mom.” Or sometimes I watch them load the staircase steps with baby dolls as they play “orphanage” and I wonder if someday they’ll be asking for plane tickets to Africa instead of college tuition money.

In those moments I have a choice. I can remind her of all the she could do with her life, the many accomplishments she could attain while she is young and full of potential. Or I could look at her so proud and say, “I know just what you mean. Our world needs good mothers maybe even more than it needs good doctors or lawyers or teachers.” Sure, I’ll know she has no idea what she’s in for – that parenting is more work than most of us imagine before we get there. But she’ll learn the same way I’ve learned – by doing. She’ll change the same ways I’ve changed. She’ll struggle and she’ll succeed. Maybe she’ll not be able to bear her own children or make that choice for herself, but she’ll be a mother. There’s no doubt about that. When we are His creation and we are faithful to doing His work, mothering is a part of us all.

Based on our discussions here and here, I’ve gone a bit more Tiger Mother on Ada in regards to her piano practicing. She’s just getting to the place that running through her material 30 minutes before her lesson isn’t getting the job done anymore. She has to put in more actual work now and, frankly, she’d rather play outside on her scooter.

But we discuss. And I remind her that if she wants to play like Daddy she needs to “work at it” and “try hard” to master the material. She replies, “I never see Daddy practice.” I tell her Daddy practices when she is at school. : )

One particularly sunny afternoon last week found Ada slumped over the keyboard in our living room moaning about the task in front of her: ten minutes of actual piano playing. I even set a timer. But it still loomed in front of her and she plucked out a scale or two while grumbling. I was occupied on my computer and determined to ignore her whining, so I didn’t notice when it had stopped until she said this:

“Mom, something just made a lot of sense to me.”

“Really? What?”

“Look at this,” and she showed me a Scripture strategically placed at the bottom of her piano lesson page and decorated with an ornamental frame and scrollwork.

“What does it say?”

“Worship the LORD with gladness. I have NOT been doing that.” She smiles at me slyly.

“Can you start?”

“Yep!” And she did.

The ten minutes flew by and I believed all over again that the Word of God to us today speaks for itself. Even to a child. It just needs to be read and then willingly applied to our circumstances. Smart girl, that one!

But this rock star isn’t in a Nashville studio or a California warehouse-turned-venue, he’s on the stage in the gym at our home church just a block away. And he didn’t arrive in a fancy car or a stylish truck; he drove our family mini-van and it was stuffed full of four children, their scooters, and their snacks.

This weekend he’ll power through 12 mini-concerts in 3 days. He’ll look the part in his black jacket, loose scarf, and TOMS shoes. When he plays his piano, other musicians will give up their own aspirations on the spot. He’s that good. He’ll eat out late with his friends while nearby diners ask each other, “Doesn’t he look familiar?”

But what most of those fans and admirers don’t see is the man he is off the stage. Knowing he’ll be gone all weekend, he took the kids along to practice tonight in order to provide me some quiet writing time. Before he leaves, if he follows tradition, he’ll make sure the kids’ drawers are stocked with school uniforms and weekend play clothes. He’ll pick up an extra box of Diet Coke for me and a pack of flavored juice in pouches with tiny straws for the kids. Fewer dishes for me, more sugar for them.

He’ll call each night to make sure the kids didn’t throw fits and the dog didn’t run away when he was supposed to do his business. He’ll bring home chocolate covered marshmallows on sticks.

I just thought you all might want to know what kind of man is among your ranks. He makes you look good, this rock star of mine. He’s a credit to your species.

Sincerely,

Felicity

The next thing I know, the credits are rolling. And tonight, so were the tears. I realized the thing I was enjoying the most about this series: everyone is changing in such surprisingly perfect ways. The selfish, grumpy old woman is sacrificing her accolades for the sake of another. The stuck-up old maid is finding a heart. The reluctant heir is trusting traditions he once thought were empty rituals.

I’ve known, of course, that readers want to read about characters that are round, not flat. They want to see a character transform. Nothing is more satisfying.

I believe there is a world of readers that would like to see the same thing in me. In you. See us change. Watch us transform from selfish, insecure youths to compassionate, confident adults. But as you see in the books, movies, and television we love, those transitions are difficult. For awhile it can be awkward. Sometimes there are misunderstandings. Often the one who changes has to deal with false judgements before the credits finally roll.

Thankfully, it all works out in the end. At least, in the good stories it works out. The heroine struggles and fights and perseveres, but eventually she comes out gold.

Yours can be a good story, too. Start by embracing the change.

It was one of those conversations that was heart-breaking in its possible implications.

After completing her business in the toilet at my Mom’s house, I congratulated my three year-old, “Good job, Macy! You’re such a big girl.”

“No! I don’t wanna be big!” she scowled back at me.

“You don’t want to be a big girl? But you always tell me you want to be a big girl.”

“No! I don’t want to be big. I don’t want my teeth to break! I just want to be a little girl!”

I had no idea this was going on, but apparently Macy doesn’t want her teeth to get loose and fall out (as seems to be happening all around her to her sisters – ages 7 and 8). She does not want to grow up. Which would be fine with me – in theory.

I guess we all hit that at some point. We weary of this growing and maturing and becoming an adult. Can the real parent show up? We dread the future as it looms ahead of us unseen and possibly rife with trouble. Could we just stop this spinning now and join Jesus somewhere?

But as long as life continues, Macy is going to have to face losing teeth. And she’ll be fine. We all know that. You’ll be fine, too. Hang in there. Don’t grow weary or fearful to the point of stagnation. Trust the process.

Can you relate to Macy’s decision to remain a little girl forever?

No one wants to be tolerated. Not really. Even with all our public discussions about the topic, tolerance isn’t our ideal.

We want to be celebrated.

Last week Jesse’s basketball coach threw his team a party, complete with a colorful banner, a themed cake, and personalized trophies.

This was not a championship team. In fact, they didn’t win a single game in their league.

But their coach bought them trophies anyway and each one was inscribed with their name and MVP.

“Because each one of you is a Most Valuable Person,” he told them.

The Church fathers write about celebration as a spiritual discipline, which can sound strange. Doesn’t celebrating come naturally, like the explosive shouts at the end of a championship season or happy tears at the birth of a child? Yes, I think it usually does, but there are times when celebration doesn’t come easily at all. It usually happens when we’re busy or lonely or angry or sad. We just forget that the power to celebrate is in our hands.

John Ortberg suggests finding small ways to celebrate everyday so that your celebrating muscles are strengthened. Try just doing things with children and following their lead. Sing when they sing. Dance when they dance. Laugh when they laugh.

Or, find someone to celebrate. Make a cake. Hang a banner. Buy a trophy. They will never forget it.