Studies show that of the 45% of Canadians who make New Years Resolutions, 75% maintain the momentum thru the first week of January. 46% of us last past the 6 month mark, and 8% follow through sufficiently enough to reach their goals.
The key words of course are: FOLLOW THROUGH. If it was a good idea on Dec 31, then it is still a good idea. If we have slipped or wavered from our intentions, we don’t have to throw our hands up in the air and give up – again. There is an alternative. Admitting that you fell off the wagon may be discouraging, but getting back on the wagon is a good strategy.
Self-improvement or education related resolutions take the top spot at 47%. I’m surprised, because I didn’t know there was any other kind of resolution. I mean really, if its not going to make you a better human being, what was the point of making the goal? Oh well, who am I to question statistics?
I know enough however, to know that anything we do that is better than we did, is a step in the right direction. The Best time to Do Better was a long time ago, but the second best time is always today.
I have this quote silk screened onto a scarf that I wear often. It is a personal reminder to me of my commitment to do better, and permission to let go of mistakes: “Do the Best that you can until you know Better. Then when you know better, DO Better.” Maya Angelou
Here’s to RE-commitment to better choices even though January is over ….
Thirty years ago we bought the best trampoline that we could afford with the money we earned delivering flyers for two years. It was a long two years of seeing little reward except the hope and promise of a trampoline. We had four kids at the time and it was a family effort, not without it’s share of frustration. Hot days. Cold days. Rainy days. Busy days. Days when they’d rather do anything else. Days when they said “This is stupid. I don’t even want a trampoline!” Sometimes I said it too. Quietly to myself. Shhh.
We wondered if we’d EVER have enough, but every nickel we earned went into that savings account, and then one day it was over! We took our money and all of us went to buy the trampoline we had chosen after much research and deliberation.
Our kids grew up on that trampoline. Thousands of hours of fun and noise. Very patient neighbours. Innumerable memories. Not a single regret. Not even for those flyer delivering days.
Three decades later our grandkids are growing up on it too. Seriously this trampoline is right up there with the Top 10 Best Purchases of our life.
What would you say are a few of your Top 10 Best Purchases?
Every year since we bought our first house in our early married years (a real honest to goodness fixer upper), we’ve kept to a plan of home improvements as we could afford them. Limiting ourselves to two projects a year, helped motivate us without overwhelming us. It also kept it affordable. Over the years, we’ve stuck to it in every house we lived – even when it was a low income rental when Dan went back to school. It kept us thinking, planning, and making things better for ourselves, while keeping projects in perspective and manageable, All these many years later, we still follow the same formula. One inside project. One outside project.
Some have been big projects – like 2015’s kitchen, and the 2021 greenhouse. Some have been smaller projects – like planting a tree, painting a wall, replacing a fixture or a single window or laying some reclaimed brick in the garden paths. The outside project is in the warm months, the inside project is reserved for the cold months. No one wants to waste beautiful summer days working in the house.
hard to see the glass brick patio in this little bistro area off the kitchen door, but this is where it is. To the right, you can catch a glimpse of a 45 gallon rain barrel hooked up to the rainspout
One year we scored some glass bricks from a friend’s reno project. I was so happy! Dan – not so happy. They sat around for a year or two, Dan trying to talk me into getting rid of them, (hoping they’d break so I’d have to) and me just ‘knowing‘ they had a higher purpose in my life. LOL.
In 2002 a big bush winter killed and had to be removed. Just outside the kitchen door, which was very provident! I had the boys chop it down and dig the roots out. We could have planted another tree, but I had visions of a little bistro-type area. Zack and Joseph were willing to make my vision come to life. Dan was not convinced it would work, and didn’t like the idea of the glass bricks being a floor, so he kept his distance from what he was sure was a doomed project. The boys created a base out of sand from the sandbox, and laid the glass bricks as if they were ‘bricks’. Truth be told, I only expected those bricks to last a year or two. None of us were very hopeful about what the winter might do to them, but we had nothing to lose by trying, and everything to gain. So we did it anyway.
These pictures were taken 14 years later. We’ve had to replace a brick or two from time to time, but not more than 6 or 8 in total. They’ve sunk a little bit, owing to our amateur job of packing the base layer in. But they’re still wonderful, and I still love the spot on our east side, just outside the kitchen door. The perfect spot for a summer breakfast, or a dinner in the shade. In the picture above you can see the strings from the hammock (on the left) strung from this tree to the one next to it.
In 2016, our inside project was a big one that took 10 times longer than we anticipated. We created a bathroom downstairs adjoining a room that we call “Gramma’s room” for my mom. This was the first big project in preparation for my mother coming to live with us, hence the name “Gramma’s room“. We used to call it Uncle Luke’s room, but things have changed. It was a very big deal. The first project quite so all inclusively complicated. When it was done, we considered having a “Bathroom Done Party” to celebrate. If you came to visit in the months after it was finished, we probably invited you to come see it. LOL. We rejoiced for months and I found myself going down to look at it several times a day for the first few weeks.
We had started the bathroom in January and finished the end of June. When I use the word “WE”, I am of course referring to the “royal WE”. Meaning Dan, although I do the clean up when things get done. There were lots of domino projects that had to get done simultaneously to make it possible. It was a big project that impacted every room downstairs before it was done, and our grandchildren couldn’t play downstairs for so long, they forgot we had a downstairs.
