The Truth About Santa...and the Elf, and the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy too?

Wow, what a year it has been.  I don't even know how long it's been since I posted about me and my little boy SIP.  Since launching my novel in January, work life has kept me busier than ever which is a great thing, but does tend to distract me from my guilty pleasures...like blogging.  It's November, the holidays are once again upon us.  Every year it seems SIP, who is now seven, chooses one very large present wish, sometimes so big that only Santa and his Christmas magic can pull it off.  It all started with the gigantic Cactus fountain now prominently perched by our swimming pool.  Then it was a Wii.  Last year it was an Xbox...because the Wii wasn't enough. 

Well, SIP is a thinker and he usually makes his big wish known in the springtime so that Santa will have plenty of time to prepare.  This past spring, SIP announced that this year for Christmas he would like to have a -....... (dramatic pause here)..........- LAB.  Not a Labrador but a laboratory.  And he didn't mean a kit that comes in a box with a beaker and Alka-Seltzers.  He meant the real deal, Jimmy Neutron and Johnny Test style, a full-on lab equipped with real plutonium and a sidekick robot.   

Sooooo, this could mean only one thing - it was time for SIP to know the truth about Santa.  In October, one night at the dinner table as we sat surrounded by spooky decorations, I gazed at the red Jello brain centerpiece and felt the imminent weight of the holidays on my shoulders.  It was the night for the talk I had been dreading ever since I got myself into this big web of holiday hero lies when SIP was a toddler.  I wished I had never succumbed to the social pressure, never created this horrible precedent that I knew would ultimately break the sacred bond of trust between me and my child.  But it was done, and I had to see it through to the heart breaking end. 

I gave my husband the "eye" and reading my mind, he nodded his head in solemn approval.  I went on to explain to SIP that St. Nick was a real person, a great man and that he is real.  All of that was true.  But he didn't live in the North Pole with elves, instead he lives in Heaven with God and Jesus and the angels.  We associate him with toys because he is most known for his generosity to orphans and widows.  In effect, Santa did not come to our house and houses all over the world with toys on Christmas Eve.  Moms and dads and loved ones do those things for one another in honor of St. Nick's charity and in celebration of the birth of Jesus who received gifts from the wise men. 

I talked and watched my beautiful boy's face as he took in this new truth that would force him to grow up that night.  I will never forget watching the little light in his eyes go dim. He accepted the information like a champ and seemed a bit relieved to know the truth.  He even thanked us for the very special gifts that he believed Santa had brought, an unexpected and sweet thing.  Over the next few days as holiday catalogues came in the mail and signs went up all over town, the gravity of the situation fell on him.  He was most disappointed about the Elf on the Shelf, but not too surprised about the Easter Bunny, "That," he said, "always seemed ridiculous." 

It has been a bitter sweet time for me as a mother, mostly just because he's growing up and I love him so much that I miss him even when he's sitting next to me.  I miss each second as it passes.  A couple of days ago we headed to the Economy Feed store on Carolyn Street past Bay Street in Savannah to get some food for our chickens.  The charming and quaint feed store is located in an impoverished neighborhood more commonly know as the "ghetto."  Just ahead of the store, we came upon two young men, around fourteen years of age, in an all-out brawl. I had never seen such a terrible fight in-person in my life.  There was a third boy videoing the altercation with his phone.  I pulled over, rolled down my window and yelled, "Cut it Out!"  So if you see the fight on YouTube, I'm the crazy white lady shouting from her green Subaru Forester.  I'm pretty sure I also said, "I don't want to have to call the police!"  The boy with the phone then tried to break it up, but it was no use.  They threw one punch after another and ended up in a tangled mess on the ground.  Neighbors started coming out of their houses and walking over and finally a man in his thirties was able to get them under control. 

I gave the good Samaritan a friendly wave and went on to Economy.  I wasn't sure what to say to SIP about the whole thing, but he had it covered.  "Mom," he said, "I bet I know why those boys were fighting."  He spoke in his all-knowing tone he gets when he lectures and I readied myself for a seven-year-old's perspective on race relations, the impact of poverty and other social issues.  "Oh?" I said, "Why do you think they were fighting?"  "It's obvious," he said, "They want to be wrestlers when they grow up." 

It was as though the Lord held me in his arms and kissed my forehead.  My boy was still a child and what a gift I had been given that day.  "Maybe so," I replied and went to work thinking about how I was going to turn the outside shed into a proper lab before Christmas.   

 

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Job Misunderstood

I recently heard a wise college professor pose the question, "What about Job?" in response to a theological paper entitled "Why Does God Allow Sin?  Theodicies and the Problem of Evil."  It's something I've always wondered and for many years, the philosophical notion stretched across the road of my Christian walk as a stumbling block, an enormous fallen tree.  What was the deal with Job? 

