Don’t argue with Christmas miracles ~ December 22, 1988

David Heiller

SATURDAY, DEC. 17—A Christmas miracle in the making: Dee Zuk sits with nine children in the church pew, nine children under the age of six. At the front of the church, older kids are saying their parts for the Christmas program. They giggle and stammer and push and read from parts that they should have memorized. Director Mary Cronin leads them along, like Mike Ditka on the sidelines with the Chicago Bears, urging them to cooperate.

But Dee Zuk has those nine children lined up as quiet as the proverbial church mice which inhabit Faith Lutheran Church.

“Do you have a Christmas tree?” Dee asks.

“I have two trees, one upstairs and one downstairs,” Laura Horton answers, sitting on the right hand of Dee the Teacher Almighty.

“Do you have a dog?” she continues.

My son, Noah, answers that he has two, Ida and Binti.

Noah and Malika with their cousin Sarah during a family Christmas. These were little kids at the time of this performance! Extra cute and extra nerve-wracking.

“One for you and one for Mollie?” Dee asks. “No, both for me,” Noah answers.

Dee ushers the nine to the front of the church, like a duck leading her fledglings to water. Mollie, age three, sits next to Noah, who has yet to learn that it isn’t cool to sit next to your sister in a Christmas program.

Dee leads the little kids: “God sent Jesus down from heaven.” They all repeat after Dee, pointing their finger skyward, then arching it back to earth.

“Jesus taught us to love each other.” The kids fold their arms close to their chest, except for Mollie, who has her finger up her nose.

^“Jesus loves you and you and me.” They point their fingers at each other, then at themselves. Mollie takes her finger from her nose, puts it in her mouth.

“Because of His love, we are all His children.”

Their voices are strong with Dee leading them, but when she stops, they are struck dumb, which is another miracle for nine children under the age of six.

SUNDAY, DEC. 18—the miracle continued: Bev Peterson played Christmas hymns on the piano at the left side of the church, which filled up slowly but surely last Sunday morning, like churches do when children give their Christmas programs. Parents like me sat erect, on the edge of the pew; as if they were watching the Vikings play the Rams, and feeling just as jittery.

The piano rang out with Joy to the World, and the parents seemed to relax a bit. The 16-foot balsam Christmas tree next to Bev swayed at the top, as wind from the ceiling fan swished the tinsel back and forth. With the music, you could imagine that tree in the woods on a snowy morning, moving in a gentle breeze.

I sat in the fourth pew from the front, upon strict instructions from my wife, Cindy, who is also a Sunday school teacher. I didn’t know why I should sit so far up, but I don’t question Cindy on matters of religious faith and church etiquette. So I sat there, feeling conspicuous. I glanced over my shoulder and saw many other parents looking conspicuous. Their minds, like mine, were focused on their kids and the Christmas program. They were thinking: Would their children forget their lines? Maybe start crying, or pull up their dresses, or put their fingers in their nose? Maybe start the Christmas tree on fire?

Finally, the bell pealed, and 30 children marched forward, singing Oh Come, All Ye Children. They took their seats in the front, facing us. Cindy sat one pew ahead of me. We both stared at Mollie as she followed Noah up, jostling others to grab the chair on his left. Mollie saw us, smiled and waved. Noah joined her in waving. We both lowered our eyebrows and shook our heads. They stopped waving.

The program progressed, and it progressed well. Mary Cronin had worked a miracle that Mike Ditka would have been proud of. The older kids said their lines without help, holding the microphone like a stick of dynamite. They even showed some football razzle-dazzle, passing the mike quickly behind their backs to the next kid.

Then the pre-school part came. Dee knelt in front of her charges. The kids said their words loud and clear, while Dee whispered along. My eyes were glued to Mollie, hoping, even praying that she would keep her finger pointed to heaven instead of her nose. My prayer was answered. Their part ended, and it went perfectly.

And the miracles continued. The children sang Away in the Manger, and no one even noticed when Knute fell down in the back row. They sang Hark, the Herald Angels Sing, and no one blinked when Laura left her spot to confer with Dee in the front pew. Dee whispered a few magical words, and Laura returned to her place in front.

During Oh Christmas Tree, Mollie started to push Noah, grabbing him by the arm. Noah pushed back, and it looked like the start of a World Wrestling Federation match. Then Mollie glanced at her mom and dad. Actually, her head was turned by the force of our glares. In that instant it suddenly dawned why Cindy had asked me to sit at the front of the church. Our eyes blazed like lasers at Mollie. I’m not a pretty sight even when I smile, but the look I gave Mollie would have sent dogs howling for cover. With Cindy in front, Mollie suddenly was staring down a double barreled shotgun. She put Noah’s arm down, and looked straight ahead.

The program ended as we all sang Go Tell it on the Mountain. Then the little kids returned to their parents’ side, and you could almost hear half the congregation, young parents like me, breath a sigh of relief, and you could almost feel the other half, the grandmas and grandpas who have weathered this ordeal many times, bursting with pride.

Mollie slid in next to me. “Do you have any gum, Daddy?” she asked. I pulled a stick out, and broke it in half, giving part to her and part to Noah. Mollie started chewing, then cuddled up close. “I love you, Dad,” she said, looking at me.

“I love you,” I answered.

Maybe it was the Dentyne, maybe it was Christmas. Whatever it was, I didn’t care. You don’t question miracles.