Why We’re Glad Jesus Doesn’t Fill Wooden Shoes

We lined five wooden shoes by our front door last night and tucked five expectant kids into bed as the moon rose high. 

We retold the old Dutch tale of that saint and his white horse, and we wondered with laughter if he would remember the little boy who he’d once mistakenly put in his sack.

An hour later, that  little boy tiptoed out of his bedroom just to check if his shoes were still there. 

And when he spied me curled up in the big leather chair with my Bible on my lap, he cocked his small head and asked: “What are you doing out here all alone?

I gazed at my littlest boy and smiled.  “I’m just letting Jesus fill me up.”

“Are you empty?” he asked, staring at those waiting shoes.

I gazed at the overflowing laundry baskets shoved against the wall, the backpacks strewn across the floor, and the Matchbox cars parked on top of the coffee table.

“Sometimes,” I confessed with a sigh.

Joshua glanced once more at the doorway.
 “So Sinterklaas fills our shoes, and Jesus fills our hearts.”

He clapped his hands together, delighted at the thought of it all.

Then he turned to head back to bed.

I followed him down the hallway and reminded him to tiptoe quietly so we didn’t wake his slumbering siblings. 

He paused outside of his bedroom door and gave me one last hug.

Then, with a happy sigh, he said, “I’m glad Jesus doesn’t just visit us once a year, aren’t you?“

I lifted him onto the bottom bunk, pulled the blankets to his chin, and thanked God for a Savior named Immanuel who fills our empty places.

Then I kissed the soft cheek of my brown-haired boy and whispered, “Yes, buddy.  I’m glad Jesus is always here. Even when Christmas is over.” 

The Overflow: 
“And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” 

-Matthew 28:20

Linking today with Emily at Imperfect Prose