Eve of Christmas Eve

There are scenes from the last week reeling through my head... knowing my memory, they'll be gone in less than a year...

It's a weeknight at the shelter. We're all in the gym, the kids are lolling about in a circle formation on the floor. I think they try to look like they aren't paying attention more than they actually achieve not paying attention, because when a question is asked, they are remarkably on task. K., the youth staffer, asks this: why did God come as a baby? Why not a conquering hero, or gigantic creature, or something... why a baby? The answers are thoughtful (again, belying the fact that most of the kids are drumming the floor with their hands or staring at the ceiling), although they don't quite hit the mark... he came so we'd know how to live, so he had to show us how to live... He had to come as a baby so we could know the right ways to do things at all stages of life.. He came to teach us how to pray... One student even said God sent him for the same reason he sent Amelia Earhart, so we would know how to be brave... Um, ok.
An older student raises his hand, he has an intense look on his face, "someone told me God wanted Jesus to die. He knew Jesus was gonna die just as soon as he sent him, and he wanted him to die. Is that true? That doesn't seem like it should be true."

Sometimes, I need new eyes. Because really, Christmas is shocking.

Later, I walk on of the girls to the bathroom. On the way back to join the group, she says "Miss Hannah, I have a really important question." Great, I say, go ahead. "When there wasn't an earth and there wasn't anything, who made God? You know, before he made everything, who made him?"
Had you thought about any of this when you were seven? Because I know I hadn't. I gave my best explanation of self-existence, and the uncaused cause stuff, that I could in seven-year-old language (actually, I used twelve-year old lingo... she's a really smart girl!) After my explanation she still looked kind of downcast, "I'm so confused." How perfectly lovely... That she is chewing on it enough to know that it is so beyond our grasp.

Other scenes I've loved:

• That last glimpse of my sister's living room before I left her house on Sunday. She had just returned from the hospital with her third baby... her older daughter was trying to be helpful by piling a blanket on New Baby's sleeping form... her son was rolling around on the floor midst tons of gifts and toys... my sister and her husband were in action mode: diverting the blanket from the baby's head, restoring order to a slightly chaotic room... they were fatigued, but enduring. Beautiful sight, indeed.
• Sitting across from various friends who have rolled into town for the holiday... I have set up camp on the launch pad, it seems. For a few brief days, everyone who has jetted out into the wild blue yonder finds a way back... and I scramble to catch a glimpse and have a word with them before they set off again. Louisville, Nashville, Tanzania, Guatemala... they return from all over. Sentimentalist that I am, I miss them as soon as I've laid eyes on them... the holidays are sweet and slightly sad... all at once.