Press Your Luck

One of the traditions at the Christmas Eve service at our church is to have a Children's Conversation, during which all of the kids dress up as the different players in the Nativity scene. There's a Mary, a Joseph, some angels, wise people, shepherds, and animals.

This year, once the kids were in their costumes, our pastors asked a series of questions about the birth of Jesus. Now, this is always an act of faith, as the kids' answers to these questions can range from profound to ridiculous. And the stakes are raised on Christmas Eve, when the kids are giddy with excitement for Christmas morning.

As the conversation started, we could sense in our three kids that that the longer it continued, the more likely their exhilharation would manifest in some silly outburst. It might be after four questions, it might be after eight questions -- and it occurred to me that whether they realized it or not, with each question the pastors were engaging in a game of Press Your Luck. But so far, the kids' responses had all been quite appropriate up until now, and the pastors continued to move the conversation forward.

The next question was asked. "In light of the surprise of God appearing to humankind through the baby Jesus, what could God do to surprise us on *this* Christmas morning?"

Zachary (dressed like a sheep) raised his hand. And then -- somewhat uncharacteristically -- bleated into the microphone. "Baaaaaaa!"

Zach, Ben, and Phoebe erupted in giggles. (Fortunately, the silliness didn't seem to extend to the other kids involved in the conversation.) Linda and I smiled while people in our church family gave us sympathetic looks.

And then, after a few more questions (which Zachary was not invited to answer), the conversation was over.

After getting not nearly enough sleep, Christmas morning came, and the kids had many more opportunities to exhibit the sometimes silly, over-the-top joy and delight that the holiday brings out in our kids.

Thanks to our Pastors, Tom and Laurie, for their patience and willingness to listen to all our kids have to offer, be it profound or ridiculous.