Every Friday we’ll leave the topic oriented post, and instead post some personal comments.
—
A Cuppa Joe – Random Ramblings from a Fellow Struggler
My Little Christmas Sinner
My son hates it when I tell stories that make people want to pinch his cheek and say “Awww!” At the ripe age of 15 he’s entitled to balk at re-tellings of his cuteness, just as I’m entitled to write about them with impunity. (I’ve often told him he’s free to write about me when he’s grown, just as long as his accusations against me are interesting and salacious.) But when telling Jeremy stories, I try to stick to the ones that have a point worth passing on.
This one does.
He was barely a year old the Christmas of 1997, toddling and romping about as expected, a delight and treasure, ohh’d and ahh’d over regularly, also as expected. Our sweet joy.
The Christmas tree was decked with the usual trimmings, including an assortment of candy canes hanging from selected branches. As Christmas neared I noticed a daily diminishing of the candy canes, but saw no evidence of any tampering with the tree, so I chalked their disappearance up to whatever.
Until two days before the Big One, when I called Jeremy, got no response, panicked and started tearing the house apart. An infantile giggle from beneath a side table, covered with a tablecloth, led me to the boy and to what had obviously become his lair. Candy cane wrappers were strewn around him as he sat up, grinning and gleaming, smeared with sugary coating around his mouth. The table cloth was the perfect cover for his sin, as it kept his secret in and intruders out.
Nothing notable in any of this, except for my reaction, which was wildly mixed. My son was in danger, albeit the mild sort, of overstuffing himself with something he’d discovered, enjoyed, and protected as his little ritual. I thankfully was able to interrupt that pattern, so while cleaning him off and removing the last candy canes from the lower tree branches, I breathed out prayers of gratitude that nothing worse had come of it all. But I was also indignant. My treasure was a sinner! He’d been embezzling sweets, deliberately hiding both them and himself while he indulged, and had sought to keep it all from me, his loving Dad.
He was 12 months old, but that didn’t stop me from wondering where I’d gone wrong. Perhaps a wrong move during diaper changing; too much Barney; too little apple sauce pudding and not enough strained carrots. Toddler delinquency means something’s wrong at home; I was a failure.
After slapping myself out of this nonsense I realized what I’d known all along – he was born in sin, a condition I didn’t need to teach him. His poor mother has a sin nature which obviously was passed on to him, so what could I do? And then, a real joy sprang up. I was experiencing what I’d learned cognitively but never fully felt: “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am, chief.” (I Timothy 1:15)
Against the backdrop of all I’d showered on him – a Christmas tree, gifts, decorations and snacks – sat my little sinner, beaming at me adoringly, caught in his transgression but still trusting in my love. He was, in that moment, remarkably smarter than me. Because he knew my heart was with him, and that whatever corrective measure I took to deal with his error, he couldn’t help but be my son, my beloved. And good grief, what mixed feelings I had while looking him over! I was angry at his actions, overjoyed to bring him to safety, drunk with affection for him even as I admonished him. Finally, way late in the game, I was catching a glimpse of my Heavenly Father’s heart. My Christmas was so much richer that year.
The Light came into the world. Men loved darkness, but some – you, I’m sure, and others – also came to love the light. Smeared with sugary nonsense we ran to the light, and, as the carol says, Gd and sinners were reconciled.
I am loving that thought and will hold it all weekend. Hope you have a great one.
Comments
Add Comment