Ellie started preschool this fall – a huge rite of passage for our first baby. It seems surreal that she’s old enough to be going to school, but she’s thriving and I’m loving a little extra free time a couple mornings a week to dote a little extra love and attention on little man. A few weeks ago, Ellie’s preschool invited all of the families to a Thanksgiving feast. The program opened with all of the kids on stage singing songs about all they are thankful for. I knew she’d been practicing these songs, but what I did not see coming was this rush of emotions seeing her up there singing a song she’d memorized with all of her sweet little friends. Ya’ll, I bawled like a baby. When they began their songs, I did what every good millennial parent does – I got my phone out, put it on video mode, and began recording. I glanced up at Ellie, over the lens of my phone and found my sweet little 3 year old beaming right at me. She was so proud and wanted to make sure I was watching her. And you know what I felt in that moment? Guilt. Here I am witnessing this beautiful little moment in time and rather than being truly present, I’m watching her sing through the lens of my video camera. After the first song, I put my phone in my pocket and I just watched her for the rest of the program. And you know what? It was so moving to just stand there and be in the moment with her, not worrying about zooming in or the video lighting or which sites I was going to post the video to later so all my friends could see.
As I looked around that room at all the parents beaming at their children behind the screens of their phones, it was like something in my mind shifted. I’m no better than any one of them – my gut is the same – I got my phone out too. But as I saw Ellie searching for my eyes, I started to ask myself “why?” Am I worried that if it’s not recorded on my phone that it won’t matter? Am I so concerned about the future that I’m missing the present?
Our church just started a wonderful sermon series called “The Beholders.” That’s a term we don’t use much these days, but the Bible uses it a lot – in fact the word behold is used more than 600 times in the King James version. The word simply means to be present. Open your eyes. Feel. Pay attention. Not only do we not use the word very often anymore, I also think we live in a time and place that’s so full of distractions that we don’t practice it very well anymore either. To behold means you have to slow down, something so many of us struggle to do (myself included). As a mama, I know that childhood is fleeting and that every day that I have with my babies is a precious gift, but the truth is that not every moment (or even every day) feels like a blessing. Motherhood is full of lots of moments that are boring, frustrating, or even painful – especially this time of year as the weather begins to get cold, illnesses become rampant, and days can feel so long. Sometimes I don’t want to be present, I just want it to be nap time. And yet every day brings with it moments of clarity and moments to treasure. They’re not always big or life-changing, but they’re beautiful all the same and we miss them if we’re not paying attention. This morning we woke up to the first snow of the season. Owen was born in October, so while he “witnessed” snow last year, he certainly wasn’t old enough to understand it. Ellie was so excited to get out and play in it, so the first thing we did after breakfast is get bundled up and head out to the back yard. Bundling two toddlers is no simple feat – there’s snow suits, coats, hats, boots, and gloves (which they can never get on correctly). By the time they were ready, they looked like the Michelin man and I was already exhausted. Ellie cried because we couldn’t find the right hat. I had to chase Owen all over the living room just to get him dressed. By the time we got outside, I was ready to be done. But then I set Owen down in the fresh snow and he began to giggle. Ellie made a snow angel. We tried to build a snowman. And I got to watch a child learn what show is for the first time in his conscious memory. It was the perfect example of a beautiful moment stuck right in the middle of an incredibly frustrating parenting task.
As I sit here writing to you today, I’m looking at my beautiful Christmas tree. I love this time of year – especially as a mama. Each year becomes more and more magical as the kids grow. This year Ellie helped me decorate the tree (and Owen helped me “un”-decorate it). We’ll bake Christmas cookies and put milk and cookies out for Santa. And I know I’m going to want to document it all. I’ll want to remember what Ellie’s face looked like when she sees the “Elsa” bike we got her. I’ll want to remember how Owen screamed bloody murder when we sat him down on a stranger in a red suit’s lap. I’ll want to remember how it feels to hold my husband’s hand in church as we worship the newborn king. But rather than fumbling with my phone or worrying about it all being how I picture it in my mind, I’m going to try to just open my eyes, cement it in my memory, and try to remember what it really feels like to be completely present without worrying about the future.
I’m going to try to behold. I hope you’ll do the same.
From our house to yours, I wish you the very merriest Christmas.
And the angel said unto them, fear not, for behold, I bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
Life After Birth 