As I prepared Christmas Eve dinner tonight, I reflected that it didn't feel much like Christmas to me. I realized that was because for every Christmas of my life (except when I was a missionary in Uruguay), someone else had planned the festivities. Tonight, for the first time, I was the one in charge of preparing the feast, planning the program, and basically inspiring peace, goodwill, and warm fuzzy family memories. That's a lot of responsibility. I kind of miss the good old days when I could just sit back and let someone else make the evening magical.
Our Christmas Eve program was a mix of both our families' traditions. We followed Pink Grandma's tradition of reading the nativity story from the scriptures . . .
. . . and pausing periodically to sing a Christmas carol based on the event we had just read about.
To get the kids more involved in the story, we incorporated Papa and Red Grandma's fun tradition of having them move nativity figures from various spots in our home to the stable where Jesus was born. Tonight, that meant that the three wise men raced toward Bethlehem with more exuberance than reverence. Sometimes it's hard to know whether to focus on teaching respect or encouraging joyful family bonding. Since it's Christmas Eve, I decided to err on the fun side in this case.
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