The adjoining bedroom “Gramma’d bedroom” would be the next year’s inside project, but that was a subject we avoided discussing for a very long time. Not surprisingly, the outside project that year was a small one. It was tempting to not do anything that year, but we had made the decision long ago, and that meant we would make one improvement a year outside and one inside. And sticking to it was important.
We painted the fence panel behind our bistro area in the backyard. I know. Big deal. It only took me one day. (We needed easy because the bathroom sucked all our energy.) But easy doesn’t mean ‘do nothing‘. It is important to be flexible with our energy and our expenses, and to not bite off more than we can chew, or afford. Some jobs are big and some are just small. But each one moves us forward, and brings with it a sense of accomplishment. It is just as important to stick to the plan, and move forward. Progress means forward. One step at a time.
Do you have a plan for fixing things up in your little world? I’d love to hear it.
There were many times as a younger mom when I knew I had made a mistake.
Sometimes I would be so ashamed – I wanted so much to be a ‘good mom’. I wanted to raise my children to the Lord, and have them be well rounded and strong and healthy in every way. I wanted them to enter their youth and adulthood prepared for all that this telestial world could throw at them. But alas, I was so flawed as a mother – that sometimes I realized I was failing miserably at being the mom they deserved.
Sometimes I would try to make it right – and I’d sit on my oldest son’s bed at night and tell him “I know you didn’t mean to ….. I know you’ve never been a little boy before and you’re just learning how, and that you’re doing your best. I never have been a mommy before either, and I’m just learning how, and sometimes I make mistakes too. But I’m trying to get better.” Sometimes I would make deals with him, and always I would promise to be better at it tomorrow. But I don’t know that I always was. More likely, I just discovered a new mistake to make. I was always great at making discoveries. 🙂
One day when he was a teenager and we were having yet another one of our ‘disagreements‘, he sarcastically asked “Is this gonna be another one of those times when you come sit on my bed and say you’re sorry?”
Whoah! To say his timing was poor – was to put it mildly. I was after all, still the flawed Mother, and I certainly was in no mood to hear that!
“MaaaaayBe.”I retorted “But right now – it doesn’t feel that way!” I admit it, it wasn’t my finest mothering moment, and I do believe it marked the end of those tender little bedtime talks.
. . . .
So, long story short – we finally made it, and my kids are all grown up. I’d like to say I finally got it right and that all my mistakes are in the past. ….. But sadly – I am painfully aware that I’m still making them. Sheeeesh. I hate to break it to all you moms who are younger than me, but you may never really ‘get it‘. ….. Or maybe YOU will. ….. Thank goodness, I don’t seem to be repeating a lot of the same mistakes. Nooooo, I am inventing new ones as I go. I told you I was good at making discoveries. It is a talent I don’t seem to have lost.
I am comforted by a revelatory experience I had when my oldest was about 7 or 8 years old. It suddenly occurred to me that he was now the age that I was when I began collecting more vivid memories from my childhood, and specifically of my own mom. I realized that the memories my kids were making NOW would be with them their whole lives, and I also realized – with a stark reality check, and a healthy dose of humility, that my mom had donethe very best she knew how – just like I was trying to do. And I was filled with compassion for her, and forgiveness – for whatever mistakes she may have made along the way, and for whatever faults she may have had. And I fervently hoped that one day, my kids would realize the same thing, and would also forgive me for all my mistakes in this great circle of life, because one day in their turn, they too would be doing the best they know how to do, and one day to follow, they too would pray for forgiveness for not always getting it right. I hoped they would learn from my mistakes and not make the same ones – that somehow they would be better than me, and that with every generation we could minimize the mistakes in our family, and become better parents and better people. Who knows? Maybe – if we were allowed enough generations before this ol’ world comes to an end, and if we put all of our effort into it, we might even become really good parents.
I came across a quote from May Angelou a few years ago and it is very prominently displayed in my home. “Do the BEST you can until you know better. Then when you know better, DO BETTER.” I don’t beat myself up about things I did. I know I did the best I knew how to do, and there is great comfort in that. But I do know better now, and it is my obligation to act on what I know.
Cherie Call put some of my most tender thoughts as a mom to music (she seems to read my mind sometimes) in this wonderful song WALK YOU THROUGH THE NIGHT on her album GRACE. (Mercy River also sings it on their album COME ALIVE.) Perhaps the words speak for you too. Thank-you Cherie – you speak to my heart.
“I may not be the best at very many things
but I believe I love you perfectly . . . ”
If good mothering could be judged by that attribute alone, then I could be the best mom ever!
“. . . you are bound to have some nightmares
so am I
but you can count on me to hold you
when you cry . . . .
I can’t promise that I’ll always get it right,
but I will walk you thru the night.”
Thank goodness, its not over and I still have time to learn. Grandchildren are the great gift of second chances – a chance to make restitution. Whew! And I hold out hope that one day – perhaps by running out of mistakes to make, I will have exhausted the list, and I will finally get it right, and be the kind of mom my kids deserve.
“If God will grant my wish then I will wait for you
beyond the veil, just before you slip through.
As you softly close your eyes I will sing my lullabies to you,
and before you make your way into the light
I will walk you thru the night.”
