Before my growing too fast boy had grown quite as much as he has now, we hit a little Christmas rough patch.
For days, his tiny, sweet voice had been on repeat, “Mom, remember how cool it was that time that Jingle and a bunch of my superheroes were climbing down that rope in Cedar Park?”
I did remember. Vividly. It wasn’t easy to hide double stick tape and make those top-heavy things look like they were having fun on a rope suspended from the top of the stairs! It appeared to my boy that our Elf on the Shelf, Jingle, hadn’t been quite as fun in the last few days. He seemed to have lost his creative juices!
But, on Christmas Eve Eve, I decided to try recreating the superhero bungee jump. It was, afterall, the night before Jingle would leave us for a year.
After bedtime, I carefully taped Jingle and several Lego minifigs to a green ribbon and silently climbed the stairs to suspend him from the stair railing. I smiled with pride! And thought of how wonderfully crafty I am and gave myself a high five for achieving super-mom status.
But then…
4:30 a.m.
I hear footsteps and a stage whisper, “Mom, I have to go to the bathroom.”
4:31 a.m.
Bright lights in the bathroom.
4:32 a.m.
The tiny boy, in a not-so-stage-whisper, booms full of alarm, “MOM!!! Come quick!! Something terrible has happened to Jingle!!!!”
I answer, “What is it… It is the middle of the night… go back to your bed.”
My tiny boy: “No! Please come! I think he’s hurt… or his magic has gone away!!”
4:34 a.m.
We see the devastating accident… Jingle has fallen from the railing and is lying in a heap on the floor. My tiny boy’s tired eyes filled with tears! Pride most certainly had come before the fall. My puffed-up belief in my super-mom status was gone and I kicked myself for the crafting skills and mom-failure. I mutter, “Oh no! Maybe he just fell? If he is still here in the morning… (pause… what will “WE” do in the morning?!!?)
4:36 a.m.
We climb the stairs. I tuck in my tiny boy with a kiss and promises that things will be okay.
4:38 a.m.
I creep into the bathroom and pull out bandages and band-aids from the bathroom closet and silently wait until I think my tiny boy has drifted back to back to sleep. Tiptoeing back into the living room, I pick up the “injured” Jingle, who is clearly in tremendous pain. I bandage his head and arm and wrap him in a Christmas towel (which seems to be the only appropriate thing he would be lying in to recover). I sneak back to bed.
5:30 a.m.
My tiny boy sneaks back in with a report. “Mom, Jingle has bandages!!!” he says in a very, very loud whisper. “I think he hurt himself while he was hanging the minifigs up on the ribbon!!” I beg him in slightly incoherent mutters to return to bed. Luckily, he does…
7:45 a.m.
My boy wakes up and beckons each of us in to view “Poor Jingle”…. I was not sad to see Jingle head back to the North Pole that night!
8:30 a.m.
He has concocted quite the tale of rescue involving the elves who visit our neighbors. And he’s decided it’s a good thing they are all such good elf friends Jingle could call on them in his time of need!
Now, we laugh about it, giggling over the bandaged head, wrapped arm and Christmas towel bed. I hold close the memory of the relief on my boy’s face when Jingle was alive and well, clearly taken care of the next morning. The story is near family legend status now that my growing too fast boy picks the place for Jingle to sit through the entire season!
I’ve thought about that night in the Christmas seasons since then, there is one part that continues to stand out – my feelings of failure. Rationally, I know it’s silly to care so much about a stuffed red elf. But it was more. It was a symbol of the magic and fun and childlike wonder that I wanted my boy to remember. If one part didn’t work, I felt it was all ruined.
Now I know. It’s not ruined.
Luke 2 tells the story of Mary and Joseph taking the boy, Jesus, to Jerusalem. Jesus was about 12 at the time. We read of Jesus amazing the temple priests with his knowledge. We then learn Mary and Joseph accidentally left him in Jerusalem!
Mary left the boy Jesus in Jerusalem! And didn’t realize it for a day!
I wonder what Mary thought at that moment. Did she panic or feel like she failed? In my heart, I know my reaction would have been a wave of failure, “Yahweh has breathed a child into being – promising that He’d save the world – and I’ve lost him in Jerusalem!” I wonder if she felt that way, even for a minute?
Did Mary feel like a failure?
We don’t know for sure, but I know Mary was human. A human momma. And I’m pretty sure she was worried until her eyes saw her boy again.
At the end of Luke 2 we read, for the third time in two chapters, Mary pondered, marveled and treasured these things in her heart.
Friends, do you treasure these moments in your heart? Even the parts that feel like failures?
Father God, Thank you for the opportunity we have to make memories with our children in this season. Thank you for loving us in the midst of our tendencies to cram too much into our schedule and our leaning toward the expectation of perfection. Open our eyes to see your grace and beauty in the simplicity and in the eyes of our children. Thank you for sending Jesus simply because you loved us and knew we would always fall short without your grace. We love you, Lord. – Amen
Hugs, blessings, mercy and peace – Bethany