Happy Meal

I took the kids Christmas shopping in Winnipeg on Saturday. I generally like to follow the maxim I learned long ago – to never shop on an empty stomach – so we had early lunch in a McDonald's restaurant. We had just sat down to eat when there was a bit of a ruckus in the next table over. It was a mom with her three young boys, probably between the ages of 4 and 9.

“If he asks you to stop touching him, you stop touching him!” she commanded with a slightly raised voice. My son and I exchanged knowing smiles; we've had that conversation in our family a time or two.

A little later, she snapped, “Get up off the floor!” to the youngest boy who had gone under the table to retrieve his happy meal toy. Also something I've said once or twice.

It was quiet over on that side for awhile, then the mom went on, “When we get home, we're going to vacuum and do the laundry.” What? I thought. All of them are going to vacuum at the same time? The 4-year-old does laundry? I bet they can hardly wait to get home! Except that I've done that too: start harping on the work that needs to be done before we've even finished the fun thing we're doing in the present. “And you boys had better clean up that entrance.... You better stop fooling around or we won't ever come here again.” Her voice kept getting incrementally louder as she carried on, which was ironic because I couldn't hear the boys at all.

“Do you want me to go nuclear? Here? In front of all these people?” By this time she was practically yelling at her sons. “Because it won't be a pretty sight!” Oh, lady, I thought, it's already not a pretty sight. We had this running commentary from the mom throughout the entire meal, and still could not hear the boys, who looked sufficiently cowed by the end of the barrage. We cleaned up in that awkward silence that happens when an adult is making a ridiculous public spectacle of themselves, where to detract from the scene might somehow implicate you.

I walked away from that scene, relieved that my kids were so well behaved and that it wasn't me making a fool of myself – this time.

But it wasn't 24 hours later I found myself talking about someone I “don't like” but really have nothing to do with personally. The words were barely out of my mouth and I knew that, just like that mom in the restaurant, I was shaming myself with my words more than I was shaming the other person. Which is exactly how I felt – ashamed.

The whole scenario made thankful in a new way for Christmas, for the coming of Jesus as Savior. For a savior who can save me from embarrassing self-righteousness and prideful imaginings that I am somehow better than others. For a savior who from the very beginning demonstrated a more humble path to follow. For a savior whose love can cover a multitude of sins.

...For unto you is born this day

in the city of David,

a Savior,

which is Christ the Lord.

And this shall be a sign unto you;

You will find the babe

wrapped in swaddling clothes

and lying in a manger.

Luke 2:11-12