In the Stable
You never know what you're going to get with children's books. We get a lot of books from the library, usually that Veronika has picked out, so 8 p.m. often finds me in her bed, reading new books aloud while she finishes her sippy cup of milk. Sometimes the message takes a weird turn that you're not comfortable endorsing. Other times the plot leads you to darker places than you want to visit with a three-year-old before bed. The most common downfall is inoffensiveness—to spend so much time tiptoeing around the safe zones of our modern culture that the story ends up bland and ineffective. On the other hand, books will occasionally surprise you with a glint of good humor or sweet sincerity. Christmas books are even more unpredictable, as publishers, faced with the frightening prospect of mentioning religion, do everything possible to distract their readers from the elephant in the room. If not for the secular Santa Claus, they would be in a real pickle.
This year brought the best and worst children's Christmas books I've read, the latter of which is Froggy's Best Christmas. If the title wasn't enough to whet your appetite, picture this pitch: a young frog wakes up from his usual winter hibernation to celebrate the most important Christmas tradition—getting a Christmas tree with friends. That's pretty much it. Christmas is about decorations and friendship, kids! I guess I shouldn't be surprised, because throw in presents and you've got our society's Christmas in a neat bundle. A few days later, my crotchety old man heart was warmed by a quiet little book that gave me a new perspective, Christmas in the Stable. In it, a mother tells her daughter the story of Christmas (sure, without mentioning any names, but I can forgive them that) and the daughter, not yet understanding the concept of "long ago," imagines it happening on a farm near her house. The story is simple and well-told but what made it stick in my mind was the illustration of the absolute still and wonder of that night. After shelter was found and the baby was born, all were left in awed silence. I suppose all of those verses of Silent Night from my youth should have made me consider this possibility earlier, but for whatever reason, it never took. Lying there with Noni, I was engulfed by the thought of such profound silence in the face of such a momentous occasion, "in the fury of the moment" as the man says, and for a few seconds all of the thoughts in my head were quieted by the power of that image.
For the rest of the season I hoped for a few more of those peaceful moments of contemplation. Who would've thought that a parent of two young and currently very noisy kids would wish for some peace and quiet for Christmas, right? I got a lot of great things for Christmas and had a lot of fun but that feeling never returned, for which I am partially to blame, no doubt. The new year came in a rush and left me coughing in the dust of the starting line. Though I've never been a fan of resolutions, I found myself longing for the energy to at least resolve.
As always, my patience was just a little short. This past weekend I feel like I finally caught up with the rest of the world's ambitions for 2007 by (surprise) leaving it all behind and finding my own peace and quiet at home (well, not literally). So while it rained outside and everything piled up on my to-do list, I found the inspiration I was looking for in a familiar place. I may even read a book of my own this year.