It began long before you would think...

Inevitably when I introduce my 4 kids, it is announced, by them or me, that they are all adopted. 

Hold on before you start critiquing my adoptive parenting approach. 

Understand - it's not something I planned on doing when I first started this journey. I was bright eyed and bushy tailed and thought that I would let the kids disclose their adoption story as they felt comfortable or led to do so. It was a warm and fuzzy dream...that just didn't live in our reality for very long. 

I'll explain why in another post, so for now, just accept that it's not part of our reality. Reality for us is disclosing openly, freely and seemingly immediately to anyone and everyone that my kids are indeed adopted. There's no hiding it. We aren't ashamed of it. It doesn't make us uncomfortable. We just let it fly!

And the response I get from just about every single person (check-out person to new teacher to friend) is the same no matter what...

Their head tilts to the right side a bit.

They get a sympathetic/empathetic half smile on their face and say,

"Really. That's just awesome. Awww...they look just like you."

INSERT AWKWARD PAUSE AND BEGIN NODDING

"Could you just not have kids of your own?"

They say this to me, sometimes quietly, but more often than not, quite loudly AND more often than not, right in front of MY OWN kids. (Don't worry...I've got a whole post lined up of phrases you should never say to an adoptive parent, especially in front of their kids. Guess what question made the list????

I answer quickly that isn't the reason at all. I wanted to adopt. I felt called to adopt and so I adopted.

As the question was put to me over and over after bringing Matthew home, I began to really think about exactly when God started writing this story of adoption in me. 

The truth is, it began long before you would think...

When I was around the age of 3, I watched a lot of Annie and a lot of Shirley Temple. The orphan and adoption theme that was woven into their stories resonated with me. It resonated with me so much so that I began to weave it into my own story. (Seriously, I don't know how my parents' survived me!) 

I was a fair skinned petite little girl with shock blonde hair and blue/hazel eyes. My mom had naturally DARK brown hair, an olive complexion and green/hazel eyes. The little hair my dad had was black and he tanned well. My brother had brown hair and tanned like a Native American. Needless to say, I stuck out quite a bit...which got my little 3 year old brain to thinking. 

I didn't look like my parents. Annie didn't look like Daddy Warbucks. Shirley Temple didn't look like any of her "parents". Arnold and Willis sure didn't look like Mr. Drummond (Different Strokes was also a fave.) 

So in the same conversation where I "killed" Santa with my parents (Santa Died When I was 3), I decided to clear the air about my "adoption."

"I know Santa's not real. Oh and if I'm adopted, it's okay to tell me. I don't mind."

My parents laughed, not in a mean or harsh way, but in a "what will she think of next" kind of way. Much to my shock and disappointment, I was not adopted. I was/am indeed their genetic offspring. It was a seed though...a seed of understanding that different is okay. Adoption is okay.

That next Christmas, I got my first Cabbage Patch doll. Now this was when Cabbage Patch dolls first came out and riots were taking place in stores as people were fighting for specific Cabbage Patch dolls. Not my mom. My mom grabbed one of the few dolls that was left after the chaos. She brought it home, wrapped it up, and gave it to me. Y'all, that Christmas morning, I opened the prize of all prizes - my very first Cabbage Patch doll! I remember my mom apologizing when I opened it because it was one of the few they had left and she knew how badly I wanted one but probably not this one. I could not have been more excited to fill out that birth certificate and hug it and squeeze it and call it my own. She apologized again and I looked at her and said, "Momma, don't worry. They're all adopted." And with that, I took the sweetest little adopted Cabbage Patch to my room to show him home. It didn't matter to me that he didn't look like me. He was the sweetest little baby I had ever held, he just happened to be black. To this day, he's still my favorite. And God planted another seed that day...a seed of understanding that different is okay. Adoption is okay.

My childhood would be littered with other seeds - family members that were adopted, friends that were adopted, friends that chose to adopt. Looking back, I realize that these seeds grew my desire to adopt because they were seeds of understanding. Different is okay. Adoption is okay.

