Perfect Flaws

Christmas programs involving children are a mixed bag for me. While I cannot deny it's high rating on the adorability charts, and while I know God is smiling from these sweetest of praises, it is also a test for me, to put aside my own strain of perfectionism and to allow myself to sit back and enjoy it in its entirety, sweet flaws and all.

Perhaps, for me, a bit of the personal tangle with yesterday's performance came because I wrote the script, and in my writing I had a vision of what the end result would look like. Loud, clear voices; perfect diction; a comfortable pace; perfect positioning. That's the little red devil on my shoulder. We all have little red devils -- mine is sneaky.

The day was a strange one, starting out with nasty wet weather. My parents came with us to church, and thankfully we live close by, so the commute was not a problem. You could feel the buzz as you walked into church -- excited kids, frazzled director and parent-helpers, festive clothing everywhere you cast your eye. And yes, a lot of waiting -- for kids to show up, for those who had braved the weather and were on their way, for last-minute prepping. The service started 20 minutes later than usual; my dad was about to take a snooze. That red devil on my shoulder started to whisper.

The kids filed in. I immediately saw my boy, a proud shepherd wearing his beige cloth over his green sweater and a rope around his skinny little waist. He winked and gave me a thumbs-up. The risers were filled with kids big and small; angels and shepherds; a stunned-looking Mary and Joseph. The program began.

"Whoa! Slow down!" I thought to myself, as the Narrator began the introductory monologue. The red devil tickled my ear. Where's the comfortable pace, the perfect diction?

I felt a little bit of stirring on my other shoulder. The little white angel was beginning to unfurl it wings. "They're only kids. Relax."

The program continued. The little red devil was in full game mode now.
Why are those kids jumping around?
Why is it going so fast?
Was every child with a speaking part eating a marshmallow before they got up there?
Who is that little girl picking her nose in the front row?
(Sorry, friend and mother of the adorable nose-picker -- I just couldn't resist!)
What little angel is lifting up her white robe, bunching it around her waist?
Did that microphone really just break in half?
Is my dad really dozing off next to me?
Is that speaker jigging about because she has to pee or because she's just nervous?

My quirks were in full swing now. My perfectionist tendencies were on fire. Oh, what a terrible trait! A cursed flaw! But then I felt it. My little white robed angel, so relaxed on my shoulder until now, raised its mighty head, spread its glorious wings, and kicked some major red-tailed butt, sending that little devil flying.

These are kids.
They're beautiful kids.
They are filled with the wonder of what they are doing, and what they are saying.
They are singing more lustily than the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.
They are filling God's ears with tremendous praise.
Only God creates perfection. I just wrote a script.
I am the Little Drummer Boy, and this was my Drum.
Praise be to God ... and God alone.

Everyone has quirks. Everyone has tendencies that get the better of them. I'm glad my little shouldered angel kicked some persnickety butt. By the end of the program I was beaming, so proud of my little guy in his first performance, so thrilled for that little shepherd, for watching this precious story unfold not only for him, but for the other kids as well. I was glad for this humble offering, for the Promised Gift.

It was a beautiful day.