A boy and his Santa

I cajoled Matt into leading a small group of kids with me on Christmas Eve. On the big day, though, it became apparent our church was woefully short on volunteers, so we'd have to divide and conquer.

I love Matt more than guacamole and chocolate truffles, so I said, "Sweet man, you lead the girls, and I'll take the boys. See you in an hour."

See how nice I am?

Well. Twelve sugared up, screaming 9-year old girls flooded his room. By the time we left Base Camp, Matt looked like he needed a stiff drink. Or a lobotomy.

Me? Only three boys showed up: Danny, Maddox, and Jack. Maddox said, "Umm, Miss Melissa? This isn't normal." I asked him what he meant, and he replied, "Normally this class is like the apocalypse."

Yes, that's exactly the feel we want at church. The apocalypse.

Back to my boys.

Right smack in the middle of our lesson, they got caught up in a discussion about Santa. Oh, mercy, I had so not prepared for questions about Santa. And really? I thought second and third grade boys would be well beyond the believe years. Surely X-Box games and Common Core standards had ruined all that.

When it became evident I was not going to get to dodge the Santa ball, I asked, "Friends, do you believe in Santa?"

Danny: (solemn nod)

Maddox: Yes, ma'am, yes, I do. In fact, there's a present under my tree for me, and it's from him. Here's how I know. The tag is written in cursive. My parents don't know cursive.

Jack: No. I don't believe in Santa. I think my parents just use him to get me and brother to behave.

Oh, Jack. I love that boy. Jack also informed me he likes the apocalypse version of our class much better, "especially when we throw stuff against the walls, but not when anyone gets hurt, like that time that one boy's lip bled." 

Back to Santa. 

"You guys," I said. "I just had a crazy thought. In a way, Santa is a little bit like Jesus. You can't really see Him. We have to have faith to believe."

Their eyes widened. I thought surely I'd stepped in it big time. But then Jack, bless him, piped up. "Yep, Jesus is like Santa. In fact, there's a boy in my class who says Jesus isn't real at all, that parents made Him up to get kids to behave, just like with Santa."

I looked longingly at the big sheet of white paper taped to the wall, the one we were supposed to be drawing a mural on that illustrates the Christmas story. Why, on earth, did I let Matt take the girls? I bet they were drawing sheep frolicking under the stars. Me? I had stepped in deep doodoo, and I was not having a good time.

Here's the truth. Right then, I had to take the boys to worship. And by the time we got back from hearing a story alongside all the other elementary-aged kids, my boys were ready to tackle their mural and candy cane ornaments, all discussion of Santa miraculously dropped.

Here's more truth: I wish I had told them that Jesus is nothing like Santa, that He doesn't dispense His love based on our behavior no, not ever, that His love is wildly extravagant and unpredictable and makes us want to do crazy things like sing and dance and quit worrying already and give away all we receive and then some.

And I wish I had said that Jesus is exactly like Santa in that He loves to hear from us pretty much all the time and He's constantly thinking up the best gifts for us. Plus, cookies and milk are the perfect snack.

Some day, maybe I'll think a little faster and say the best, truest thing when kids ask me hard questions. For now, I'll just keep showing up and let my friend Jesus do the rest.