Christmas Presence

There has been a lot of talk at our house about making Christmas lists this year. It might sound nuts, but we've never really written Christmas lists with the kids in the past. 

My inquiries have had an unfortunate side effect - there has been lots more discussion about new toys, Lego books, e-readers, video games (and on and on) than any other year. I was not totally prepared to deal with this. I should consider myself lucky; I've avoided it for a lot of years. But I have to admit, I brought this on myself.

Some might think that I'm a Scrooge, but since we first had kids, we've followed the same basic strategy. Santa brings ONE toy for each child. They have fun, small and practical items in their stocking (underwear, toothbrushes, Pez, Chapstick, gum, etc). Mom and Dad buy ONE item for each kid as well (this year they're getting new winter outerwear).  Between these gifts and presents from godparents, grandparents and special friends, the kids end up with more than enough. They have never complained theirs was a less special, joyful or precious Christmas because Santa's sleigh wasn't loaded entirely for them. 

Don't get me wrong: I love Christmas. I love buying and giving presents. I love the whole season. The Friday night after Thanksgiving, we bundle up the kids, walk to our church with the big stroller, and pick out a tree with hot coca and adult beverages. The Athlete always sets up the Christmas music, the tree stand and fireplace, so we come home to a moment of Norman Rockwell each year. Once a year, we all deserve a little Rockwell.

But this year might be the first year that my older boys don't believe in Santa.  They haven't asked or said anything, but in my heart I know that the mystery is changing. 

While this makes me sad, I also see my chance to show them the mystery and magic of Christmas isn't lost or gone - that entering the age of Christmas reason is no less precious than looking for the sleigh on Christmas Eve. But still, misguided Christmas parenting echoed through the last week:  

"What do you want?  What do you want? What do you want?" 

I had no idea why I was suddenly and repeatedly asking. 

I finally realized that I was worried that they'd be disappointed in the Christmas morning presents. Grandma bought some big, special presents this year that will dwarf what Santa will leave under the tree. Santa cannot compete with an American Girl doll. Or a robot arm. Or Ninjago Legos. I mentioned my concern to the husband. He said: 

"So it would be a problem that the kids think Grandma is more generous than Santa Claus?"

Cleared my head right out. He was totally right and reminded me what I already know. Grandma is Santa, and so am I, and so are they. It isn't about who gives what. Love isn't a competition.

If I listen to my heart, I already know what they want.  And it falls perfectly in line with what they need.  

They need me. And their dad. And their extended family.

They need more story time.  More family dinners.  More game nights. More thoughtful conversation about their days, their concerns, their small joys. 

They want to play football and hang Christmas lights with their dad.  They want to bake Christmas cookies (which is a problem because their parents don't bake). They want to hear the stories of all the ornaments on the trees. They want to look at Christmas cards from our college friends, many of whom they've never met.

They need joyful examples of generosity. They need to see their parents having fun during the holidays. They need to see us holding hands in prayer and peace - giving full time and attention to our marriage. 

They need to see that the advent season brings peace and joy and hope - not stress and sadness and disbelief.

We might think they want the Lego Death Star, and sure, they'd enjoy it. But what they really want is meaningful experience and inspiring example. 

So today, I vow to be Christmas for my children. To let go of the worry about buying exactly the right thing, and to find joy in being the right thing.

For the first time, I'm going to bake cookies and build gingerbread houses. They won't be perfect - or maybe not even edible. (I don't promise miracles; I only promise effort.) We're going to take the kids caroling, with our bad voices and big smiles. Christmas will be different this year. I hope for more magic, more faith.

The kids are going to get one big special present this year and it will come from Grandma, and that will make it even more precious than if it had come from that right jolly old elf.

I can let go of the presents and focus on the presence.

Racing through the day-to-day, especially during the holidays, where the additional pressure of parties and presents adds to an already busy load, we often miss the point. In the rush of the mundane we forget to see the sublime. We forget the Christmas origin had no tinsel or white lights, no greeting cards or cocktail parties, no handmade stockings or collectible Santas. The first Christmas was about one, small family making room for more God and more love in their meager lives. And of course, it made all the difference.