Just before my freshman year at A&M, I met Danny. We started dating and just never stopped. During my sophomore year, he asked me to marry him, and I said yes. It was then that we began to talk about our life together in ways that we had never talked before - dreams, goals, callings, roles, family. It seemed like we had talked about it all. The church we attended at the time was filled with college students, many of whom were getting engaged and married. The pastor couldn't do pre-marital counseling for every single couple SO he, very wisely, chose mature couples in the church to walk through an intensive 8 week program with engaged couples before being "certified" to get married. There was an entire curriculum with weekly assignments to complete before and after our meeting with the married couple. It was pretty intense. 

About halfway through the curriculum, we came to the topic of family:

Did we want children? 

If so, how many? 

How soon? 

Who would take what roles in raising the children? 

How would we handle and prepare for various aspects of parenting? 

What would our family look like?

While we had talked about our desire for children, we had never really talked about the "how". So, we did our homework separately and came to the meeting. Our mentor couple began to go through the questions and pretty soon, we were asked the question of how many. 

I hesitated, honestly, to even write the answer down on the homework. Verbalizing it was an almost impossible challenge because it felt like I was about to drop a relational atomic bomb on my fiance. Finally I spoke up and said I wasn't sure how many kids I wanted but that I always figured adoption would play a role in the building of my family somehow. I held my breath certain that Danny's jaw would drop in disbelief.

It did. 

Then he turned his homework page towards me and I saw the words scribbled, erased, and scribbled again. 

ADOPTION

It was a word we had never spoken of in regards to God's plan for our life together and yet God had woven it into both of our hearts. Seeds had been planted in our hearts and minds. Seeds that this is part of what God was going to call us to do, together. Seeds of understanding that different is okay. Adoption is okay.

So, when people ask me if I adopted because I couldn't have children of my own,

 my answer is a resounding NO.

This was part of my story, our story, before we even had a story. 

God had been growing this desire, this calling in us before there was an us. 

It would be almost 10 years from that night when the word was first spoken between us until it would be our reality by holding our first adopted son but I think the truth is that it was our reality all along. 

It was the process of becoming not me and it began long before you would think...

3 years ago, God wrecked my life

Three years ago today, God wrecked my life. It was Friday, July 13th, 2012. (Yes, FRIDAY THE 13th).

I knew it was coming. I was given three days to prepare for my life, my comfortable, predictable family life, to be turned completely upside down. It wasn't the first time. I am almost certain it will not be the last.

 You may be wondering what on Earth He did?

Three years ago today, God brought three very broken children to my doorstep, children I knew only by a photo, children that I would one day soon call my own.

I couldn't sleep the night before. I couldn't sit still the morning of their arrival. I knew they would come with their belongings piled carelessly into trash bags. I knew they would come with their very hearts torn to shreds, having just been ripped from everything they had ever known to be inserted awkwardly into the home and lives of complete strangers that they would now have to trust completely.

Nothing could have truly prepared any of us for what took place three years ago today.

As this "anniversary" day approached again this year, I realized something. I have never blogged the fullness of our adoption story. Many of my closest friends know but mere snippets of the adoption journey we have walked.

Maybe I didn't know where to start.
Maybe I didn't know how to tell our adoption story without telling the parts that are only for my children to tell.
Maybe I didn't know how to process the rawness of it all.

Truth be told, it doesn't matter why I haven't told it up until this point.

I'm ready to tell it now. I need to tell it now. I'm compelled and convicted that I must begin to tell it now.

It might take some time...so please be patient...but it's coming.

It wasn't the first time God wrecked my life.
It won't be the last time God wrecks my life.

But He wrecks things so that He might rebuild them into what He wants them to be.

My adoption journey is one such wreck in the process of becoming not me.

