A Little Gas, A Little Prayer

During the month of December, we’re steeped in Christmas movies of all sorts. Most of them feature some version of a “Christmas miracle,” a last-minute saving of the day—or the relationship, or the farm, or someone’s nebulous belief in the Christmas spirit.

Charming as those stories are, sometimes all that talk of miracles become a bit glib. In all the big, sparkly miracles, we lose sight of the best miracle of all, the Christmas package delivered to Bethlehem more than 2,000 years ago. We can also lose sight of all the everyday miracles, the way God gives us everything we need every single day.

I don’t mean to preach. I simply want to give the back story of our small Christmas miracle of the day. It’s 14 degrees out, and when it came time to run an important errand, taking care of a friend’s animals while they are out of town, our ’98 Tahoe wouldn’t start. My husband and I tried several things. It wasn’t a dead battery, but we put it on a battery charger, hoping it just needed a boost. My husband put some gas down the carburetor. After half an hour, I was frantic, not wanting let down my friends or leave the animals hungry and thirsty on Christmas Eve.

In desperation, I did what I probably should have done first—I gathered my son to me and agreed in prayer for the vehicle to start. After the prayer he went running out anxiously, only to return and report, “The prayer didn’t work. Daddy said to try again.” 

I gathered my two oldest children and we prayed again, more fervently. My son again ran outside to check progress. He came back and said, “Daddy is putting gas in it. I guess the gas and prayer will work.”

As we waited, he again became anxious. “Mommy,” he asked, “can you try another prayer? One that’s guaranteed to work?”

“It doesn’t work that way,” I explained. “A prayer isn’t magic. It’s asking God. And God can say yes, no, or wait—just like when you ask Mommy or Daddy something.” Still, in my heart, I felt the vehicle would start. Weren’t my friends—and their animals—relying on us?

A few moments later, we heard the roar of the Chevy’s engine as it came to life. The gas in the carburetor? The prayers? Or a bit of both? I only know that, on this Christmas Eve, I’m grateful for God’s provision in small things as well as large. Our Christmas miracle was the gift of transportation to fulfill a promise and do a kindness. Yours may be smaller, or larger. They are no less miracles for being mundane. The first Christmas no doubt seemed mundane to many, but look what promises it fulfilled!

“The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God” (Phil. 4:5b-6).

“And my God will supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus” (Phil. 4:19).

Love Your Enemies

“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matt. 5:43-48 ESV).

Sometimes when you’re raising children, you wonder if all those lessons you try to teach them are sinking in. (Actually, today is one of those days!) Then, every once in a while, a little light breaks through to show you that they do, indeed, “get it.”

Last night my husband took our daughters to a local Daddy Daughter dance, which meant I got some rare one-on-one time with our son. We did some “boy” things together—he’s a big fan of computer games—and then we snuggled on the couch.

Somehow, in the dim glow of the Christmas lights, the conversation turned to enemies. He began talking about battles, another big fascination of his, but then said something surprising. 

“But Mommy, I’m going to love my enemies. After I fight them, I’m going to love them.”

As I chuckled inwardly and let that sink in, he went on, “My little sister said she hates enemies. I asked her if she could love enemies instead. She gets it now.”

Sharing Traditions

Traditions are strange things. I suppose there can be bad traditions, like Mommy getting stressed out over holiday planning every December and snapping at the kids. There are certainly great traditions, like family game nights or lighting an Advent wreath every night after Thanksgiving. But what I find both strange and wonderful is that how much certain traditions mean to my children.

My oldest daughter was recently with a group of other children when an adult asked about their Christmas traditions. I was interested to hear what she would say, but I assumed it would be something like decorating Christmas cookies, or making Christmas raviolis with my husband, or even our Jesse tree devotionals. So, I was surprised by what came out of her mouth.

“Every year we open presents and then go to Grandma and Grandpa’s house.”

Going to my parents' house for Christmas dinner was something we’ve done the past several years, but it wasn’t something I’d considered with the weight of a tradition. It was something I thought would change some time—we might host Christmas dinner, or travel to my husband’s family if we could afford the 3,000-mile trip. For her, it was one of the anchors of her holiday.

I realized again, as I do every so often, that for my kids it’s all about family. It’s who they are. It’s what drives them. Their day doesn’t start right if they don’t get a kiss from Daddy before work. It doesn’t end right if there isn’t a bedtime story and a prayer. Things that we began because they were important to us but that now carry the added weight of tradition behind them.

For several years I’ve been sharing stories and short quotes from my children with my friends on Facebook. It started out as a whim. “Wow, that’s so funny,” I’d think. “I wonder if anyone else will get a kick out of it?” For instance:

We watched Santa Claus 3 for movie night, and Moira was identifying all the mythical figures in the movie: "Sandman, Father Time, the Easter Bunny....and who's that supposed to be?" she asked, pointing.
"I think that's supposed to be Mother Nature," I replied.
"Oh," she said musingly. "I pictured her differently."

They did. What started as a whim became a tradition. Before long, friends and family were checking my page for the latest “isms.” It became a tradition. And like all great traditions, it became something to share.

So that’s what this is. I don’t have any sage advice or parenting hacks. No words of wisdom secular or divine. I’m not a DIY expert. All I have is three children, all under the age of 10, who see life through their own multi-colored and slightly skewed lenses. And we’re inviting you into this world with us, to share our love and lunacy, our humor and occasional heartache…our traditions.

Welcome.