One day whe Luke was three or four years old, he said to me “Remember when Jesus came to our house Mom?” hmmmm, I was a just a little confused …. “Nooo Luke. I don’t remember that.” “Mom! He came. Remember?” I racked my brain trying to recall some bearded man who had recently come to visit us. But couldn’t. “uh, no Luke. I am sorrry. I don’t remember.” “Mom! You were there!” Had Brother Blommaert come to visit? He had a beard. “Mom! He ringed the doorbell!” Had Brother Blommaert dropped something off recently? When I wasn’t home perhaps? “And he gave you a present.” …. oh my – this was getting very mysterious. “Jesus gave ME a present Luke?” Brother Blommaert MUST have been by. “Yes! And the present was all wrapped up in a blanket.”
Feeling very sorry to disappoint him, but not recalling any recent event that might fit into the description he was giving me, I admitted defeat. “No Luke. I am sorry. But I cannot remember when Jesus came to our door and gave me a present.” “MOM! And he said SURPRISE! and when you opened it up, it was ME!” The light went on. “Oh Yes! I certainly do remember when Jesus gave me a wonderful surprise, and you’re right, it WAS you. Best surprise ever. …… But Luke, Jesus didn’t actually ring the doorbell.”
Luke couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t heard the wonderful story of how he came to our family. “A long time ago, there was just Mommy and Daddy, and Jacob, and Sarah, and Zack and Joseph. But no Luke. We thought everybody in our family was home. But you weren’t with us yet. You were still living in heaven. You were waiting for your turn to come to us, but we didn’t know that because it was a surprise. And we were just going about doing our stuff. And you were saying “Wait! Wait for me.” but we couldn’t hear you. We were having a picnic, and riding our bikes, and eating dinner and reading stories and you were saying “Hey! Wait for me!” And then one day, Heavenly Father said “its time to go join your family” and you were so happy. And Heavenly Father told us “Surprise!” and He gave you to us. And we were so surprised! And so so so happy.”
Well that boy is almost thirty years old. And just about three decades ago Heavenly Father really did tell us “Surprise!”, and a few months later, Luke joined our happy family, completing that generation of it. April 7 1990. A Happy Day for all of us. Luke gave Jacob the chance to re-find his tender-big-brother-side, Sarah the chance to practice being a mommy on her own real-live doll. He gave Zack and Joseph a little brother to play with and to take care of. And he gave Dan and I another chance to put into practice all the things we learned from the other kids. Another chance to get it right. Baby Luke was a delight to us all. Never was there a little boy more loved and cared for, and cuddled and read to. He was always in someone’s arms. Sitting in church became a political problem …. he was three years old and everyone still wanted to hold him. I am amazed he ever learned to sit on his own, let alone walk on his own.
Why the story? Because at one point, before 1990 we thought we were finished having children. The doctors had strongly advised that my fourth caesarian should be my last, and after months of confusion, and praying for guidance about such an important decision, we decided at length to follow the doctor’s counsel and leave the details up to the Lord. We never had that conclusive feeling that our family was finished, but we knew with God all things are possible. We had good examples of adoption in our extended families. We had fostered briefly. We had provided a home for two years for the teenaged child of a friend. We knew there were numerous ways a child could join a family. It didn’t need to be traditional. We figured that if we were open and receptive, then one day, when the time was right, Heavenly Father would find a use for these parents who still had years to give. We trusted that one day – we might be surprised, and that if we would just be watchful, and receptive to the promptings, that we would respond appropriately when the time came, and the Lord might be able to work through us. It never occured to us that a child could come to us through the normal means after we had taken measures to ensure I didn’t get pregnant again. We didn’t think that was possible. Well, guess what? It is. With God – ALL things are possible. He knows us. He knows our hearts. He knows what is best for us. And He was patient with our decision five years before – knowing afterall, that He was in control. “You do the best you can until you know Better.” right?
My fear was that one day Luke might hear the word ‘surprise‘ from another source,and another perspective. All of our friends and family knew the miracle by which he came to us. I was afraid that at some point, he might overhear a portion of his story out of context, and he might deduce that ‘surprise’ meant something else. I wanted him to always know he was important, and loved and welcomed to our family with open arms and open hearts. I wanted to make sure that he never had a reason to doubt that, and I concluded that the only way I could ensure he never thought differently was if he heard it all from ME first. So from before the time he could talk, he heard his story. About how we didn’t know he was going to come to our family, but we were so happy when we found out. I told him in a way that I thought he could absorb. Funny how kids fit truth into their own reality. They sort it out in the way that they see the world. In the way that makes sense to them. I was okay with that. I knew that as he grew and his understanding developed, he would sort out the details. The only thing that was critically important was that he always feel loved.
Somewhere along the line, Luke grew up. And now he has two babies of his own. Very wanted and welcomed and loved babies that he shares with his lovely wife Pam, and with the rest of us. Cause that’s what families do. But he’s still my baby. And I still refer to him as my baby. And sometimes the grandchildren feel the need to object. “Uncle Luke isn’t a baby!” they say. I tell them “oh yes he is. Don’t ever fool yourselves. Uncle Luke will always be our baby. And you know what? He likes being the baby. Don’t you Uncle Luke?”
“Yup.” (that’s how he talks)
And the world continues to turn. And babies grow up. And mom’s get older too. But some things should never change.
