How the Grinch stole Christmas from the Mothers of Preschoolers. And Claire.

For no good reason other than because He is good and crazy, God gave me opportunity to speak in front of a couple dozen mothers of preschoolers on the topic of simplicity. Share my journey with some precious mommas who, like me, are desperate for any blessed moment that does not involve the whining crying tantrums of our offspring in the cereal aisle of Kroger. Sure, why not.

And so that’s how I found myself standing clam-palmed and rashy in front of a few round tables of darling mommas in the middle of November.

I don’t think it hit me that what I had been asked to do was quite unfair in all ways until I sat at one of those round tables half-listening to their sweet tender prayers, and the one, I’m sure her name was Claire but it might have only started with a C, asked for prayer because that very afternoon she was going in for an ultrasound to well, we pray, determine that a lump on her breast is no more than just that, a lump.

And Claire, I’m sure her name was Claire, she just won’t leave me alone in my head because I sat next to her as she told those ladies, “I’m awesome at avoiding. But I’m sure it’s nothing.”

And now it was my turn to stand up and blab on and on about my journey of simplifying life? Oh, okay, Claire might find out she has cancer today, but in the meantime, put that Ali girl up there a few weeks before Christmas so that she can spoil our poinsettia fundraiser and santa shopping sprees with her Grinch-ass message about finding joy in living with less.

Because that’s fair.

Dammit, why was I there?

And I don’t know. I don’t know. But I was. And I did. And I have no damn clue whether or not it made one stinkin’ difference in the whole world. In my little selfish insecure igloo I pray that if I see any of them out in public, at Target with their red cart full of Christmas cheer, they won’t shoot the messenger who was asked to speak on that topic at this time.

Because the only thing I really care about since sitting at that table are the damn results of that ultrasound. And Claire, I really think her name was Claire, I haven't stop praying for ya.

*Claire update: (And yes, her name really is Claire!) She connected with me via facebook, and praise Jesus, her ultrasound gave the radiologist no concern. I am stupid dupid humbled. When I walked into that room of MOPS mommas I had no idea that I would be entering such a privileged space. Thank you, Lord.