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Some Children See HimChristmas Eve morn I was putting dishes from breakfast in the dishwasher. My trinity of children, Ben, Ayden and Emily begged for some Christmas music to dance to. Bryan rallied them near the tree, snagged a small, flat, square present and had them give it to me: James Taylor's At Christmas. Wondrous!!!
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The kids boogied and bopped to Winter Wonderland, Go Tell It On The Mountain, Santa Claus Is Coming To Town and Jingle Bells. Bry even brought me close - cheek to cheek - twirling me 'round the kitchen for Baby, It's Cold Outside. By the time The Christmas Song rang from the speakers, my crew was off to the basement to play with Transformers and video games.
Alone in the kitchen, I mixed artichoke dip for the evening's fare and listened to James. A lengthy intro to a carol I didn't immediately recognize floated into the room, casting a spell on me. Usually I can name almost any traditional tune in just a few notes. This one simultaneously eluded and captivated me. What song is this? I wondered. Somehow the music started soliciting tears. I couldn't tell if it was the crescendo of strings or the piano stylings of my fav, Dave Grusin, that did it. But, there I was with a cup of Parmesan cheese in my hand and tears in the corners of my eyes.
The intro reached a swollen up-beat and Jame's folky tenor broke in, divulging the carol, Some children see Him lily white/The baby Jesus born this night. Some children see Him lily white/With tresses soft and fair . . . tears cascaded soft and copiously down my face. Though the words were as familiar as an old friend, the traditional melody equally comforting, I had no idea why the song was reaching into my chest and wrapping its pentatonic fingers around my heart.
Then, the third verse came:
Some children see Him almond-eyed,
This Savior whom we kneel beside.
Some children see him almond-eyed,
With skin of golden hue.
This Savior whom we kneel beside.
Some children see him almond-eyed,
With skin of golden hue.
Without thinking, I walked (dare I say floated) to our dining room window, and gazing at a snow-covered park, started to weep. Gratitude for three-year-old, beautiful, almond eyed, little Emily who is my daughter warmed me like a woolen sweater. Prayers for all the orphans we met in China when we adopted her flooded my soul. And, the faces of Emily's twelve sister-cousins who traveled home to America on the same plane she did flashed across my mind.
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The classic carol has always painted a lovely, prismatic picture for me: children around the globe seeing the Christ child with skin the same hue as theirs, with eyes the same shape as their own, and hair of their texture. When I listened to the lyric as a child, I loved imagining multicultural creches around the planet in Mexico, Africa, Israel, China, Australia, Europe, etc. They were all vibrant in color. Some were complete with palm trees and sand, others with mountains and snow. As I grew up, I loved the way the lyric pointed out our abilities to see based on our life experience, our world view. And, I found it inspiring that God, in whose image we are all created, is seen/revealed in children of great diversity and beauty.
loveEven though the carol had touched me, intrigued me; it had existed apart from me like a planet on a parallel orbit. This year - standing in our kitchen holding the cup of grated cheese, listening to James Taylor's hauntingly clear tenor - that all changed. The hymn came near, orbiting my very heart. Why? I wondered, and the answer came clear as the carol: because of the diversity in my own family, because of my gorgeous, tenacious, luminescent Chinese daughter, Emily. She has changed me. I am no longer simply a woman with deep deciduous Midwestern roots. I'm, now, a mom who, touched by the grace of adoption, has fallen in love with China and a little girl who is fruit of that wondrous place.
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As Emily and I have walked through Advent together, lighting candles, reading stories, singing carols, preparing meals and gifts, touching familiar icons I've been mindful to celebrate instead of indoctrinate. I don't want to wash away any of Emily's rich heritage by force-feeding her a distinctly American, materialistic, western Jesus. I want her to experience divinity as a daughter of China, an American adoptee, a child of God. I want her to know a savior who is big, unconfined by boxes and myopic religious practices (though He was willing to take on infant form). I want Emily to see the baby in the manger with her own distinctly beautiful eyes. The funny thing is that, during this Advent - the third Emily and I have shared - for the first time, I'm the one who is seeing baby Jesus with almond eyes.
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Some Children See Him
The baby Jesus born this night.
Some children see Him lily white,
With tresses soft and fair.
Some children see Him bronzed and brown,
The Lord of heav'n to earth come down.
Some children see Him bronzed and brown,
With dark and heavy hair.
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Some children see Him almond-eyed,
This Savior whom we kneel beside.
Some children see Him almond-eyed,
With skin of golden hue.
Some children see Him dark as they,
Sweet Mary's Son to whom we pray.
Some children see him dark as they,
And, ah! they love Him, too!
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The children in each different place
Will see the baby Jesus' face
Like theirs, but bright with heavenly grace,
And filled with holy light.
O lay aside each earthly thing
And with thy heart as offering,
Come worship now the infant King.
'Tis love that's born tonight!
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In my moment of dip-making-carol-enjoying epiphany, I realized that I've become one of the children looking at a new and distinctly personal creche scene. Thanks to Em, my blond-haired, blue-eyed baby Jesus has changed. This Christmas he has lovely lacquer hair and smiling almond eyes. He has been baptised by an eastern perspective, a perspective of pain and the beauty of redemption. From this distinct vantage, Christ looks more mysterious, more powerful, more unexpected, more divine. My made-over manger reveals a Miracle holding surprising, unique, vast, uncontainable deity. He's the long awaited One who reveals God's wonder around the globe; and in organic, daily, unimaginable ways to unsuspecting moms through the eyes of their children.
In my moment of dip-making-carol-enjoying epiphany, I realized that I've become one of the children looking at a new and distinctly personal creche scene. Thanks to Em, my blond-haired, blue-eyed baby Jesus has changed. This Christmas he has lovely lacquer hair and smiling almond eyes. He has been baptised by an eastern perspective, a perspective of pain and the beauty of redemption. From this distinct vantage, Christ looks more mysterious, more powerful, more unexpected, more divine. My made-over manger reveals a Miracle holding surprising, unique, vast, uncontainable deity. He's the long awaited One who reveals God's wonder around the globe; and in organic, daily, unimaginable ways to unsuspecting moms through the eyes of their children.
love
After I wrote this piece my mom shared an inspiring, sagacious article by Ron Grossman titled, Christian Art is Chinese History. The newspaper clip weds China, Christ, art, history, and antiquity. It really affirmed some of my thoughts and feelings. Check it out at:
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