Christmas tears

It was the week before Christmas in the middle of a well-prepared and beautiful Sunday School lesson… our teacher passed out bags with the symbols of Christmas and we talked about our traditions, etc. I loved having a different sort of lesson, it just felt appropriate to do something special, something seasonal, and I love participating in talk of celebratation ideas.

At one point she asked us what we do to serve as a family at Christmastime. Immediately and without warning, just as quickly as hands raised, tears began forming at the sides of my eyes and cascaded down my cheeks. I have always dreaded this question.

The father of a young friend found me after church, addressed me by name, and asked if I was just touched during the class or if I was ok. Which released them all over again.

I confessed what I just told you, that I hate that question. I told him the truth, that I feel like a failure every time we have to talk about what we do to serve as families. I have a dear friend, my mentor and role model just a few years further down the road, who is brilliant at this, who has a binder-head full of ideas to pull from. She has truly engaged her kids, from taking them to assisted living places to sing and play games to taking them to visit various kinds of people in their congregations. I can’t help but think of her whenever this kind of conversation comes up. She is so good at it, she made the effort to include her kids in any kind of service she happened to be doing. I feel like I missed the chance to teach my kids; they’re grown, I should’ve figured out how to fit it in. I wonder if I already felt too overwhelmed just getting through the days when they were little, maybe I just never got traction in that way. And it’s not that we’re opposed to serving, but it’s one thing to do things while they’re at school, we all do that. I just don’t feel like I did enough to orchestrate formal service as a family. We’ve never made it a tradition to step foot inside any group living situation and sing or play games like she did. We’ve never gone caroling as a family. We’ve never packed food boxes altogether. We’re not even that great at doing things for the families we’re assigned to at church, and we haven’t done neighbor gifts forever. So that Sunday, when a mom is already tender from all she’s been trying to do to make Christmas be everything to everyone, it all came to a head. I have one nearly grown kid left. What was I doing all those years when I had them all still at home? Why didn’t I make the effort to teach them, to show them, to take them out into the community, among the needy? You know how your thoughts have a way of multiplying themselves… the more I thought about what I hadn’t done and what that meant, the sadder I became. With all the symbols we were discussing and all the good ideas my classmates had, I felt like I had missed the whole point of Christmas.

And yet, I don’t know if I would do things much differently if I were to begin again. There’s no way I could convince Todd or any of the kids to go inside where old people live and sing or play games, none of us is that brave. Todd works till 6:30… too late to serve dinner to the homeless people downtown. And for some reason, it never crossed my mind to do it on the weekend. Why didn’t we serve meals or sort clothes or build houses or work on community gardens as a family? I’ve always pushed the whole issue aside, ashamed that I didn’t coordinate projects for us. I think service in the ways I had in my mind overwhelmed me. None of it seemed to fit with our introverted family culture, and I’ve always felt that I’ve pushed too many of my good ideas on my family already; I think I sort of gave up on the idea of that being us, I dreaded hearing excuses or feeling rejected. Every once in a blue moon we’d do some kind of activity that had that kind of ring to it, helping at the food bank or doing yard work… but not so much as a family and always super randomly and sporadically. Just last week I was with two sets of parents at the Salvation Army with their whole families in tow including 2-year-old twins, and I couldn’t help but feel we could’ve done more.

And so that’s a sad place for my head and heart to be on the Sunday before Christmas. All my regrets bubbled up, and I wondered again where my priorities had been, why I didn’t make room for that kind of thing as a family.

It wasn’t till much later that day, maybe even the next, I don’t know, that slowly images started filtering into my mind. And they’ve continued to trickle in.

I thought of my college-aged son who showed up with a pot of homemade potato soup for his sick sister a few weeks back.

I thought back to so many conversations where my kids have been hesitant to share something about their friends, uncomfortable about engaging in any sort of inappropriate talk, reminding me, “I don’t want to gossip.”

I thought about all the homemade gifts they’ve all made for us over the years, watercolors, cutting boards, notes… and the ones they’ve so thoughtfully chosen… they’re so good at listening and paying attention to what people mention in passing.

I thought of our daughter who carved out time in the middle of finals and moving and saying goodbye to her life last week to buy gifts for our almost-like other kids who would be all alone for Christmas.

