Another Advent

"Has it occurred to you that you are exactly where Mary was in her pregnancy with Jesus?" my Dad asked me this weekend. 

"Uh, yeah, I guess so," I said.  To be truthful, I was thinking more about this when I was expecting Oliver; though I was not nearly as far along, I was much more reflective, just at the point of realizing the pregnancy was real.  So I began to dream and wonder, and thought about our own little advent of a little one.  Okay, or more realistically: I had time to think back then. About anything. My rare moments of quiet now are spent dreaming about what time of day I will get to indulge in my one cup of coffee and where it's coming from, or meditating on what I can make for dinner with what I have left in the pantry because I still haven't grocery shopped for the week.

"I mean, can you imagine," my Dad continued, "Ninety miles on a donkey right now?  Do you even think that's possible?  Ninety miles!"

"Nope, sounds pretty awful," I said, not having to use my imagination.  It's effort enough to roll myself over in bed, much less think about mounting a donkey and riding bareback for two months.  Mary getting all up on that donkey plays no small part in the miracle of Christmas.

I'm struggling to finish up my last week at work, wrap up Christmas shopping and baking, balance social commitments, get ready for Baby 2.0, all the while trying to peacefully meditate on Jesus' arrival.  But this Christmas is not about our baby.

Oliver has started a Sunday School program at our church for 2- year-olds, where parents are alongside their kids singing songs, listening to a story, doing crafts, and of course, learning about Jesus.  Last week, the craft was making angels out of construction paper. 

"We're going to trace your hands, cut them out, then glue them on the paper to make the wings!" the teacher explained.

A little boy started shaking his head and protested, "But, but, but, that's not going to be good!"

We all laughed nervously as the teacher assured him that his parents would help him.  The boy continued to protest, holding his hands out in front of him with an alarmed look on his face.  "But that's going to hurt!"

And then we all caught on.  We're going to trace your hands and cut them out.  The poor kid thought he was going to have both hands amputated with a craft scissors.

After we all (safely) completed our crafts, we continued to talk about Jesus. 

"Whose birthday is coming up?" The teacher asked.

A little boy shot his hand high up in the air and exclaimed, "Mine!"

Oh, but pretty soon, these kids will catch on that in Sunday School, pretty much the answer is always Jesus.  Ollie is starting to get it.  Last week, he was playing with an airplane Michael and I got him after returning from our trip to England, when I asked him where he got the airplane.

"Do you remember who gave you that?" I asked.

"Yyyyyyy....yeah!"

"Who?"

"Jesus!"

As I write into these late hours of the night, when maybe I do have a moment or two to reflect on more than dinner plans, I take pause to think of lessons from child-like faith.  Amidst the chaos this month...pretty much the answer is always Jesus.