Pregnant Mary on a Donkey

Each year, I try to proclaim the birth of Jesus in our house with special, meaningful, memorable traditions.  Some take off, others flop.  This year, I bought a new “Advent wreath” where we light a candle each night as we watch Mary march along the wreath as the coming days of Christmas are approaching.  I had seen this wreath on a blog I’ve followed for years. The author writes and shares snapshots of her family of six gathered around her farm table lighting candles, singing carols, reading scripture and marking the moment.  I wanted that.  I’ve wanted that for years.  And this year, on a whim when Daddy-O was traveling I looked up her blog and bought a wreath from her future farmer and wood working  13 year old son who designed it and mass-produces them. It was all I wanted for Christmas.  A tool to help us make our countdown to Christmas more Chirst-centered. To help us marvel at the miracle and let His light linger around our table each evening. It arrived the morning of December 1st.  Just in time!  I was like a little girl on Christmas morning so excited to set it up!  It was just what I had asked for!  I set it up on our kitchen table and went about my day.  That afternoon each boy, when he got home from school, walked in the door and noticed immediately. “Mom, what’s this?” But they didn’t stop there, they each had to touch it, take pregnant Mary riding her donkey for a spin, pick the wreath up, turn it around, act like they were going to throw it like a frisbee, consider doing it, except Mom was right there watching.  After the interest continued to increase, I began to fear for the safety of pregnant Mary on her donkey. Was she going to survive the next 23 days? Let alone the next 23 minutes?  As the afternoon unfolded, I began to second guess my gift to myself.  Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Maybe they’re just too young for this. But the girl the author’s blog was about Kiefer’s age and they show her lighting a candle and marveling at it all.  I know it’s possible... it just will take some training, I tell myself. Trying to be patient. But memories of them excitedly rummaging through my box of Christmas ornaments while decorating our tree days before were still fresh. I try to hand out the delicate ornaments and have them hang them on the tree, but afterwards, my nerves were shot and it felt like they’d looted and pillaged through my past - all the ornaments we’d picked up on our trips or special ones they’ve made through the year flung upon the tree with care!? Hard as they try, boyz just can’t be gentle.  I’m learning that it’s futile to expect it.  I fight it - hard. Probably too hard, but I believe they’re capable of meeting our expectations, I just need to make the expectations clear, right?  But then Daddy-O gently reminds me maybe I need to lower my expectations just a bit.  After raising my voice (we won’t call it yelling, it’s Christmas!) a few too many times that afternoon, Jim suggested that maybe next time I’m on the verge of yelling, I leave the room.  These are special times. I want to create meaningful memories at Christmas that they’ll cling to when they’re older.  And I know they’re all just excited! Fletcher was so excited going to bed after the night of Thanksgiving declaring, “Tomorrow is Christmas!” because in his mind, the day after Thanksgiving, the traditional day when we put up the Christmas tree, is the start of Christmas!I don’t want to ruin their visions of sugar plums by my getting upset with them.  But sometimes harnessing their excitement for the season is a bit of a challenge.  Little did I know that less than a half hour later,  I’d be given the opportunity to take Daddy-O’s advice. While in the midst of the dinner-homework juggling act, they still couldn’t keep their hands off pregnant Mary riding the donkey.  I left the room. No one noticed.  But then, fearing for Mary’s life and wanting to protect my investment, I thought leaving this hand-carved wooden statue among eight hands under ten years old might not have been the best idea. So I swooped back in, grabbed the pregnant Mary riding the donkey and the wreath and escaped to my bedroom.  I sat in the dark and eavesdropped on the shock and awe left lingering in the kitchen below.“I think Mom’s crying.” one boy voice said, explaining to Daddy-O where mom went. “Yea, she left,” confirmed another.  Then around the corner in my still dark bedroom came this sweet little voice, “Mom?”  A concerned Kiefer was crying, too. Now realizing that mom was upset.  I wish I could report that I turned, gave him a hug and told him it was all better and then I returned back downstairs.  But I wasn’t ready to leave my self-induced time out yet.  Daddy-O came to check on me and encouraged me to take a little  break and go to Starbucks... that he’d do dinner.  That sounded quite appealing.  But I sat in the dark a little longer and felt I needed to return to our family table.  No where in that blog did I see a pouting mom take off to Starbucks.  I saw them gathered around the table together - as a family.  So I felt I needed to demonstrate grace.I came back downstairs, advent wreath in hand and I explained to them how we were going to use this and that we would each take turns lighting a candle as we counted down the days till Christmas. And that we would see the light increase as we added candles each night - just like Jesus being the light in our dark world.  We lit a candle, read some scriptures, sang some carols and it warmed my heart.  I’m glad I persevered. I’m glad Pregnant Mary riding the donkey has endured - so far.  But that evening, I did replace her with a Play mobile mom riding a horse. Thinking maybe this is more our speed this Christmas season?But at the boyz request and with promises to be gentle, we brought back the wooden Mary. And as  the days have marched on, I’ve been delighted to see the light increasing at our table. Each night we’ve gone around the circle answering questions of “What’s your favorite part about Christmas?” or “What’s your favorite Christmas Carol?” and then we sing it Or “Name a miracle Jesus did” or the like.  I’m grateful for this new tool, the lessons it’s teaching us all. I need visual reminders. Tangible tools I can touch and feel, see and experience.  And I need to remember that my boyz do, too.  I’m grateful for the prompted decision to extend grace. And also for my loving husband who put the kids to bed that night and let me escape for a while.And that Pregnant Mary on a Donkey... she still marches on... and as a mother of four boys I can’t imagine how uncomfortable that ride must have been, that late in her pregnancy.  One more way mothers can touch and see and relate to the humble arrival of baby Jesus. So grateful she persevered in her journey.  It gives me encouragement to do the same.