I love the quote by Bill Copeland “the trouble with not having a goal is that you can spend your life running up and down the field and never score“. This is a perfect visual image for me and I think it speaks volumes. Especially, as it seems, though goal setting is encouraged on every corner, in every area of life – educational goals, workplace or business goals, family and household goals, goals in gospel living – it has almost become too ‘common’ a term. And because of that, many of us miss the point. So what is the point of playing the game if all you do is run up and down the field kicking the ball? Eternal ‘practice‘? For what? Goal setting is MORE than a worthwhile endeavour, it is absolutely necessary to becoming the person we would like to become.
The truth is, without goals we will spend our lives either spinning our wheels in one spot, or aimlessly adrift being influenced by every wind. The key is to set attainable goals that are meaningful.
Whether they are long term all encompassing goals like getting out of debt, short term easier goals like getting on the treadmill five times a week, or even eternal goals of living with our families forever, the act of setting goals propels us forward. A ship leaving the harbour with no goal or destination? Preposterous. Throwing a dart without a target? For what purpose? And yet, we are no different when we allow ourselves to go through the whole day, a whole week, month or year without purpose, without visualization of a hoped for destination. A GOAL. Whatever talent and abilities we might possess, whatever potential is ours – without focus and directed energy, they will never amount to anything.
I like to look at the idea of LEGACY. Defined, legacy is anything “handed down” (be it good or bad), but for my purpose here, I am speaking specifically about what we as a person are remembered for after we’re gone. Its humbling to acknowledge that we have a lot of control over the legacy we leave behind. For the most part, what it will be is our choice. Imagine that. We create a good legacy through effort and energy, or we let our legacy default into meaningless. Again our choice. So ask yourself these three questions: 1) Where do you want to be in a year? five years? twenty years? 2) What is important to you? 3) What do you want to be remembered for? What legacy do you want to leave behind?
Whether we realize it or not – whether we actually use the words “goal setting” or not, most of us DO set goals for ourselves. I have some suggestions for ways we can make them more meaningful, and have a more empowering influence in our lives.
1. Goals give us Direction and propel us forward
Setting a goal provides a destination to work toward. When you set a goal you naturally direct your attention toward the first step in achieving it. Focusing on it leads your thoughts in a certain direction, and what you think about becomes behaviour.
2. Goals keep us on the path.
You can not walk a straight line without a fixed point to follow. When you have a goal in mind – a particular destination, you will focus on it, and you will be more inclined to avoid detours that would distract you from reaching it. The more specific your goals are, the more likely your path will be straighter and more direct. For example, it has been a life long goal of mine to eat healthily. Generally I do pretty good, but the goal itself is unspecific. In the last few years, my goal has been to be ‘smarter’ about my choices. Still very unspecific. So recently I committed to avoid sugar for one month. This is specific, and measurable (see point #3), and very relevant to me. A clear and relevant goal sets you on a path and provides incentive to make the sacrifices necessary to achieve it. There are always sacrifices involved in reaching a goal, because the nature of obtaining a desired outcome requires changing established behaviour. And that is never easy. Desirable maybe, but not easy.
3. Goals must be measurable to be of any value
By setting a worthwhile but immeasurable goal of “being a better person” or having a “successful business”, we never really know when or if we achieved it. We need to know where we are right now, and compare it to a fixed destination. Our goal should be “measurable“. A big goal to “get out of debt”, broken into smaller goals of paying off the credit cards, the student loan, the car loan, setting a minimum dollar amount aside for unexpected expenses and to eventually replace the car so you don’t take on another debt, are all manageable, measurable, and as you achieve each step you have reason to celebrate. A big goal of getting in a year’s supply of food storage, broken down into smaller goals of buying for one week ahead, one month ahead, and finally three months ahead, are all steps along the way, and are attainable. And measurable. And worth celebrating. The specificity of my goal to avoid sugar for ONE MONTH made it measurable and therefore attainable. I could see the end of the month from the beginning, the light at the end of the tunnel so to speak. It was a mental exercise that made it easy to track success with every accomplishment. You cannot manage what you cannot measure. And you cannot improve what you cannot manage. (*1)
4. There must be flexibility in resetting your compass when working to achieve goals
Without compromising the end goal, you can be patient with yourself when you fall off the wagon briefly from time to time. Simply get back on. You are still better for being on the path, and it has been my observation that though our heart can change on a dime, behaviour sometimes takes time to follow, especially when you are dealing with a full out change of established habits and routine.
One of my favourite quotes is from Maya Angelou. She says simply “Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, DO BETTER.” How very simple and yet profound such a statement is. It gives me permission to be patient with myself when I know that I am doing the best I can – on my path to do better. It steers me away from the temptation to beat myself up over former short comings, and to always move forward reaching for a new bar of excellence. It is motivating by not being unrealistically rigid.
5. Goals
provide accountability – especially when written down
When your goal is specific,
with a start date and an end in sight – you make yourself accountable to both. By
writing it down, you have more accountability.
A goal not written down is just a wish.
By placing it where we will see it often, it can be a constant reminder,
providing even more accountability. And of course sharing that goal with
another, or within a safe support group – strengthens that accountability more yet.
