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In the corner of our living room stood a magnificent, seven-foot Christmas tree. Strings of blue and red lights, reams of glittering tinsel and a zillion ornaments adorned its boughs. You could hardly notice the binder twine holding it erect, or the angel head scrunched against the ceiling. Beneath it lay gift-wrapped treasures our four children had shaken at least 38 times.
Meanwhile, my wife Kim whirled from one pre-Christmas task to the next, wrapping, cleaning, baking. "You kids clean up your rooms," she ordered. "Grandma and Grandpa are coming tomorrow."
Unfortunately, this did not motivate the kids to action. "Clean up your rooms" would have done the trick, but mention Grandma and Grandpa and our children think, "Wow, more presents! Wonder what they got us?"
Even though Burl Ives kept telling Kim to "Have a Holly, Jolly Christmas", I could see her stress meter rising.
By this point, our children--one boy and three girls, ages 10, 8, 6 and 6 (yes, twins)--were like a nuclear reactor reaching critical mass.
"I know what you got me for Christmas."
"No, you don't."
"Do too."
"What is it then?"
"I'm not telling."
"You're a pain."
"Takes one to know one."
"Get out of my room."
"I'm not in your room."
"Your foot is."
"So what?"
Push. Shove. Scream. I was wrapping gifts in my office, and couldn't get to the skirmish before my frazzled wife. Normally, Kim epitomizes the Christmas spirit. It's her favourite time of the year. She plays Christmas music months before the stores do. Before we were married, she kept a daily countdown of how many days till December 25. ("How many days till Christmas?" I asked her one March 17. "Two hundred and eighty-three," she replied instantly.) It's no wonder I ended up proposing to her on Christmas Day. She loves the season, the lights, the trees, the gaily-decorated malls. And Kim loves our annual tradition with the nativity set. Now four fighting kids threatened to ruin it. They were about to learn you don't mess with Mom's favourite time of the year.
"Why are you kids arguing and fighting?" she said sternly. "It's Christmas. Where's your Christmas spirit?"
"He started it."
"Did not."
"Did too."
"You were teasing me."
"You tease me all the time."
"Stop it! Stop it!" my wife intervened. "Everyone into the living room. Now!"
Like captured soldiers, the four children marched down the hall and plunked themselves onto the two sofas, according to which warring faction they belonged to.
Everyone sat fuming, with their arms folded and an "I'm not going to eat peas" look on their faces.
"I'm fed up with this fighting," Kim announced as I entered the room. "Daddy's going to read the Christmas story, and then you're all going to bed!" Then she folded her arms and gave me the "no peas" look. If only Norman Rockwell could have painted this scene.
As I sat down on the edge of our coffee table, I sent up a prayer for wisdom. I glanced over at the box with the nativity set. What should I do?
"We're going to do something different tonight." I said, not knowing what that something was. "We're going to, uh, create a story. And each of you has to help me. I'll start, and each of you add one sentence." So far so good.
"Once there was a family with four kids," I began. "And it was Christmas Eve."
"And all they did was fight," chimed in my wife.
"That's good, Kim," I affirmed. "Now someone else."
"And they weren't very nice to each other," offered one of the twins.
"The sisters kept teasing the brother and bugging him," said my son.
" 'Cause the brother started it," replied my eight-year-old daughter.
"And they started fighting," said the other twin.
It was my turn again. I realized I was on to something.
"This was very strange," I continued, "because it was the night before Christmas and everyone should have been excited and happy. The family really loved each other, but every time they talked, mean words would come out."
As people added a sentence, their voices softened.
"The kids started to feel bad about what they had done," said my daughter.
"They apologized to each other," said my son.
A moment of silence followed. Then the dam burst.
"I'm sorry, Daddy," one of the twins bawled, tears streaming down her face.
"I'm sorry, too, Daddy," echoed the other twin, who also dissolved into tears.
Confessions from my other daughter and son quickly followed.
"I'm sorry for being cranky and impatient with you," added Kim. "Will you forgive me?"
"Yes," they responded in chorus.
A godly conviction had settled over us. I'd never seen such a repentant group. My son stood up and suggested that perhaps he and the girls shouldn't get presents this year. I assured him that wouldn't be necessary.
"That's why Jesus came," I said softly. "He knew that even when we try our best, it isn't good enough. We still fight; we're selfish; we say unkind words. Jesus is the only one who can help us love each other. I think we should pray and talk to Jesus right now."
Everyone bowed their heads, and one by one, in beautiful childlike faith, my kids told Jesus they were sorry and asked Him to fill them with His love. When they finished, my wife and I hugged and kissed each one, then sent them off to bed. Within minutes, they were asleep.
While Kim and I sat basking in the sweetness of the moment, I noticed the still unpacked nativity set. We had forgotten the Christmas story!
Then I realized that this year the Christmas story hadn't come in a box. It had come in our hearts.
Jim Tulloch is manager of Summit Productions at the Canadian headquarters of Campus Crusade for Christ in Langley, B.C. Reprinted, with permission, from A Christmas Digest (©Campus Crusade for Christ of Canada, Inc., 1996).
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