Almost everything Ellie opened for Christmas this year had something to do with princesses. A princess suitcase with travel pillow and blanket, princess big girl pants, princess slippers, princess tea set, princess camera, a cd with princess songs on it, two princess dresses, and a princess castle.

My girl Ellie loves princesses so much that I and everyone else in my family want to give her absolutely everything we could that had princesses on them. I love seeing her so delighted and happy.

I was not always so excited about princess stuff, though. In fact, I’m pretty surprised at myself as a mom, and so are a lot of my friends and family who knew me before I became a mommy to girls.

You see, back in my grad school days when I was writing papers about feminist literature and the like, I swore that if I ever had a little girl she would never ever have princess stuff. I didn’t want her to be spoiled and overly-focused on her appearance and material things–which is something I associated with the whole princess thing.

But then Ellie was born. For her first birthday, we went to Texas to celebrate with my family, and I decided to do the easy thing and buy some birthday plates and cups and stuff. But the only thing I could find was princess-themed.

No. NO. I refused it. I kept looking.

Finally it was the day of the party, and I still couldn’t find anything for a little girl that was appropriate for the 1st birthday and not princess-themed. I called my mom and complained. I cried and told her how much I didn’t want Ellie to have the princess stuff because I didn’t want her to end up spoiled some day and thinking she was a princess.

And then, from the other end of the line, my mom, as she so gently and wonderfully does, brought the hammer:

“Well,” she said, “you don’t want her to think she’s not a princess, do you?”

At that moment my mom in her wisdom saved me and Ellie from something equally as harmful for Ellie’s heart as being spoiled: believing that she’s not a princess, not worthy of crowns and princes and beautiful dresses. I knew in my heart she was right, and I took the plunge.

Now, almost 2 years later, I see Ellie’s heart come alive when she dons a princess dress. She dances around the house, banging on drums, and singing into her microphone. But you know what? You would be hard-pressed to see her doing that without one of her princess dresses on.

I want her to know how beautiful she is. I want her to feel alive in her feminine heart. I believe it taps into something so deeply rooted in her . . . a princess heart that responds to the call of a heavenly king. Maybe for Emma it will be a different thing that reaches that spot. But I know what it is for Ellie, and if that can happen in her 2-year-old heart through dancing around the house with her dad while wearing a princess dress, then it is a delight to me to see it.

For her, there’s no vanity in it at all. Instead there’s a connection to something deep in her heart that has to do with her daughterhood, her heavenly king, her loveliness, and her inheritance in the kingdom of God.

Sometimes when I think of Christmas, I think of David Hasselhoff. Not Baywatch David Hasselhoff, mind you.  Knight Rider David Hasselhoff.

When I was in 7th grade, a poster of David Hasselhoff was all I wanted. You remember those days, don’t you? There was a spot on the wall of my room, opposite from my bed, that was the perfect size.

Who wouldn’t want those eyes to be the first thing they see in the morning?

You can only imagine how my little 7th grader heart dropped when I ran downstairs that Christmas morning to find not a poster of the man, but stickers of Kitt, his car, for my sticker book. Not one sticker even had a picture of Mr. Hasselhoff’s face on it.

It was still Knight Rider. It was still my favorite show. It was just the car and not the man.

But over the last 20 years since that Christmas morning and especially now with girls of my own, I can see the wisdom of my parents in giving me the stickers instead of the poster. It probably wouldn’t have ruined me to have the poster, but my parents didn’t feel settled in their hearts about it.  So they trusted their intuition, just like I’m learning to do, and they gave me the better thing. They could see what was best for me when I couldn’t, because I was in 7th grade and had 7th grader wants. But for the record, now I understand why they didn’t think that my having a life-sized picture of an older man in my middle-schooler bedroom was a very good and healthy thing for me.

That Christmas I was disappointed, but it was a disappointment I could handle. I knew that my parents loved me and that I could trust them.  I could trust their provision for me, and I could trust their decisions for me. And my parents had more long-term wisdom for me than I had for myself, though I couldn’t see it then.

I see it happening with my girls too. I can imagine times where what they want is not, in our eyes, the best thing for them to have. And so we’ll give them the better thing.

Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly beyond all that we ask or think, according to the power that works within us –Ephesians 3:20

Can you think back to a time when you got the better thing?  Was there a time when you got the stickers instead of the poster, too?

Let’s make this short and sweet. Here’s a parenting nugget from my mom that I think about at least 3 times a day:

There are three things our kids do that we, as parents, cannot control: going to the bathroom, sleeping, and eating.

Bam. Some of the best parenting advice I’ve ever received. Actually, right now in the midst of potty-training, it feels like the absolute best parenting advice I’ve ever received. Whenever I feel myself ramping up, ready to start a battle over how much Ellie eats or whether or not she actually sleeps during her nap or whether she gets potty trained when all her friends do, I think about this gem from my mother.

Mom encourages me to choose battles that I can always win. After calling her on the phone with some new thing I don’t know how to handle, I usually hang up the phone with a shift in my perspective. I move to saying things like, “Ellie, now is the time for resting.  You can choose to sleep or read in your bed until I come to get you when rest time is over.” Or, “feel free to have some more milk as soon as you eat your meat.”  Control over whether she actually sleeps or eats is in her hands anyway, so I might as well give her the freedom to make that choice.  But I can control whether or not she stays in her room so that I can have my much-needed mommy time during naptime. I can control whether or not I get out of my chair to give her more milk.  Thanks Mom, you’ve saved me from yet another lesson in the “hard-knocks of parenting” school.

My mother is an inspiration to me. I pattern my discipline after her, I cook her recipes, I sing her songs to my children.

In the last week, though, there’s another thing I’ve recognized about my mom that I want more of in my own life. She lets people in to our family. She invites them. She adopts them.  She loves them.

Here’s why this is coming up in my heart right now. Mom’s best friend from way back in jr. high, Belinda, just passed away last week from complications with Leukemia. My mom was on the phone with her every day since the illness was detected. She sent her packages every week filled with things she knew Belinda would enjoy in the hospital: dvds of ballets and films, cds of classical music, cards, flowers. And throughout my life, I remember Aunt Bee, as she was affectionately known, at Easters, Christmases, Thanksgivings. She didn’t live near us, but she was always a presence. Thanks to my mom’s willingness to open our family doors to Aunt Bee, our lives were enriched.

My mom is really good at being a friend. Really really good at it. I, who get caught up so much in the day to day that I forget even to make phone calls, could use a hefty dose of the family love my mom has. It’s not just Aunt Bee, either.  It was lots of women throughout my growing up years and into the present that she would adopt in and care for and make family with us.

Which brings me to this: For what is our hope, our joy, or the crown in which we will glory in the presence of our Lord Jesus when he comes?  Is it not you?  Indeed, you are our glory and joy.  (1 Thess 2:17-20)

Huh.  I always thought that the jewels in my crown came from helping old ladies across the street or moving to a foreign country to spread the gospel or helping to tear down the chairs after a church service.  Or any number of things, really: serving food at the homeless shelter, keeping my house clean, teaching sunday school regularly.   I mean, those are the times that you usually hear someone jokingly (or not) say, “Oh, you’re getting some jewels in your crown with this one!”

But this week as I think about Belinda and I think about my mom, who is claiming Aunt Bee as family even in Bee’s passing away, I see what Paul must have been talking about.  Our joy and crown is so much more than how many times we help someone load their groceries into their car; our joy and our crown in the presence of the Lord Jesus are each other. Caring for each other.  Adopting each other in and claiming each other as our own. Beautiful.

Aunt Bee, you are greatly loved and greatly missed.