I am his helpmate...He is my Shepherd

My husband and I have been together for 19 years and married now for almost 17 years. I have been "with" Danny for more years now than I was without him. We just fit, even though in many ways we are complete opposites and, as such, probably confuse many as to how we ended up together. We do the same thing for other people. We often look at other couples and shake our heads and shrug our shoulders with lots of "I don't know how they do it because I sure couldn't deal with _______." The _______ varies from couple to couple and to be fair, we look at each other pretty much every day and agree that there's really no one else who could challenge, or let's be honest, tolerate either of us the way we challenge and tolerate one another. We work and breathe and live and laugh and love in tandem.

I am his helpmate...

I know for some that may seem demeaning, as if I've settled for some cosmic seconds but that's not how I see it. I see it as one of the greatest honors and challenges ever bestowed upon me. When Danny asked me to marry him, I began to pray that God would make us like-minded, like-hearted, and like-called. The reality, my truth, my blessing, is that God heard the cry of my heart and answered it from the start of our marriage. It wasn't giving up my hopes and dreams and callings as much as it was fully embracing His. I didn't truly realize my hopes and dreams and callings until I fully embraced Danny's hopes and dreams and calling. Then and only then, did the picture begin to become clear. Then and only then, did He begin to reveal His next step for me, for us. And He has continued to do so. And we have continued to move in tandem. When Danny first felt called to work with youth, God simultaneously gave me a heart to do the same. We were in it together, 100%. He taught and I taught alongside him. He discipled teenage boys and I discipled teenage girls. He set forth the "big picture" and vision for events and mission trips and I laid out the details. We worked in tandem according to our complementary gifts. But then God began to stir in Danny a heart for missions and, not surprisingly, He did the same in me. Mission trips and missional living took on a new life in our hearts and our home. We began to work side by side, challenging one another in every aspect of our lives from compassion to leisure activities to finances to relational living to our very livelihood. He answered the call to become the executive director of Hope for the Hungry, a non-profit ministry that works both locally and globally, including extensive work in Haiti. I dove in head first, finding ways that I could come alongside him and ease some of his burden by using my strengths and gifts. At first it was lots of prayers and relational communication but now it is so much more than that. I am teaching and reaching and challenging and supporting and going and doing and being right alongside him and it is beautiful. God also began to stir in Danny a heart for the fatherless, something God had stirred in my heart many years prior. Now we have 4 adopted children that we parent together side by side, children we are leading to places of significant hope and healing. The work is hard but it is good and it is worth it and it is doable because, like everything else, we are in it together. God made Eve for Adam because it was not good for him to be alone...because he needed a helpmate. One of the most beautiful things about my marriage is that Danny allows me the freedom to be that helpmate. He empowers and challenges me to be and do all that God has called me to be and do. But there is something even more beautiful about our relationship... 

He is my shepherd.

It sounds strange to say but truer words could not be spoken of him. If you know me, you know that I am a worker. My mind, heart, and life are filled with tasks, projects, goals, and to do lists. For "fun", I might decide to paint my bedroom, refinish furniture, build a table, work on landscaping, make something for a friend, or write a blog. Danny's joke is that I usually decide to do these things at 11pm. (It is currently 1:37 am...point proven). I cannot ever seem to have enough to do. even though my life is already quite full and busy raising 4 kids (homeschooling 1), taking care of all our ministry correspondence, writing our monthly newsletter, coordinating and leading an annual teacher training in Haiti, designing and building the ministry banquet decorations, cooking everything from scratch (hello AIP Paleo), launching an orphan/foster/adoption ministry at our church, hosting a simulcast, being on ministry leadership teams, helping teach our SS class, volunteering for Awanas, and just generally taking care of our home. I am a goal oriented, high achieving, driven helpmate. It's the way I was created and the role I crave in our relationship BUT Danny's beautiful role in our relationship is as my shepherd and that reality is most clear to me when he is out of the country and I am left to my own devices. 

     He makes me lie down in green pastures...