The combination of all the above, creates the best formula for success. Do NOT
allow yourself to procrastinate by giving yourself loopholes. Remember, “the Best time to do better was yesterday. But the second best time is RIGHT
NOW.” Be
firm. Don’t let yourself off the hook
with all your favourite excuses for not changing.
6. Goals provide motivation, and help us believe in
ourselves
Setting achievable,
measurable goals transforms mountainous challenges into manageable hills. Visualizing
the end result provides the incentive to keep working toward it. Without setting actual goals, be honest with
yourself, you’re just dreaming. Providing yourself with the accountability of
writing your goal down and sharing it, is excellent motivation to move forward.
Having a clear, compelling goal motivates you toward behaviour that will help
you reach it. The goal to pay off a specific debt is clear and concise. It is
easy to understand. It is measurable. Visualizing it and what it can mean for
you and your future from that point on provides the motivation necessary to
make it a reality. Fixing your focus on the
end result, and being mindful of your continual changing behaviour along your
path gives you continual feedback by which to measure your success. Success
breeds more success, and a constant motivation to move forward. It isn’t simply about creating a plan, it is
also about providing the inspiration and incentive to aim for and accomplish
great things. Without making that goal
and working everyday to achieve it, how would you ever expect to attain any
level of accomplishment? When you
actually SEE yourself making progress your dreams suddenly become
attainable and your motivation increases. Newton’s basic law of physics remains true in all areas of
life. “An object that is at
rest will stay at rest unless a force acts upon it. An
object that is in motion will not change its velocity unless a
force acts upon it.” Once an
object is moving, it is infinitely easier to keep it moving than to try to get
it moving again once it has come to a stand still. And the same principle applies in our journey
toward a specific goal.
7. Reaching a
Goal should be celebrated as the accomplishment it is!
Seeing progress is addicting. It is invigorating and it sustains momentum. On the path to being debt free are many accomplishments. When you pay off a specific credit card debt (job well done bytheway), you have every reason to rejoice in your progress toward your ultimate goal. On your way to losing twenty pounds, you have every reason to rejoice in losing five pounds, and every other success along the way. Don’t underestimate the mental stimulation of celebrating smaller successes on your way to large ones. Achieving goals builds character. And that is something to celebrate.
Zig Zigler once said, “If you aim at nothing, you will hit it every time.” Of this I think we can be assured. We can never be happy with merely putting in our time till life is over. As children of God, we are simply not wired that way. What we can accomplish by deliberately aiming ourselves toward something meaningful that is in harmony with those things that are most important to us – is absolutely limitless. Remember that what we get by achieving our goals is nothing compared to what we ‘become’ by achieving them.
Warmly,
Cindy Suelzle
footnote: *1 I have no idea where that quote comes from, or who may have originally said it, or I’d be happy to give them proper credit. If if was you – thanks
Loyal. . . . If I had to think of a word to describe that favourite piece of clothing that wears itself out in your service, I suppose it would have to be ‘loyal‘. In this favourite shirt or pair of jeans or pair of shoes, pajamas or whatever – you feel comfortable. You feel like ‘you‘. Even if you don’t always say the right thing, or feel all that confident around others, or have nagging doubts about important things – this shirt is your friend, and in it, you feel comfortable. Is it just me? Or do you have any of those? When I get a new fave its like I have nothing else in my closet. I understand that I might be a little over the top about that sorta thing. Then again, I might have some kindred spirits out there. ?
Truth is, I have a favourite shirt. A denim shirt. What can I say? I am a denim girl. I bought it a few years ago and as unhappy as I am to admit it, I’ve just about worn it out. This is most unfortunate and I have a hard time parting with a favourite companion like my denim shirt – which has served me so well. As it happens, my mom moved in with us several months ago – and although I can mend clothes as well as many others, my mom can do it better. When she mends, it’s professionally done. She breathes new life into the garment. She takes more care than the average mender – precise corners, that sorta thing. Like a true quilter. A few months ago, she saved my denim shirt with three small but important patches, in just the right colour of blue cloth. But as bad luck would have it, I ripped it in another spot and back it went into my mother’s sewing room where it hung for quite a while – while I spent weeks trying to convince her into giving it one last chance with another patch, and she spent those same weeks trying to convince me to let it go, and assuming I’d be reasonable. Reason I have discovered, is a relative thing. It took over a month, but I am happy to report I prevailed, and we went through her scraps looking for the piece that would work just right. Again.
It reminded me of a certain pair of jeans when I was about fourteen years old. In my view they were a patchwork piece of art. In my mom’s opinion they were an embarrassment. She kept saying “this is the LAST patch Cindy” to which I would readily agree, thinking surely this one would be the last needed. But inevitably within another couple of days I was back with my jeans in hand saying “Please Mom?“
She came from war years – where patched clothing may have been a necessity but it sure wasn’t a happy one, and any self respecting kid would have been mortified to have had half as many patches as I wore. Nowadays moms are saved the trouble. My grandkids prefer holes to the patches. But that wasn’t cool in the 1970’s when I was a teenager. Patches were.
Whatever happened to those jeans remains a mystery. They simply vanished one day, never to be seen again. I had already on a few occasions, rescued them from the garbage, to my mother’s embarrassment, so it is not difficult to imagine their eventual fate. But I am not bitter. I promise. And she claims she has no recollection of their fate anyway.
