I dutifully sit in church for Christmas Eve services, trying to feel assurance in the seats that I have chosen for our family—in the last row of the pews. Because my youngest is fidgety to say the least, I hope this location will obscure us. Directly to my right sits my oldest child and then my husband. To my left is my youngest child, who wants to do anything but sit.
The atmosphere is somber with the usual monotonous sermon that goes on endlessly, except for a long silent pause each time they switch from one production to the next. My youngest is just as eager as I am for this evening to come to its end. For her it means going home and carrying out her plot of catching Santa in the act this year; whereas, for me it means breathing a sigh of relief that we have successfully made it through the Christmas Eve services and can all sweetly dream of sugar plums dancing in our heads.
As I sit and pretend to listen absorbedly, my mind keeps wandering; will my youngest make it to the end of the services, or at least till intermission. She is trying very hard, after all Santa is watching for goodness sakes. Even so, her tiny finger keeps beckoning my ear to her impatient, little lips. They repeatedly part to squeak the same polite request, “Can we go now.” To which I give the same hushed reply each time, “Not until it is over.”
My mistake, which I make as swiftly as a visit from Saint Nicholas in the night, is adding to my last hushed reply the words, “After we sing it will be over.” Just moments after I give my youngest this spoken assurance, before the echo of my own words sink into my own mind, the girls who were on stage end their attempted concerto and clumsily pack up their things so they can return to their seats. There is—a long pause of silence just after singing.
My youngest is swift to perceive this as the long awaited end to the evening and enthusiastically shrieks into the silence, “Can we go now!” The only other sound to be heard is the loud thud which comes from my chest. The moment that followed felt as surreal as Christmas morning does to children; the silence is replaced with laughter & giggles from everyone who is present. What can I say but, "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