When Danny is gone, it is not uncommon for me to go to bed at 1 or 2 or 3 AM, even though I have to be up early and coherent enough to parent my 4 kids all day the next day by myself. Most people assume it's because I have difficulty falling asleep when he isn't home but that just isn't true. Sleep isn't a problem at all, being led into a place of rest is. Without him here, I attempt to do a million crazy things off of my to do list after the kids are in bed before squeezing in a few hours of sleep. BUT he is my shepherd and when he is here, he leads me to a place of rest because he knows it's what I need, it's what is healthy for me. He reminds me to slow down and just be present and breathe deeply and rest. He beckons me to rest and when he is here, I rest well by his side.

     He leads me beside still waters...

I have a tendency to jump out into the rapid waters of life and just go for anything and everything when he is gone. No doesn't come easily for me. I want to do everything for everyone and I want to do it perfectly...and in doing so, I drown. BUT Danny is my shepherd and he draws me into a place of calm and helps me see clearly which things are a yes and which things are a no. Even when the yeses are not easy, as they rarely are, they are not going to drown me because the waters are still when the nos are discarded.

      He restores my soul...

This one is harder to explain. Ultimately, it is God who restores my soul but I have found that He often uses Danny as the physical presence to shepherd me to that place. Probably because of the two reasons listed above, I quickly become dry and weary when he is gone. It's not in a clingy, I can't survive without him home kind of thing. In fact, most people would never even know he was gone if I didn't tell them. It's not desperation but renewal. I have found his touch, his embrace, his word, his challenges, and his prayers breathe new life deeply into my soul. My time with him often turns into a beautiful time of communion between believers where we were together, but truth be told, God used us to salve one another's very souls.

     Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

If you know my health journey, you know that we are no strangers to the valley of the shadow of death. We've walked it. We will walk it again. Danny has been my shepherd, walking me, even carrying me, on some of the hardest roads with the most dismal diagnoses. His presence, his constant reminder of God's presence, enable me to walk those roads fearlessly. We have also traveled and ministered in some pretty shady areas, areas that were not safe to be in, areas where all logic said we should flee. Here's the truth, I have never once feared, especially when Danny was with me. He takes his God designated duty as my protector quite seriously, but more than that, he reminds me constantly that God is sovereign and that God cares more for me than even he does. He reminds me that our control over safety is an illusion and to live is Christ and to die is gain. There is no greater comfort than that.

     He prepares a table before me...

When Danny is gone, I frequently forget to eat. As much as I love food, I know that sounds crazy but I just forget. I make sure the kids are fed and tell myself I will eat later but then the lists and tasks and yeses pile up...and I forget to eat. I never forget to eat when Danny is here because he is my shepherd and he quite literally prepares a table before me quite often. I may cook the meal but he usually assists in plating the food and setting the table. Other times, he cooks the food. Regardless of who cooks, he always sits down at the table and he always calls me over to do the same. 

     He anoints my head with oil; my cup overflows...

I run myself ragged when Danny is gone. I do not feel precious or valued or treasured. I feel utilitarian and used up. Luckily, Danny doesn't literally anoint my head with oil, BUT he is my shepherd and he symbolically anoints my head with oil by his words and actions that make me feel honored, precious, valued and treasured. Even though the work doesn't really change when he is here, the honor for that work seems to change a great deal. A kiss on the forehead and a warm embrace are a beautiful anointing and when this happens, I am no longer dry or parched. My cup overflows as he fills it with love and joy and peace and honor.

In the process of becoming not me, I have learned that I must embrace the me I am becoming as an individual but also as a wife...AND I must also embrace the me Danny is becoming as an individual but also as a husband. This is how we have been designed. This is how we fit. This is how we work and breathe and live and laugh and love. 

It is my delight that

I am his helpmate and he is my shepherd.

