the scene unraveled quickly.

our annual trip to the pink palace enchanted forest began as it usually does, with unbridled excitement about the escalators leading to the exhibit. with spirits elevated, the boys quickly embraced beloved out-of-town friends before bounding into the faux snowy cave, dimly lit by christmas lights and animated by the same motorized woodland creatures that enchanted me as a child. there was a happy sort of pandemonium as the kids frollicked amidst the sights and sounds, pausing only occasionally under the hypnosis of what is sure to be the world’s largest and most detailed electric train set.

as we settled into the line for santa visits and photographs, i fished a wad of pipe cleaners from my purse to occupy the boys. in a previous life (otherwise known as the day before), pipe cleaners were highly revered and even trance-inducing.

however, in this scene, they were apparently a blaring disappointment. the monkey flippantly asked for “another surprise,” at which point i explained that there were no more toys in my purse.

what followed was every mother’s worst nightmare: public humiliation in slow-motion. the monkey hit me three times, despite my very clear and intermittent 1-2-3 magic-style warnings about the consequences of such behavior. i was left with no other choice but to cut the outing short and head for the car.

i held the monkey’s mid-section under my right arm while he kicked, screamed, and flailed his arms. this allowed me to chase down the escaping bird, who was suddenly deep in conversation with a singing, snow-dusted squirrel.

source: jupiterimages.com

i heard an acquaintance utter my first and last name to her friend, and i turned around just in time to glimpse the ultimate sign of judgement: her pointer finger.

during this befuddled pause, i inadvertently loosened my grip on the monkey just long enough for him to make a break for it. as i chased the monkey through a sea of themed christmas trees and parenting-horror-show spectators, the bird teetered dangerously on the edge of the escalator. in the day’s only redemptive moment, i was able to snag the monkey and return to the bird just in time to prevent his impending tumble.

we provided another ten minutes of this entertainment before we made it to the car, and as i drove home to the now familiar soundtrack of the monkey’s wailing protests, i reassured myself with recollections from 1-2-3 magic. i remembered the notion that sometimes parents have to punish everybody, ourselves included, to get the point across. i replayed the author’s insistence that humiliation is a small price to pay for the future reward of well-behaved children.

but seriously. is there any other job in the world in which you’re not doing it right unless you look like a complete idiot?

after the “disenchantment,” the monkey was an angel for the rest of the day. 1-2-3 magic did pay off. but there was something about his demand for “another surprise” and his sense of entitlement during the pipe cleaner incedent that makes me want to read yet another book: the price of privilege.

wednesday marked the first day of hanukkah and the first day of december, and last sunday marked the first day of advent. my favorite local radio station began playing holiday music before thanksgiving, and a giant inflatable santa has been looming over union avenue since before the last pumpkin was procured from beneath his (slightly premature) air-filled feet. this is the time of year when i usually get serious about my spirituality.

in years gone by, i have read a bit of tillich each day, edited and published college students’ thoughts on advent, and spent time pouring over wonderful holiday stories by harper lee and truman capote. but those years are as i just described: gone by. there is no time for intense study, no time for ruminating on light in the darkness, no time to be so intentional about making room for hope and divinity and the dawn of new life. 

instead, there are santa beard christamas countdown calendars involving cotton balls and glue. there are cookie-baking parties and charlie brown specials. i think bonnie j. miller-mclemore says it best in her book entitled, “in the midst of chaos:”

“when people think of the spiritual life, they typically picture silence, uninterrupted and serene — a pastor’s study, a cloister walk, a monk’s cell. thinking of parenting, by contrast, they imagine noise and complication, dirty diapers, sleepless nights, phone calls from teachers, endless to-do lists, teen rooms strewn with stuff, and back seat pandemonium. by and large, these portraits are accurate. the life of faith requires focused attention that comes most easily when one is least distracted, while caring for children is one of the most intrusive, disorienting occupations around, requiring triage upon triage of decision and response. can one pursue a ‘spiritual’ life in the midst of such regular, nitty-gritty, on-the-alert demands” (2)?

when the holidays hit, there is no time to simulate the perfect conditions, tie up loose ends, or send grief away on a month-long cruise. my children are just as inclined to create poopy diapers and impromptu marker-on-wall illistrations on christmas morning as they are on every other day. there is no such thing as escaping the chaos in order to locate one’s spirituality. the meaning is IN the chaos. the chaos IS the pastor’s study, the cloister walk, and the monk’s cell. parents have the added challenege and opportunity to look for the extraordinary in the ordinary.

so that is what i’m going to do this holiday season. i am going to look for moments of deep truth and goodness in the midst of our particular brand of pandemonium. and then i am going to post about these moments in an image or phrase. if the bedlam that exists in your house should happen to contain a glimpse of divinity or insight, do share (themsrevolution(at)gmail(dot)com)! there’s no telling what we can find in the midst of chaos.

[source for this post can be found on the bibliography page located on the sidebar to your right.]