Christmas Surprises, Part 3

In the fall of 2002, we moved our mobile home from the country property on which it had stood for 15 years, into town. It’s weird, living in the same house but seeing a different view out the windows. Our first night, I rose at some point to use the bathroom. Seeing a bright glow in the distance, my muddled brain feared the barn was on fire. A closer look revealed the big lighted sign at the Co-op. We were townsfolk now.

It was especially confusing for our two college kids who weren’t around for the move. When they came home at Christmas, they were immediately transported “home” when they walked in the door but stepped into a different world when they went out. The closest they ever got to Narnia. It didn’t help that the trailer was turned ninety degrees from the way it had previously sat. We were forever gesturing in the wrong direction when telling stories.

We’d been in the mobile home for a month when I decided to take a huge leap out of my comfort zone. Christmas was coming. I would invite all the neighbors on our street to a come-and-go open house! What better way to meet people? 

I picked a Saturday afternoon from 2:00 until 5:00 just before Christmas and designed colorful invitations which I delivered to every home on our street. Not wanting to pester people by knocking on doors, I placed the invitations in mailboxes. “We want to get to know you!” the invitation proclaimed. The event would be casual and non-threatening.

Then I spent two weeks baking, cooking, cleaning, and decorating. I informed the kids, even the ones home from college, that they were expected to hang around for the event. I wanted our neighbors to meet us all.

When Saturday came, Hubby and the kids pitched in to help. We rearranged furniture to maximize space, set up board games, and covered the table with treats. At 2:00, we were ready. Twenty minutes in, no guests had arrived. I agreed the kids could start playing board games but they weren’t to get into the snacks. By 3:00, I caved. They filled their plates and began chowing down on cheese balls, crackers, pickles, veggies, cookies, punch, and hot apple cider.

“This is great. You should have the neighbors in more often, Mom,” our oldest said around a mouthful.

Smart-aleck.

Eventually, someone did come to the door. By the end of our allotted time, a total of seven neighbors had shown up and introduced themselves, representing three homes out of twenty. Some even came bearing goodies and gifts of their own. Unfortunately, none of them came at the same time as any of the others. And offering booze hadn’t even crossed my tea-totaling mind. Lamest. Party. Ever.

I felt disillusioned. In hindsight, I needed to ask myself, “Would I have gone?” If I’d received a random invitation in my mailbox from someone on my street whom I hadn’t met, someone who claimed they simply wanted to get to know me, how would I have responded? Most likely, I’d be filled with suspicious questions. What’s their angle? What are they selling? A pyramid scheme? Some product I don’t need? Religion? I can’t blame my neighbors.

Hospitality is not my number one gift. In truth, it’s pretty far down the list. That should never be an excuse, though. Several places in the Bible tell us to practice hospitality if we wish to call ourselves followers of Jesus. What better time than his birthday to open your home to others? I hope yours is filled with joy and laughter as you get to know one another better this season.

Boys' Night at the Todd House

Jon and I walked through the door labeled “Parenthood” in our early twenties, having been married three years and seeing it as the next logical and casual step. If we could have had the hindsight we have now, we might have chickened out altogether (I’m glad we didn’t), or at least entered parenthood appropriately shaking in our boots. I don’t think we realized our own inadequacy or the solemn responsibility of keeping another human alive—let alone teaching them all they need to know to become independent, law-abiding citizens.

In retrospect, we appreciate not only how immense the task, but how valuable the involvement of other adults in our kids’ lives. Where would we be if it were not for grandparents, aunts, and uncles willing to step in for baby-sitting duty in those early years when a short break for a date or a nap felt like the difference between life and death? Where would we be without Sunday School volunteers who reinforced the lessons we felt ill equipped to teach? Without the teachers and coaches who put in untold hours of paid and unpaid time, building into our kids? Without youth leaders during the years when we parents were the stupidest people on earth? Without other parents who welcomed our noisy and messy kids into their homes, demonstrating healthy relationships in the middle of normal family conflicts and chaotic schedules? We’ll never know the full impact others have made, but we feel eternally grateful for it.

A simple opportunity to give back came to us this past year. One Wednesday evening a month, our living room has filled with half a dozen junior high boys and their youth leader, Jed. Our house is little, and we were surprised to be asked. But the cozy space can work in favor of bonding. The boys are one of several small groups who meet in homes on these monthly nights. It provides them a safe place, away from home, school, and church, just to hang out together.

It’s the easiest way in the world to play hosts. We need only clear the dining table so they can play games, open the door when they arrive, and make sure they have access to fresh water and a litter box. I mean, washroom. Once they’re all here, Hubby and I usually retreat to our respective corners of the house. In fact, I’ve written more than one of these posts relaxing on my bed while the energetic laughter of the boys provides a soul-stirring soundtrack in our normally quiet home. It gives us a regular flashback to the days when our own kids and their friends filled the house with noise.

Sometimes I don’t emerge until they’re gone. I’ve even been known to fall asleep before they leave, and they do a great job of cleaning up after themselves. On those occasions when I do overhear their conversation from the kitchen or from my office, I marvel at Jed’s comfort level with the boys. He speaks their language and earns their friendship. 

I love something Andy Rooney once said: “Most of us end up with no more than five or six people who remember us. Teachers [and youth leaders] have hundreds of people who remember them for the rest of their lives.”

I deeply admire anyone who works with youth. Listening to Jed patiently explaining the rules of a game and laughing with his guys makes me glad I only need to provide space for this to happen.

Working with youth will never be my number one gift, but I am confident of two things: first, every one of us can make at least a small investment in our greatest natural resource—our children. Second, it really does take a village to raise a child.