Santa Died When I was 3 (A continued Christmas Evolution)

DISCLAIMER - If you are an Elf on the Shelf loving, Reindeer feeding, Santa Claus fanatic, this post is probably not for you. Just skip it and move along. No hard feelings. No angry banter. I'm not writing this to argue the merits of killing Santa. That's why I'm writing this in January. Christmas has come and gone. Your elf has returned to the North Pole, the reindeer have cleaned up the yard, Santa has made his deliveries and eaten his cookies, and, more than likely, you are either growing weary of the decorations or have already put them up. Christmas is now a memory and the next one is nearly a year away so we are able to reflect thoughtfully without emotions being quite so raw. If you're content with what you're doing and why you're doing it, then okay. 

BUT

 if you're honestly wrestling with the merits and ramifications of what you've been doing and trying to find words to explain your discomfort, read on, wrestle on, and be challenged.

OR

 if you feel like the only crazy parent in this world that doesn't "DO" Christmas like every other human being around you, read on and be encouraged. You are not alone...

Santa died when I was 3. It's one of my first truly cognizant memories. Angie, an older, wiser girl from down the street killed him. Don't worry, his demise was painless. She looked at me and very matter of fact said, "You know Santa's not real, right? It's just your parents."

And then I did. 

There was no great drama. My heart was not broken. My soul was not crushed. My imagination was not instantly erased. I didn't scream an agonizing wail that it just couldn't be so. I just nodded and kept playing...and when we were done playing, I went home.

The difficulty was going to be breaking it to my parents.

So I did what any other 3 year old would do, I broke it to them gently in an official "sit down". For weeks, they had been feeding me some line about Santa having lost the pattern to a specific doll I wanted and how I might have to settle for a "similarly" patterned doll. After dinner, one of them mentioned it again, reminding me that I might have to accept a "lesser" doll. They opened the door so I broke it to them as gently as I could. 

"It's ok. I know he's not real so you might not be able to get it. 

Oh and if I'm adopted, you can tell me that too." 

(I had recently watched a lot of Annie and Pollyanna and I was convinced that I was adopted...I am not.)

I honestly don't remember their reaction except they told me that I couldn't be like Angie and tell other kids. It was between them and their parents...and they left it at that...and so did I.

I don't remember how we pressed on that Christmas without "Santa". I actually don't have any real childhood memories of Santa, except for the year he died, and yet all of my Christmas memories are still deep and beautiful and magical and precious. Santa was never really a part of my Christmas, which prepared me for the realization that he doesn't really have to be a part of any of our Christmases. 

I know, now I'm speaking American Christmas heresy...but hear me out.

Years clearly went by and I clearly survived every single Christmas. In fact, I would probably be so bold to say that my understanding that Santa wasn't real made Christmas easier for my parents and "richer" for all of us. (I will try and verify this with my parents and brother, but for now, just take my word for it.) 

My dad didn't have to stay up all night long frantically piecing together a bicycle or doll house or basketball goal so that it was finished when we woke up. Instead, we had fun sometimes working with him to put it together. Memory making.

My mom would hide presents all over the house throughout the year and then lock herself into her bedroom for an all out wrapping party (complete with extra tape because I was known for my ability to open and re-wrap presents). It was so much fun when she emerged with all the gifts and we would immediately look for the name tags and guess at what each of us received. Memory making.

My brother and I, as far as I recall, made reasonable requests. Knowing that our presents weren't made from elf sweat and candy cane dust but instead from our parents hard, hard work, made us more aware of the real cost of what we were asking for. We knew our family's budget and I think we asked accordingly. And if we didn't, our parents were able to look at us and honestly tell us that they would love to give us that item but it just wasn't in the budget. In doing so, they taught us a life lesson, and we embraced it. Memory making.

My parents had us take turns and open presents one at a time. Christmas was not a selfish free for all. We took the time to look at what we got as well as what everyone else got. It made us slow down and savor each and every gift for ourselves and for everyone else. We got to see our parents take delight in giving the gifts. We got to see the recipient take delight in receiving our gifts. We learned to give and receive well. Memory making.

