We went to our Ward Christmas Party on Friday evening. It was supposed to be two weeks ago, but got snowed out. Somebody (it was the Bishop) was listening to the Spirit when he rescheduled for Friday instead of Saturday. By the time we left the party Friday the snow was falling hard. Had we rescheduled for Saturday... well, that just wouldn't have worked.
To be perfectly honest, I had a really bad attitude about the party. I just wasn't feeling it. My children were being hoodlums, I was tired and thinking about the fact that I probably wouldn't be able to get up my obnoxiously steep driveway in the snow, and I just wanted to go home and wallow is self pity. Especially when two other deployed husbands skyped in to read the Christmas story to us. My deployed husband can't skype. Bummer.
But then. Then the children got up to sing. My little hoodlums (and I'm not using that term loosely here - they really were terrible!) got up to sing. And you know what? As the little angels (again, not loosely - they really were angels) sang "The First Noel" I was hit by the Christmas Spirit. I remembered why we were there. We were celebrating the birth of Christ. Our Savior. We were celebrating His love for us, and our love for Him.
And you know what? It's okay that my children went right back to their hoodlum ways immediately following the song. And it' s okay that my car is still in the neighbors' driveway because we slid sideways down ours that night. And it's okay that my husband can't skype. God loves me so much that He sent His Son. A little boy like mine.
And I feel so blessed to spend this season celebrating His birth. With my hoodlums and my steep driveway.
PS. I want you all to notice the children's costumes. Forget the traditional towels draped over their heads. Yes, there were plenty of those, but my children chose to wear what their Daddy wears in that part of the world. And I bet you didn't know that Cleopatra came to the First Christmas, now did you?