Flash forward a few decades. I am a mother and a grandmother, but it seems that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Some things just keep getting repeated. There I was in my mother’s sewing room again, pleading “Please Mom. Just one more chance. I’m not ready to give up on it.” And her saying “Cindy, have some respect. Give it a proper burial.” This is the same conversation we’ve had over several white cotton nightgowns over the last two or three or four decades.
She did it. She always relents in the end. My denim shirt lived to see another day. We both hope the next rip will not be too soon. Have you ever had a favourite something that you just wore out but couldn’t give up on? Truth be told, I’ve had a few. A worn out patchwork quilt that I talked Mom into making into a housecoat for me when I was in high school. I took it with me into my marriage. Wisely, Dan didn’t have an opinion. And several nightgowns that eventually transitioned into another realm after becoming transparent from wear.
Its not that I don’t like new things. Its just that have such an appreciation for the old. The stalwarts. The faithful friends. Old clothes. Old dishes. Old pictures. Old friends. Old houses.
And I’d like to say that my sentiments are that practical, and I may have even justified myself from time to time with this philosophy. But nah, if I was completely honest – it is because I too am loyal.
I began my parental relationship with Santa Claus with slight trepidation. After introducing him to our four and five year old children I still worried (I was such a worrier) about whether we had done the right thing. The kids understood that Santa had a few rules to follow if he was to remain welcome in our home, and I tried to tread that ground carefully, balancing my idealism with allowing my children to enjoy the gift of magic and excitement that he had always brought to me as a child. I didn’t want to hold him hostage, but . . . . . .
Santa sitting in Charlie’s rocking chair
Oh how I wish that I could have had the slightest glimpse into the future – just enough to know that all would be well so that I could have relaxed a bit.
As time went on, I witnessed Santa evolve into the central figure in our Christmas celebrations as we enjoyed sharing the holiday with grandparents and aunts and uncles who delighted in the few children in both our families. We were riding a wave that I felt powerless to control, and I wasn’t happy about it. The way Christmas had developed – not because we actively created it, but because we allowed it – left me unsatisfied and feeling that I was letting our children down. Santa had become all I said I’d never allow him to become. He became our Christmas. I knew I could ask him to leave. I had reserved that right after all, but now there were so many others to consider. The overwhelming reality however, was that we were still the parents, and it was our responsibility to follow our hearts and reclaim the way we celebrated Christmas.
I tossed it around for months, considering different angles, and discussing the few that seemed reasonable with Dan. Santa and Jesus didn’t have to be mutually exclusive and although we had tried to talk about the source of the tender spirit-of-giving that motivated Santa, it seemed that our kids were so busy being ‘children’ (huh), full of the childhood wonder of Santa Claus with all his trappings, that I feared I had missed something really important. I sensed that time was ticking, and their memories were becoming more firm and important. It was clear that if were were to reclaim the way we chose to celebrate Christmas, we needed to create meaningful Christ-centered traditions. We were approaching Christmas 1986. We had four children, our youngest was just a year old.
In the end, we hit on a plan. We agreed to give Christmas Day to Santa Clause, but we reserved Christmas Eve for the Saviour. I wanted Christmas EVE to BE about Him. We wanted to talk about him and imagine the night of his birth. I realize that many families re-enact the nativity, but that wasn’t ‘us‘. We needed something that worked for us.
We talked about what kind of dinner Mary and Joseph might have had during their travels and after they arrived in Bethlehem. Research resources were not what they are now, but it seemed reasonable that their meal was very simple, and humble.
There was likely cheese. And undoubtedly bread. Flat bread. Perhaps figs or dates if they were lucky. Or dried fish. More than likely they would have drank water from a well or fresh wine / which wouldn’t have been much more than grape juice. It was probable that during their stay in Bethlehem they may have acquired mutton from time to time . . . . After dark, their only light would have been from candles or small lamps. A picture began forming.
We envisioned, and then planned out our meal. It would be a simple one of white cheese with homemade flat bread, and grape juice. By candlelight. . . Preparing it was a family event. Making the bread. Cutting the cheese. Making the juice. Then we lit the candles and turned off the lights. Low light often reduces volume, and quiet discussion allows for tender feelings to be expressed. These are things we discovered while eating bread and cheese in the soft light of candles.
We have eaten bread and cheese by candlelight every Christmas Eve since 1986. There were years that were lean and cheese was expensive so there was less of it. In those years, we put homemade jam on the table. There were other years of plenty that saw fish and olives on the table. Other foods have been added from time to time. Figs. Dates. Pomegranates have become a personal favourite of mine. Oranges. More varieties of cheese. But always homemade flatbread. Always white cheese. Always purple grape juice. The grape juice has become our own, from our own purple grapes – saved for this meal.
It has become our most favourite Christmas tradition of all. One that we have maintained for over three decades. Half of my life. It is a delight to us to watch our children carry it on in their own homes with their children, and to hear that it remains their favourite tradition.
When does Santa get his time?
When the meal is over and cleaned up, and stories have been shared, and songs have been sung, . . . When guests have left, teeth have been brushed, . . . then we gather into the family room and Dan reads a favourite poem that we all know by heart but we listen to him anyway –
“Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care In the hopes that St. Nickolaus soon would be there ….. “
I’ll admit it gets a little animated. And for families who normally don’t role-play, or do charades, kid after kid has always wanted a chance to portray the “plump, jolly old elf with a broad face and a little round belly, that shook, when he laughs like a bowlful of jelly.”