The wise professor said, "The story doesn't seem to go with the rest of the Bible.  Why would God allow a man, and not just any man, but his most loyal and faithful servant, to suffer so greatly in the context of a wager with the devil?  Why would God even bet with the Devil to begin with?  Wouldn't that suggest some level of insecurity on his part?"  It's a good question.  And considering it came on the heals of my weekend long trip to attend the funeral of my dear sister-friend's three day old baby, it was a good time to ask it. 

Most of us know the story.  As I understood it since childhood, it was about a man named Job who loved and trusted in God and God loved him in return.  Job was wealthy and extremely blessed in all the ways a person could be during those days.  One day, the devil went to God and said, "The only reason Job loves you is because you've blessed him greatly.  It is a selfish love."  God disagreed and said, "To prove I'm right, you can take everything away from him except for his life and at the end of all that, I assure you, he will not sin against me." 

In the context of our modern culture, this seems ridiculous, harsh, unfair, cruel and offensive.  But during my walk with God I've been able to gingerly step over that big tree in the woods.  This morning I woke with the question on my mind, a debate in my heart and an assignment from the Spirit to put work aside and read the entire book of Job from beginning to end. 

Before today, I was under the impression that Job remained strong throughout the many tests he was given.  "The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised." -Job 1:21  I worried and feared that I would never be able to stand up to such rigorous tribulation.  My faith would undoubtedly waiver in such circumstances.  But after reading the story for myself, I discovered Job wasn't as rock solid as I had been led to believe.  By the end of his trials, after losing his children, countless servants, livestock and riches, the Lord allowed Satan to afflict Job with painful sores "from the soles of his feet to the top of his head." -Job 2:7 

Three of Job's friends heard of his troubles and went to see him to sympathize with him and comfort him.  They sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights without saying a word because they saw how great his suffering was. -Job 2:11-13 Such was the beginning of his faltering.  He went into length expressing his feelings of forsakenness and his desire to die.  Though Job remained faithful to God to the end, it was difficult and many times he questioned his ability and will to go on and he also questioned God's dealing with him.  Job asked, "Why did I not perish at birth, and die as I came from the womb?...For now I would be lying down in peace." -Job 3:11-13   

The initial meeting between Satan and God and the course of Job's trials actually occurred in the very beginning of the book, the first two chapters.  The following forty chapters depict dialogue between Job and his three friends and a guy named Elihu.  The body of the book actually lays out a philosophical debate about God, faith, evil and suffering where in the end, the Lord himself, puts the conversation to rest, "Who is this that darkens my counsel with words without knowledge?" -Job 38:1  The book ends with this, "The Lord blessed the latter part of Job's life more than the first...Nowhere in all the land were there found women as beautiful as Job's daughters, and their father granted them an inheritance along with their brothers...After this, Job lived a hundred and forty years; he saw his children and their children to the fourth generation.  And so he died old and full of years." -Job 42:12-17 

So there was never really a wager, that would imply God would gain something by winning.  He knew he would win.  So why agree to allow Satan to torture Job?  Because it was inevitable.  Maybe it's not a historical account, but an allegory where you and I are Job and we will never be able to avoid suffering and grief in this world.  But we've been given this beautiful gift of life where joy is present and love abundant and hope pervasive.  Satan believed Job loved God only because of his many blessings.  It wasn't a bet, it was a promise...that if we just believe in Him, the second half will be better than the first. 

Messing with SIP...

Many people have mentioned that they haven't heard from me in a while.  It's true, the end of the school year came plowing through our lives like a runaway Camry.  Since my last blog in March, spring break hit, then Easter, several field trips, countless evening programs at school and church, gift shopping for teachers, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Vacation Bible School preparation and execution for Imagination Station and SIP's birthday.  Even Hope, my bunny, almost had a heart attack after her third public engagement in April.  Somewhere in there, I've tried to launch a new novel and keep my wonderful retail accounts stocked with artwork.   

Now in the midst of summer, our earlier sprint has become a lazy jog and I can finally take a moment to check in.  After a few late night episodes of Disney's "Lab Rats" followed by mornings sleeping in, I took a look at my now seven year old and couldn't believe how much he had grown.  How did I miss that?  Somewhere it happened in between cool crisp spring mornings and balmy summer nights. He grew into a real boy.  I'm sorry to report that the precious sayings have become fewer and further between.  His wise comments have been replaced with feigned indifference, because right now, boredom is cool.  So in my deep parental dismay and depression at the loss of my light hearted innocent baby, I'm left with only one choice... to shamelessly mess with him.  Such is my new maternal charge.

Cale called me the other day after dropping SIP off at Oatland Island's day camp.  He said several campers, including them, were late because a truck was delivering a large water tank during camp drop off.  He said to SIP, "Hey, look at that huge tank!" For a glimmering moment SIP seemed excited and looked for the tank.  "Where?" He said.  "Right there!" replied Cale, "on that truck."  SIP slunk back down in his booster seat and said, "I thought you meant an army tank.  That's 
not a tank.  That's just a water container." 

