A few weeks ago, the kids and I went down to the chapel on the base where we live to “help” with a Christmas party for a local orphanage. The chapel children’s group was going to sing during the short program, and I prepared Ransom and Memphis for the possibility that they might be asked to sing with the group (even though they are in middle school). I even asked Mem to change out of her light gray cut off sweatpants and t-shirt, just in case. She protested, but eventually disappeared upstairs to change. Then she came down in dark gray cut off sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt. *cue deep-breathing-for-the-middle-school-parent* I didn’t say another word, even when we walked in and the two other children were dressed in lovely Christmas attire. *sigh*

We arrived early enough to go through the rehearsal. Our four kids took the stage with two other children to run through “Silent Night” and “Go Tell It On the Mountain.” It was all coming together quite well until they gave my angel #2 a microphone. Cherubim #1 thought his voice needed to be better amplified, and there in the middle of “Silent Night,” my two oldest angels had a glaring, elbow-knocking, teeth-gritted throw-down over the microphone that ended when cherubim #1 stomped off the stage before anyone could sing “sleep in heavenly peace.”

“Are you serious?” I whispered at him as he slumped down beside me. “This is about Jesus and the orphans. Is a microphone more important than Jesus?” I hissed. (And you thought YOUR mom knew how to give a guilt trip.)

“Tell HER that!” he said, his voice rising, as he crossed his arms.

Oh my divas. I sat there next to one fuming diva while the other one smiled smugly on the stage from behind her microphone. All is calm and bright, my fanny.

Luckily, the performance went well in spite of a missing cherubim and gray cut-off sweatpants. The orphans all got their songs and the story of Jesus. I got my weekly dose of humility. Mercy.

My over-amped angels were redeemed when it came time to pass out presents to the visiting children. At first, I waved off the Marines who invited our kids to help distribute gifts. I did not want to drag a screaming angel out of the chapel, explaining how he has parents and that should be enough. The Marines were insistent though, so I sternly whispered abbreviated lecture #42 “These gifts are not for you. Not for you! The giving is your gift!” Mem led the way and all four flitted around the chapel reading tags, motioning for children’s ages, and matching gifts to children. The smiles all around were contagious. When the gifts were all opened, and the wrapping paper cleared, the chaplain and visiting director exchanged formal thank yous. As I looked from the ten rows of visiting orphan angels to our little row of four, gratitude swept over me. Let them ALL know how much they are loved, I breathed in silent prayer. Things don’t go as planned. We argue and fuss and make mistakes, but we are so loved. So loved.

On Christmas Eve, we attended our chapel’s service together, and as we again sang “Silent Night” by candlelight, I was struck by the quiet magic of a little light in the dark. Praying your New Year is full of those little moments of light…even when your angels argue.