We owe a lot to Clement C. Moore – it is his description we rely on when we visualize Santa Claus. And he should know, because he spied him in his very own parlour all those years ago. I am grateful he took the time to write his experience down so that all of us might benefit.
I have come to love Santa Claus – and all he represents to me. I no longer quarrel with him. I am satisfied that he has done our family a great service in visiting us every Christmas Eve since that inaugural visit in 1982. We have felt his spirit as each of our children have discovered for themselves in their own time – who he really is, and what he really looks like, and WHAT HE DOES.
I think the tipping point for me in making that final decision all those years ago, was that I never felt the betrayal I’ve heard others speak of. Of course like others, I reached the age of doubting, but my mother always maintained that she believed. You could never get her to verbalize anything to the contrary. To this very day at over eighty years old, she still maintains that she believes in Santa Clause and always has. Because she always has, I always have, even though I wondered for a few years, whether I’d invite him into our lives as young parents.
One Christmas Eve when I was fourteen years old my older sister and I talked my mother into letting us help fill the stockings. Our Dad was working that night. We prevailed, and she allowed us into the inner sanctuary reserved for parents on Christmas Eve. The next morning I was shocked to wake up and still feel the magic. I confided to my mother that even though logically I understood, and for goodness sakes, had even filled the stockings, I couldn’t help it – I still “believed”! She never let me help again. Not even when I was seventeen years old and protested mightily. Not even after I was married. Until my own children hung their stockings, I was excluded from her private ritual. Although outwardly I rebelled, inwardly I always appreciated her refusal to give in. It kept the magic alive for me. And I have tried very hard to do the same for my kids.
In this house WE BELIEVE.
I’d love to hear how you incorporate your important family values into Christmas traditions. Please comment below.
…… that is a question every parent must come to terms with at some point early in their parenting. (part 1 of “to Santa or not to Santa”)
And its not a question to be taken lightly, because whatever you decide, it isn’t your right to wreck it for others’ who may choose a different path. For me, in our very first year of parenting it could be avoided. We had the only grandchildren on both sides, so the precedent hadn’t been established. We in fact, unintentionally – had the responsibility for establishing a precedent in both of our families. A place of considerable pressure for someone as young and idealistic as we were.
The dilemma I felt was that I wanted our children to love the Saviour and to recognize that Christmas was first and foremost about celebrating His birth, and to acknowledging the important part He played in our life. I felt that a celebration the magnitude of Christmas, could be justified just as well with or without Santa Claus. But on the other hand, I had many fond memories of Santa and didn’t want to deny my kids the wholesome magic that he brings with him. But still, Santa had overshadowed any feeling I might have had as a child for the Saviour. In fact in my early childhood, I had no knowledge of the birth of Jesus and its connection to Christmas. Nativities were not a part of our Christmas. Truth be told, I don’t believe they were a part of very many people’s Christmas in those days. I never saw one when I was a child, or a youth.
I successfully dodged that bullet for a few years, while our extended families, the grandparents and aunts and uncles stood a respectful distance away from Santa while allowing us the privilege of making that decision. Christmas of 1982 was the year I needed to jump off the fence and make a decision. Jacob was four and a half years old. Sarah was three and a half. They were going to have memories of this Christmas and it was time for me to make the choice: Was Santa going to be a part of our Christmas or not? The problem was, that I didn’t have a crystal ball and couldn’t tell how inviting Santa into our lives would impact our family long term. Dan wanted Santa. Our folks all wanted Santa. All our kids’ aunts and uncles wanted Santa. . . . . And there were other issues to consider. Like how to introduce him at this point?
Finally, I hit upon a plan. I discussed it with Dan and we had an important family council with our kids. It was time. We told them about the old man who lived at the north pole, who loved children. His delight in life we told them was to make children happy, and because of that, he spent his whole year building toys for them which he gave to them once a year on Christmas Eve. We held nothing back. We laid out for them the whole picture. The red suit and beard, the sleigh and reindeer, the elves, the list, …. everything. They were spell bound, wide eyed and enthralled. We told them that there was only one thing Santa loved more than children. He loved Jesus Christ. And he celebrated the birth of Jesus Christ by giving gifts and spreading good cheer because it made him so happy to do so, BUT his one fear and worry, was that children would get so excited about him and the presents, that they would forget about the “reason for the season” – the celebration of the birth of our Saviour.
His commitment was that if that happened in any house he normally visited, he would simply stop coming to that house. As long as the children remembered Jesus, and were grateful for Santa’s gifts then he would come every year for their whole lives. But if the children got too caught up in Santa and thought that Christmas was all about him and not about Jesus, he would stop coming to them. Of course, he might depend on us as parents to let him know how that was going. We told our kids that Dad and I thought they were big enough for us to invite Santa for Christmas – if of course, they wanted him to come. You won’t be surprised to know that they very much wanted him to come! And they promised that they would always remember the reason we celebrated Christmas, which was also the reason Santa did all his wonderful stuff.
The Spirit of Christmas by Greg Olson
That was it then. We officially invited Santa Claus into our Christmas the year of 1982. We were expecting our third child the next spring. It was time we moved on. I had some trepidation, but I was determined to monitor our Santa-meter and keep our Christmases in balance.