After a couple minutes arguing semantics while the water "container" held up traffic, Cale finally sent SIP on his way into the historic building where he might catch a glimpse of the world's beauty outside of Minecraft and Infinity.  Then he called me to vent about our son's apathetic attitude regarding a rather impressive feat of moving a cylindrical ton of steel. 

The next morning, I had the great privilege of driving SIP to camp and I looked forward to commenting on the water TANK...

 

The False Dilemma In Big Hero 6

Last weekend I relented to SIP's constant nagging request to rent Big Hero 6 from Red Box.  ALL of his friends had already seen it, that is if Morgan and Sean were his only friends.  Anyhow, the riveting movie reviews have spread through the first grade like wildfire and SIP could not wait to see it for himself.

STOP:  WARNING!!!
If you have not seen Big Hero 6 and plan to watch it free and clear of plot spoilage or criticism...this blog is not for you...right now.  Come back to me after you've seen the movie. 

It's not a bad movie.  I love the robot, BayMax, the fluffy ultra conscientious personal health care provider to Hiro, the main character.  BayMax is so dedicated to his position, that the only way to release him from work is to say, "I am satisfied with my care."  BayMax, through calm and sweet demeanor finds innovative solutions to all sorts of problems throughout the movie.  In fact, one of the story's main themes is "discovering another angle."  When you find yourself in writer's block, geek stump, pitcher's slump, etc., shake things up, look at the problem in another way and there you will find the solution. 

We've almost made it to the end, deeply immersed in the climactic conflict, and we discover that BayMax, much like the Terminator, has to make the decision to sacrifice himself for his human counterpart.  The only way he can do this though, is for Hiro to say the words, "I am satisfied with my care."  Once this happens, BayMax will release his detachable rocket hand in an explosive burst, sending Hiro home and himself deeper into essentially, a black hole.  Hiro says the dreaded words and our hearts sink as his best friend separates from him.  It's quiet in the living room as we all try to digest this tragic turn of events and SIP says, "Why didn't BayMax just hold onto him with his other hand?"  Yes, ponder that for a minute.  The removable rocket hand could have propelled both of them home if BayMax had just held onto Hiro with his other hand.  Ironic oversight in a movie where the main point is solving problems through ingenuity. 

As always, I marveled at the wisdom of my small child, who sees things more clearly than I ever could; and I wondered, what am I missing?  What false dilemmas, excuses, speed bumps, are holding me back in my life catapulting me deeper into space and away from true LIFE?  I hope as you read this, you ask yourself the same question and I challenge you each day, as I do myself, to look at your problems from a different perspective if they are weighing you down.  Sometimes the answer is as simple as just holding on with the other hand. 

That night, after SIP brushed his teeth, he came to hug me.  I said, "I love you."  He replied, "I am satisfied with my care."  My heart swelled and I envisioned a piece of me exploding and floating into darkness...as I held on with my other hand. 

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Innocence Lost...Nevermind, False Alarm

Over Christmas break, on a chilly drizzly Savannah evening, we drove across the Talmadge Bridge to the Westin for their amazing gingerbread house display.  SIP chattered from the back seat, mostly about Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, as we had watched it every day since school let out.  When the conversation turned from ill-mannered children getting what they deserved in the creative forms of candy abuse, to...bad language, the protective glaze of maternal indifference left my eyes and I sat straight up on alert.

"And Mom," SIP said, "you know that 'stupid' is a bad word, right?"  "Yes, it is a bad word," I concurred.  "But," he continued, "did you know there is an even worse word than that?" 

My back stiffened and I looked over at Cale in the driver's seat.  "There is?"  I played dumb and pretended not to be very interested.  "Yup," said SIP confidently, "it starts with S-H-  Sebastian says it at school."

My heart sank as I realized the reign of innocence had ended.    We made it six and a half years without hearing one truly foul word come from SIP's mouth, and it was all going to end amidst holiday lights and Christmas music with Delilah on "The River."  "I'm not going to say it," he went on, "I'll just spell it for you..."

"No!" Cale and I both yelled in unison, not wanting to hear even the letters that made up the "sh" word.  But it was too late.  SIP was on a roll and feeling strong, "S-H-U...

Wait a minute, "S-H-U?"  Not only has SIP learned a bad word, but now I have to be concerned that he can't even spell it properly!

He continued slowly, working it out in his mind, "T." I cringed at the imbecilic horror.  But, he wasn't finished.

"U-P." 

The windshield fogged over from the gigantic sighs of relief Cale and I emitted.  "Yes, that is a very, very bad word."  I said sternly hoping he couldn't hear the smile in my voice in the glowing night, "so bad I don't want you even to spell it." 

 

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