My parents often made opening presents more like a scavenger hunt. They might wrap a tiny box inside a refrigerator box with a note leading you from one clue to the next. We took so much delight in running throughout the house and up in the attic and under the beds, only to find that sometimes our gift was in plain sight. Memory making.

My parents didn't have to come up with elaborate explanations or schemes when we moved away from family. Santa didn't have to make an early drop off or a detour. We opened our presents when we could so that we could still make it to be with family because being with family was way more important than anything in those boxes. Memory making.

So years like this passed...and I got married. I just happened to marry a guy who also didn't have Santa as an integral part of his Christmas fabric either but how we as a family would inevitably handle Santa wasn't part of our early marital conversations. 

Then we had close friends who had kids...and did Santa. 

Then we had family who had kids...and did Santa.

And, in general, we didn't like what we saw. Long, long before even the thought of children, we began to make decisions on Santa. We wouldn't do it. We couldn't do it. We would have none of it.

Because my husband is in the ministry, most people make the assumption that we "don't do Santa" because of deep, theological reasons. While those certainly have developed and deepened over time with prayerful consideration and careful study, the initial reason we decided against doing "Santa" was much simpler than that.

What we saw in kids that we knew, kids from good homes, was greed and ingratitude beyond compare. They savagely and selfishly approached Christmas. After all, they had no one to really "thank" for their gift and, in their minds, the gifts hadn't cost anyone anything, except some elf sweat and candy cane dust. So why not ask for the moon? And why appreciate it once you get it? 

This was definitely NOT something we wanted to encourage in our children.

What we saw in parents that we knew, hard-working christian parents, was panic to make their kids elaborate requests a reality, even when it was WAY outside the family's budget.  Parents were either forced to come up with elaborate stories (like Santa ran out of the pattern or he doesn't deliver that to kids your age, etc), blow their budget, or shoot straight with their kid and just tell them no. More than once I saw adults who were typically excellent stewards of their money compromise so as to not disappoint their kids...in Santa.

This was definitely NOT a position we wanted to find ourselves in.

So we decided that Santa, the mythical man in red who will bring you your every whim and desire IF you are good (we will get to that in a moment), would NOT be a part of our Christmas life, EVER. People told us that when we had kids we would change our minds, that our hearts would "soften" to the idea and wonder of Santa, but I would say quite the opposite has happened. 

With each passing year, with each child added, our reasons for not making Santa a part of our Christmas life have become deeper, clearer, sharper, and more defined. We now have WAY more of a foundation for not including him then we ever did in the beginning. What may have started out as a desire for our kids to be grateful and not greedy has become so much more than that.

So here you go...the list of all the reasons we don't "do" Santa...

