I’ve never done Operation Christmas Child with my kids.
Each year this thought taunted me as the season rolled around and signs and stories and boxes and blog posts emerged. As I held my head barely above water, trying to breathe, my sweet husband would remind me that there was always next year.
Next year. Next year. Next year.
And something good would turn into contempt and accusation.
You can’t even teach your kids to think of others. How complicated do you have to make this?
Those more eloquent than I have written on this vicious cycle of measuring and comparing and falling drastically short.
Suddenly next year is here.
It’s not how I thought it would look, but here it is.
Not sure how it would work, we chose to fill two boxes, one for a boy and one for a girl. Our students were reminded to bring in items. We watched promotional packing videos and made lists with our students.
It was looking kind of bleak.
It would be a good idea to send a reminder letter home. I will remember to bring in a few things.
During opening exercises we would remind and pray and show the toothbrush or beanie boo or package of pens that a student brought that day.
We’ll see. God, please provide for our boxes.
Then Friday arrived, and we gathered the remaining goods and had enough items to assemble two boy boxes and two girl boxes. One of our students brought four girl boxes already assembled.
Oh me of little faith.
I’m grateful for glimpses of goodness in God’s provisional timing. It’s okay that I’ve never done this before. We did it together now. And it was good.