Recently in Family Category

"There's NO WAY I'm doing that! People can just believe, but I'm not telling them!"

Very Calvinist of her, no? 

"I bet after God made all the people for the first time, they looked around and were like, 'Okay, this is great, but what are we supposed to do now?" 

Which is to say: Christmas was splendid. Truly peaceful. I finally got around to reading The Road by Cormac McCarthy (holy crap, what a novel), watched a billion episodes of "30 Rock" with my wife after the kids were in bed, made merry with extended family on 4 separate occasions, watched my kids delight in old-fashioned toys, went on runs with Krista Tippett on the iPod, cooked, cooked, cooked, drank some holiday libations, shared dinner with old friends, went to church, and basically enjoyed a string of days. 

So, if you've stopped by, sorry for the relative silence. 

Oh, and an announcement: Tony Jones has left the building, but his blog is in some very promising hands that I hope you'll check out. Over the next week, The New Christians is sure to be home to some rich conversation (misbehaving commenters notwithstanding). 

"Yes, Bel?"

"Did you know, um, that some people don't even celebrate Christmas? They do Hannakuh."

She had been learning this in school. "Yeah, Bel, that's right."

"And Dad?"

"Yeah, Bel."

"Did you know that when people celebrate Hannakuh, that Santa just skips their houses?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, they don't have any Christmas tree or presents or anything, so he just doesn't have to stop there."

"Oh."

"Yeah. So aren't you really glad that we chose Christmas instead of Hannakuh?"

(Tell me, parents--what do you say now? Here's what I said.)

"Well, Bel, it's not that we chose Christmas. It's that we believe in Jesus. Christmas isn't about Santa and presents; it's about Jesus. We celebrate Christmas because we believe in Jesus."

"Yeah, but Dad? What do people who celebrate Hannakuh believe in? Not God?"

"Well, they believe in God, too. But they don't believe in the story of Jesus."

"Oh. ... But, Dad? If they believe in God, then that's the same thing as believing in Jesus. So they really do believe in Jesus."

(Ahem.) 

"Well, Bel, no. There are lots of stories about God. Some of those stories, we share with people who believe in Hannakuh. The stories about Moses, Noah...you know all those?" ("Yeah, Dad.") "They believe in those, too. But this story about Jesus, well, people who believe in Hannakuh believe Jesus was a good man, they believe that he happened, but they don't believe he was God."

"Oh." 

"You understand?" 

"Yeah."

A moment of silence. 

"But Dad?"

"Yeah, Bel."

"It's a good thing Santa gets to skip the houses of people who celebrate Hannakuh. Because there's no way he'd get to all the houses."

Ten minutes after my sister and her family arrived from Oklahoma, her youngest son, Charlie, puked on my stairs. It was a sign of puke to come: between Charlie, my mom, my niece, and my son we saw no fewer than 40 more episodes of puke during the week, at least 6 of which landed on the floor. (Several varieties of cleaning solution later, our house smells like a nursing home.) We also had one massive puddle of blood, several sleepless nights, and a dog that required constant chasing as he slipped through our backyard fence again and again and again. (Someday I'll write a short story about the time my sister, her husband, and I took all the kids to see "Madagascar 2," and soon got a text message from my mom reading "help!", and learned she was lost in my neighborhood at night trying to find a little black, slippery puppy, and my sis and I left the theater to go chase down the dog and rescue my mom, and got back just in time for the credits to roll.)

Sigh. 

But. 

Yesterday as my wife and I were lamenting the week, we realized that not one voice was raised (except toward the dog), not one temper lost. Everyone exercised pretty good gallows humor all week long. Because appetites were small, we scaled back Thanksgiving dinner big-time (thank you, Tyler Florence) and discovered that you can have a perfectly yummy holiday meal without slaving in the kitchen all day long. 

I love my family and I'll take their company however I can get it. Given our family history--a story for another day--that's a miracle, and one that keeps me in continual wonder. So I'm grateful for our Thanksgiving, vomit and all.