• Greed - covered
• Gratitude - covered
• Realistic requests - covered
• Honesty - Although everyone assumes this should be our first reason, it never occurred to me that this should even be a reason for not including Santa until a really close friend of mine asked me if I had heard of "Elf on the Shelf", a brand new trend at the time. I said I hadn't and her husband's response was, "They probably aren't going to lie to their kids about Santa." I had never thought about it but he was right. I tell my kids all the time to tell the truth no matter what. I tell my kids all the time that they can trust me to tell them the truth. If you know our family's story, you know that all 4 of my kids are adopted and all 4 need to know that they can trust me. (Sidenote: I believe this to be true for all kids.) How could I intentionally deceive them, especially for something so meaningless? I couldn't. I wouldn't. 
• Santa god Theology - Here's where it gets deep people. Whether we like it or not, we've made Santa into a god like figure. Think about it. He sees you when you're sleeping. He knows when your awake. He knows if you've been bad or good so be good for goodness sake. The myth of Santa has some omnipotent powers ascribed to him, seemingly limited to just Christmas antics but certainly capable of far more than any man. He is omnipresent, seeing every little boy and girl all over the world at once. He is omniscient, seemingly limited to just your behavior but certainly capable of far more than any man....and he is eternal. Do you hear the falsities once you play them out? Here's the problem with that, GOD and ONLY GOD is omnipotent. GOD and ONLY GOD is omnipresent. GOD and ONLY GOD is omniscient. GOD and ONLY GOD is eternal. I don't want my kids to ever, ever, ever think otherwise. Why would I compromise teaching them truth in this one place? I couldn't. I wouldn't. 
• Works Based Theology - BUT the problem gets even bigger. This whole concept reinforces a works based theology, and frankly, quite inconsistently so. Here he is, this god like being who will determine what you get for Christmas solely based on the balance of your good to bad deeds. If you run a good ratio, you'll get good presents. If you don't, you'll get coal. So we teach our kids to buckle down and be better so they can even out the scale in their favor. They work to make Santa happy so they can get stuff from him. Friends, this is every other religion outside of Christ. We don't have to teach our kids about legalism. They get it. They get the idea that the world (and unfortunately sometimes even us) love and value them for what they do. What they DON'T get is that there is a God, an omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient God, who loves them for who they are and for what CHRIST did. Why would I reinforce a concept that the entire new testament, ushered in with Christ's birth at Christmas, preaches so fiercely against? I wouldn't. I couldn't.
• Compassion for the impoverished - So here's the deal - these mythical theologies intersect with our very real lives and real decisions have to be made regarding them. Let's assume you are parents of a 4 year old and full out Santa promoters. Let's assume you are also followers of Jesus who wholeheartedly believe in intervening in the lives of others by providing for those less fortunate. So here comes Christmas and all it's trappings but also all of it's opportunities for generosity. First up is Operation Christmas Child. You want to teach your child to be generous so you pick up two boxes and take them to the store to fill them up. You explain to your precious little sweet one that these are the only presents these children will get, toss it all in, rubber band it, and send the box on its way. Soon, there are more opportunities to give. So you pick a kid up off of the Angel Tree or the Salvation Army Tree, you sponsor a few local foster kids or kids from a local outreach ministry. You take your sweet little 4 year old shopping for these kiddos to raise awareness and compassion and tell them, once again, that these are the only Christmas presents these kids will probably get. You buy them, bag them, and send the presents on their way, never giving another thought to it. BUT if you "do" Santa, your 4 year old might be rummaging some thoughts in their little heads and hearts. You see, your mythical Santa visits everyone. Your mythical Santa gives good toys to every good boy and girl...so the only conclusion to be drawn is that these are clearly not good boys and girls because they weren't good enough to get presents from Santa.  (Sidenote - I find it so interesting that the real "Santa" chose to give to the poor. Never is there any mention of him giving to those who already have plenty. Somehow we have terribly twisted one man's compassionate work into an excuse to bless the blessed. I digress...) Honestly, for us and the way we approach our life as a family, the myth of Santa just doesn't match up with the life we live, investing in orphans, vulnerable children, and the financially impoverished. Why would I ever want my kids to believe that the orphans, vulnerable children and financially impoverished kids we give to lacked material blessings because they were "bad"? I wouldn't. I couldn't. 

I already know exactly what you're thinking. My parents did Santa. I don't think it made me greedy, ungrateful, unrealistic, unable to trust my parents, theologically mis-aligned or lacking compassion. I have fond memories of Santa and I want my kids to have fond memories of Santa too...

I get it, I really do. 

You survived. I survived. Millions of people survived. 

You just want your kids to have the same amazing Santa memories that you had.

I understand.

BUT...

This world has changed a lot in the last ___________ years. 

(For me that's 36)

Kids are different.

Expectations are different.

Approaches are different.

Exposure is different.

Everything is way more elaborate and muddled and confusing

 than it was when we were kids.

And we just have to inevitably ask ourselves, 

What do we want more for our kids?

Do we want more Santa memories...

or do we want more Jesus memories?

(more on that soon...)