Keepin' It Real This Holiday Season...

I was telling Jonah some "Christmas stories" from my youth the other day and I started to wonder what would be some of my best Christmas moments.

Like most of you, I've got tons of memories about gifts I received or meals I shared or funny stuff that happened in our family.

But one memory still hangs on with startling clarity.

I was a teenager and old enough to drive. Upon receipt of my driver's license, my dad presented me with a little red truck. I loved that truck. It was the stuff of country songs and folklore - it was freedom.

I can't remember if it was the Christmas immediately following my birthday or the next year, but I remember my parents handing me this big box on Christmas Eve.

I tore into it, my mouth gaping open as I realized what they had given me.

A CD stereo system.

Now, if I was lame, I'd make some sort of stupid joke like, "You know, kids, back in my day, cars didn't come with CD players."

But I am not lame.

I am cool.

Now that gift was great, but that's not the memory. The thing I remember most is what happened when my Dad saw the look in my eyes.

He got up from his comfortable chair, threw on his boots and led me outside where we installed that CD player and speakers that very night.

It was a complicated process and luckily, I was only responsible for handing him stuff. (Some things never change...) But we worked into the night to get it all hooked up and finally, I popped in my brand new Mortal disc and cranked it for all it was worth.

I'll never forget the fact that my very tired father went out of his way to do something so generous for me. I'll always appreciate my dad for that.

Now, it's your turn. Take a second and share one of your best Christmas stories in the comment section below!

WHAT JONAH DOESN'T KNOW...

Every night, I go upstairs with Jonah at bedtime. We read or I tell a story, then his little stuffed monkey, Albert, does a bit of a show, we pray and then I lay by Jonah for a few minutes as his little body begins to calm down.

If you've ever spent much time around Jonah, you know he runs non-stop from sunrise to long after sunset. On particularly tired nights, I end up falling asleep beside him and then waking up ten or fiteen minutes later aching from contorting my body to fit on his little bed.

Tonight, for some reason, Jonah was more active than normal. Rather than laying on his side, with his back to me, he cuddled up to me with Snorey Bear, a giant stuffed bear he sleeps with. I asked him why he wasn't laying on his side like normal and he said in a sleepy voice:

"I just want to hold you..."

So I snuggled up to him and smiled as he took one of my hands and absent-mindedly moved his hand back and forth on mine.

That's when it hit me.

Jonah will probably never remember tonight. I doubt he's even aware that for the first time, I laid in the crook of his arm instead of him laying in mine. But I'll remember.

Jonah is smart, but what Jonah doesn't know is how many times a day I whisper my thanks to God for that kid - how many times a day I wage spiritual warfare for the heart of the man that Jonah's gonna' be. Jonah doesn't, and will never, know how much I love him and how even the smallest acts of devotion and adoration from his heart mold and shape who I am.

Some posts on this blog are for you all - written in the hope of learning more about you the reader or get your collective wisdom on a particularly odd or tricky spiritual concept.

But not this one.

This post is for me.

This post is written so I can keep coming back to that moment earlier tonight - to relive it and rejoice for those moments where God uses a little one to literally fill your heart and mind with light and joy.

Stuff You See On The Sidewalk...

When leaving the church this afternoon, I noticed a white truck as it whipped into a parking space. Our church houses 2 after-school programs: 1 for middle school students that we manage and another for younger children that's managed by an outside business. (They rent our buildings, so to speak.)

This particular truck pulled into the "younger" program parking, and I wouldn't have normally noticed, but because I was about to leave, I was watching out for after-school traffic.

I see a guy, a "dad," get out of the truck and head into the building. From the passenger seat, his son gets out and starts following. I was too far away to hear the exchange, but my six years as a father allowed me the unique ability to immediately comprehend the situation.

I watched as the dad's shoulders slumped and spoke through a sigh:

"Get back in the truck."

The son made some sort of retort, something like I-want-to-come-too or I-have-to-go-to-the-bathroom, to which Dad again spoke, this time with exasperation all over his face. This time he pointed, too.

"GET back in the truck."

The son, fearing grounding or worse, darted back to the truck, but I couldn't help feeling for them both.

I saw a tired dad. A guy who's had to wear that stupid tie all day and who's looking at another hour or so of running errands, picking up groceries and getting kids home in time for dinner. A guy who probably isn't paid enough to justify the hours he puts in. I saw myself in that guy.

I feel for the guy - I think most moms and dads can totally identify with that exasperated state wherein all we want is simply for the kids to obey, but I also ended up for feeling sorry for the kid, too, because his dad just looked bothered. He looked as if he didn't want anything to do with his son.

I suddenly remembered all those times in my life when I speak out of my exhaustion - times where I'm tired and I seemingly want everyone to know it...even the people I love the most.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, I told myself not to over analyze, not to try to color that scene with my emotions. But I couldn't help it.

All I could think of was how horrified I would be if folks saw me acting like that to my kids. I don't mind disciplining my kids (even in public) if need be, but I hope to never communicate in any shape, form or fashion that I'm tired of them.

These two little ones are absolute gifts from God. Both of them protected through stressful and life-threatening illnesses; both of them granted with intelligence and humor and eyes that shine like nothing I've seen before or since; both of them God's and loaned to Krist and me for a time. I may grow tired, but they'll not ever think they've somehow sunk in importance...that they're bothering me...that they are a nuisance.

So, thanks to you, Dad and Son. Your little exchange on the church sidewalk today might have been kinda' ugly, but it was just the reminder I needed. I hope you both get some sleep tonight and end up playing together very soon.