Third in the Series: Being Significant

I see Santa Claus, at his desk in his striped shirtsleeves, writing carefully in his book the name of our eldest daughter, Kay--and placing a string of tiny gold stars behind it. I'm hanging yet another decoration on the tree, and one that I treasure. There is another like it, identical but for the name being inscribed: that of Sarah, replete with an equal number of stars.

That was the year that I painted. I had never had a good Nativity set, and that year, I saw one--a huge one with shepherds and kings and camels and sheep--amidst the greenware of a local ceramics shop. I splurged and bought the whole thing, along with the paint to decorate it in proper colors. As if that weren't enough, I bought ornaments: the aforementioned Santas and a couple of angels. More to paint.

Unless you've been a stay-at-home mom or dad, it's hard to understand why anyone would take on a big project in the weeks leading up to Christmas. Life is complicated enough with the baking and the cleaning and the decorating and the mailing--and always, the perpetuation of the Santa Claus myth for the little ones. I even added on a Christmas party for 50 or so people early in December. Why bother with painting a Nativity set? 18+ detailed pieces, crammed in among all the other tasks.

I like to say that projects like these were good for me because they were the only things I did that stayed DONE. Laundry? Nope. Meals? Nope. Cleaning. Baking. Repairs. Errands. Nope to the 4th power. Like every other parent of small children, everything I accomplished was temporary and essentially invisible. I ran and ran and stayed in place. But if I did something concrete--counted cross stitch, a painted Nativity scene, a journal entry--I could claim an accomplishment. And that was important for me as 'only a housewife', who was barely worthy of notice.

Whether or not I believed in my job, not many others thought it important. I played with my kids, I read them books, I took them on walks and pointed things out. We visited the library and petting zoos and playgrounds, did experiments, made finger jello, bought groceries and baked cookies, and through all this they learned stuff: that reading is important, that math is everywhere, that science can explain things, and that their parents loved them to distraction.

So here I am, hanging ornaments that I painted for them years ago: two angels, each cuddling a puppy or kitten; two Santas, each proclaiming that a little girl had earned special gold stars for being good all year. I painted them for me, too--for the mom I was, evidence that what I was doing was worth doing, even if it didn't earn me a big salary or prestigious title. I made angels. I was Santa.

Advent is a bit like that. Sometimes it's hard to see the value in our everyday. Sometimes no one sees or appreciates our efforts, and we struggle just to hold our own, running in place and getting nowhere. Sometimes, though--and Advent is a good time for this--we need to do something concrete that demonstrates (if only to ourselves) that we have significance: donate to a cause, help out at a soup kitchen, assemble a stocking for a faraway soldier, write a letter, or maybe, just think about where you are in your own journey, and what course corrections you might need to make along the way.

Paint your own Nativity set. Create a few angels.