God and Sinners Reconciled

Santa Claus is a veritable stranger to Eowyn. No judgment for those who track his sleigh’s path or wield his favors as a disciplinary tool. However, at the risk of sounding intolerant and uncouth, we’d prefer, as the placards plead, to keep Jesus as the singular reason for the season. And yet, somehow, even in the glaring absence of the jolly fat guy, my children were able to salvage the magic of the season and even enjoy singing those Christmas carols that blessedly lacked the bland secularism of PC “holiday concerts”. God and sinners reconciled -while possessing a somewhat disarming message about our damnable condition- tends to ring sweetly on the lips of my three year old who recognizes a “need for Jesus to help us” (even when she’s constipated).

Both Eowyn and Kincaid ascribe to the maxim, “the more, the merrier.” Festivities enlivened with holiday musicality, gaily-attired guests and Christmas delicacies possess more appeal than any Veggie Tales or Fisher Price diversion- a determination confirmed by repeated (and failed) enticements. Thus, attending various Christmas Eve services, parties and caroling occasions served not to fatigue them but energize their tiny bodies until the early morning hours- literally: After our annual Christmas soiree, Eowyn remained delightedly awake and eager to assist in the clean-up until 1 am, whereupon she concluded, “Well, that was a lovely time.” And it was.

Christmas day we (Kulp progeny) all woke together, under one roof and enjoyed the inscrutable culinary creations of my brother Andrew, whose scrambled eggs and bacon could incite a holiday heart attack. After the calorie-unconscious feast, we convened around the tree, during which the highlights included the unveiling of Eowyn’s first Princess bike and the collapse of the sofa under my sisters’ weight. Both events were immortalized on film and in memory. Later in the day, we dutifully dined with extended family around fully extended tables, relishing the company of those with whom our genetic pools share ancestry, eating, sharing and laughing much.

And as all good days must do, Christmas came to a dramatic close. After a final round of familial charades (an intentional game, not to be confused with the holiday pandering to relatives we pretend to like), the children were reluctantly corralled into a car laden with their booty whereupon occurred the inevitable saccharine crash: Tears were mingled with screams which were mingled with punitive threats which were mingled with the serenade of carols on the stereo- A poignant reminder of the desperate need for sinners to be reconciled. And after being settled in bed, having blown her nose sixteen times, Eowyn’s tear-moistened eyes fixed upon mine and she confided in a shaky voice weakened by weeping, “Well, that was a lovely time.” And truly, it was.