I thought of our daughter and son who drove to spend an afternoon with their great aunt and uncle who are 89 and 92 and how much I loved hearing all about it from both sides.

I thought of them singing in our church choir and encouraging other kids to come to our house to practice. I thought of them singing in small groups, which isn’t comfortable for them but they’ve done it.

I thought about all the loaves of bread they’ve brought home to give to various people as thank yous or just for fun.

I thought about the random texts I’ve gotten from moms who tell me about one of our kids being nice to their kids who have needed a friend.

I thought about them making food for their friends and hosting parties and gatherings. I love when they reach outside their usual friend group and when they’re inclusive. I thought about one of my sons having friends over for a Christmas party, another who made Norweigan food for 30, and my daughter and her Friendsgiving festivities… it all warms my heart so much that they’ve learned to cook and that they love to share.

I thought about the gifts they’ve bought for their friends over the years. I love that they remember birthdays and that they’ll make the effort to find just the right thing. I love that they buy each other gifts as siblings.

I thought about them giving each other rides to the airport. And paying for gas without me having to remind them.

I thought of them waiting up for each other as we've all gotten older.

I thought about our son in high school who’d drive late at night to a friend to give a hug or get fast food when there’s been sadness and a need.

I thought about our son who came up with a plan to travel by bus, train, and plane in the wee morning hours to surprise his aunt whose been dealing with cancer and a million other stresses.

I thought about him wearing pink every day in October in her honor, collecting money for her foundation.

I thought about all the ways I’ve seen our married kids cook and clean and care for each other. I love how devoted and thoughtful and kind they are to one another and to us when we’re together. I love the men they’ve grown up to be, and I love our bonus daughters to the moon.

I thought of the thank you note from a daughter I found on my pillow thanking us for her Christmas gifts.

I thought of the handwritten love notes on the backs of watercolor painting bookmarks, the time and thought that went into them, how I treasure them so much.

I thought about the times I’ve come home from the temple or other commitments to dishes being done without having to ask.

I thought of our daughter who goes over to visit her nana without ever mentioning it to me, who is kind and patient with her as she’s aging.

I thought about the times they’d already written thank you notes when I think to remind them.

I thought about how they all decided to take a night to cook this vacation without any consultation from me.

I thought about how close they all are, that they have their own chats, that they send funny things to each other, that they hug and laugh and sing and dance and hang out together, that they’re such good friends, that they go do things together, that they double date and have girls nights. I thought about our Sunday calls and how they still keep showing up after all this time.

They keep coming, I keep noticing. I feel like I’ve been given glimpses like these ever since that Sunday. And my heart is filling up. I feel so humbled as I consider the ways our kids have somehow learned to serve despite my lack of planning and executing concrete family service projects. I’m so touched by their sensitivity, their perception, their kind hearts, their generosity and their genuine friendship astuteness that they seem to have just innately come with. I think every parent has access to a similar list; all of us have kids who are kind and loving and who are making the world happier and softer in a million different ways.

I’m thinking that these specific memories are coming to me on purpose. That they’re to help settle my heart, to soften the feelings of regret I felt that day. I think I might not be alone, that maybe there are other parents who wish they could’ve or would’ve done things differently in some part of their parenting. I’m not saying it was all a mess or that we missed the boat completely. We’re like all of you and made an honest and valiant effort; we did the best we could with the energy, time, backgrounds and tools we had at the time. What I’m leaning toward is the idea that maybe our kids can learn what they need to despite what we don’t intentionally and formally teach. Maybe their classroom is just the world. Maybe they pick things up from other grown-ups and friends and families they mingle with, maybe they just have good hearts that they grow into, maybe they can learn to serve in places other than St. Vincent de Paul, maybe they just figure out how to love on their own terms and in their own natural ways. Maybe we don’t have to sign up to serve, maybe we don’t have to wait for a project, and maybe we don’t even have to do something super uncomfortable. Maybe our kids are the real teachers in all of this, and maybe this Christmas they’ve given me the best gift of all, reminding me through their examples and all their acts of kindness and love that it’s in the small and simple ways that we truly serve and share love. As a parent, what better gift could I wish for than kids who have learned—and who live—this.