As it would happen, Santa Claus happened to be visiting our local shopping mall that Saturday and I asked the kids if they’d like to go see him. They had never seen him – or any likenesses of him, before then. It is wonderful, the control a parent has over the influence the world has on a four year old. Don’t we all wish we could protect them for a life time with the same care and attention we could when they were toddlers? We controlled what they saw on television, what they read and what they saw of the world. And until we were ready, I prevented any exposure they had to Santa Claus. We made preparations to go the very next day to see him.
As we stood in a long line of excited children, (another new experience for Jacob and Sarah, as I normally avoided crowds and malls) – I noted that Santa was asking kids what they wanted for Christmas. Yikes. I forgot about that important detail. Our kids did not know they could make gift requests. I coached them “Santa Claus may ask you what you want for Christmas. If he does, Jacob why don’t you tell him you’d like a covered wagon made out of wood with horses?” “Okay!” he readily agreed. “Sarah, how bout you ask him for a princess dress?” “Okay!” she joined. Whew. That wasn’t so hard. We got closer and Jacob and Sarah were very observant of all that was going on around them. I too watched the minutes unfold – this truly was a departure point for our little family, at least where the kind old man of Christmas was concerned. My kids were getting big enough that it was time for me to let some of the world into their lives – while I could still control the circumstances.
Finally, we were at the front of the line. Santa invited them to come near to him. I accompanied. He asked them if they had been good children. They assured him they had. As predicted, he asked them what they would like for Christmas. Jacob announced that he would like a toy covered wagon drawn by horses. Sarah told him she would like a princess dress (which bytheway, in 1982 was not the Disney princess dresses we’re so familiar with nowadays). Santa nodded and made mental note, then asked “What else would you like?” Oops. I hadn’t anticipated that one. “We don’t know.” Jacob confided “Our mom didn’t tell us that one yet.” Whew. Quick thinking Son. We said our good byes and received candy canes for our visit. Dad happily waited on the other side to hear about our experience.
It was a happy day for him and the kids. A bit traumatic for me, but happy nonetheless. Our family was growing up. And we had just taken a big step into a new world that could never be reversed. A tangible innocence was traded in that day, for another circumstance – another innocence that would carry us for several more years until our children were ready to make another transition: a coming-of-age discovery that Santa Claus would play a big part in. In fact, he was here to stay the rest of their lives – in one form or another.
(this is part 1 of our Santa story) I’d love to hear about how you made that important choice of inviting (or not inviting) Santa into your family’s lives.
Michael McLean said something to me years ago that has reframed my life.
It has helped me hundreds of times, when I needed to come out of my personal comfort zone and do what needed to be done. He said simply this: “Its never about YOU.” Then he added the following, summarized in my own words, and edited over more than a decade of implementation, but the essential concept in this post came from Michael McLean.
His counsel: Every time you walk into a room (or situation) you have a decision to make. As you stand briefly in that threshold, before you actually walk through the door, you should ask yourself one question. That question is “Who is the most important person in this room?” If the answer to that question is “ME!” then you are completely justified in all kinds of self centred thoughts like “I am uncomfortable here …. This is awkward for me … No one ever sits beside me … Why bother? … This is soooo out of my comfort zone …. I’d really rather not be here …. ” etc etc – because after all, you ARE the most important person in that room. However, (and this is the clincher), IF the answer to your question today is . . . . . “that woman over there!” or “Laura!” or …. then suddenly, as soon as you’ve made that decision, your thoughts become all about her. “I should go sit beside her – I should tell her how I LOVE her new hair – I should tell her how much I enjoyed her son’s talk last week – I should tell her how much I appreciated that comment she made the other day, and how much it helped me” etc etc. Notice how all your previously self centred thoughts and feelings, turned 180 degrees to focus on someone else. I really think we all want to BE nice. We all want to BE the kind of person who makes other people feel good about themselves. What that boils down to, is that we want to BE more Christlike. More like Christ. Well, if that is genuinely true, then think for a moment. WHEN was it about Him? When did He put himself first and say “nobody likes me”, “They’re not gonna like what I have to say” “I am so stinkin’ sick and tired” … Even when He hung on the cross, it still wasn’t about Him! “Father forgive them.” and “Woman, behold thy son” (John 19). When? When there are other people involved, when should it be all-about-me?
The fact is – sometimes it IS about me. Sometimes I really have to say “this time – I just cannot do that“. And those times are okay. But they should be rare exceptions, not the rule. Most of the time, no matter how you’re feeling, when you’re in a place where you see someone who might need a kind word or wave, or even more – simply ask yourself – “WHO IS THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON IN THIS ROOM?” I cannot tell you how much that has helped me be a better person and get over myself for the moment. Thank-you Michael.
The only time it backfires is when you raise your children with this philosophy, and then one day when you’re really struggling and feeling sorry for yourself, your daughter says “So why is this all about you mom? Who’s the most important person here anyway?” Stupid kid!
hen you’re in a place where you see someone who might need a kind word or wave, or even more – simply ask yourself – “WHO IS THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON IN THIS ROOM?” I cannot tell you how much that has helped me be a better person and get over myself for the moment. Thank-you Michael.