Too often, I have these visions of things we could do as a family that I’m certain will start a great new holiday tradition {or at least be a fun family outing}. I’ll hear about a festival, or an activity, or some special event, and get all excited about going… all the while neglecting to take into account the ages and stages of our children. As a result, a good nine times out of ten my vision for these outings turn into more of a calamity than the Norman Rockwell-ish good time that I hoped it would be.
And, yesterday, I did it again. I saw an advertisement earlier in the week for a local church’s “Walk Through Bethlehem” {with live animals}, and I just knew this would be the perfect Christmas event to take the girls to on a pretty Sunday afternoon. And, as a plus, this was a religious event geared for families… what could be more sacred and special?
Well… many, many other people also thought that a walk through Bethlehem would be great Sunday afternoon entertainment. Therefore, the “walk” was more of a “crawl” and then a “stand in line and wait your turn” type of a thing. All of which was understandable and would have been fine except that a certain 3-year old has a great deal of trouble with patience in such settings. Of course, we used distractions for the first twenty minutes and made a big deal over any of the animals that made occasional appearances in the line. But, eventually, even that lost its charm and the Toddler resorted to a meltdown.
The Toddler: I want to see baby Jesus.
Me: We have to wait our turn. We’re getting closer.
The Toddler: I want to see baby Jesus!!
The Spouse: Well, we’re almost there. You’re going to see him soon. All of these other people are here to see him, too.
The Toddler {at a full-blown yell}: Baby Jesus. Baby Jesus!! … BAY-BEE-GEE-SUS!!
And, it was at this point that Mimi remembered she had a bag of M&M’s in her purse. Fortunately, that distracted everyone in our party until we made our way into the “tabernacle” and eventually on into the streets of Bethlehem.
At long last, when we did finally arrive at the stable to see the sleeping {real baby} Jesus, the only one doing any crying was our own Baby C. At the top of her lungs.
And, there was no room at the inn for a diaper change.
It was a rollicking good time.
All I could think about as we made our way back to the car {with a screaming baby, an over-tired Toddler, and a Preschooler who wasn’t ready to leave} was that maybe, just maybe, we would have fit in pretty well in Bethlehem.
I know we sing songs like “Silent Night” and “Away in a Manger” and “O, Little Town of Bethlehem” that imply that the night of Jesus’ birth was quiet and still and as serene as a picture on a postcard, but what makes us think that the Christ-child’s entry into our world was calm and noiseless?
Surely the animals alone would have provided their own version of background noise. And, childbirth in a stable without anesthetic or as much as a midwife?
Certainly it was a holy night. I’m just not convinced it was all that silent.
When this baby entered into our world, he entered right into our craziness. Amidst a town full of crying babies, screaming toddlers, and strong-willed 4-year olds. Amidst frustrated and fatigued parents. Amidst busy people and distracted people. Amidst lonely people and loud people.
And, he didn’t come to be merely a spectator… but rather a Savior. A Savior who was, in a sense, one of us. A Savior who was, in every sense, with us.
Here, with our noise. With our tantrums. With our drama.
Jesus didn’t come into this mess so we could sing pretty songs about him every December. No, he came because we need him.
… right into the midst of our events, our parties, our homes, our world… our craziness.
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