family

It was like a scene straight out of Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life.

On a cold Christmas Eve afternoon, as snowflakes began to swirl in the air, I made my way across our suburban Long Island street and up onto the front porch of our neighbor’s large green house. My father had sent me to deliver one of his pumpkin breads, his traditional holiday gift to family friends.

The McKees were our neighbors my entire childhood. With 8 children, there was always something interesting going on at their place. Christmas was certainly no exception. It was the family’s tradition to buy their tree on December 24 – something of a money-saving tactic they had parlayed into a fun and memorable occasion.

The children would make their way to a tree stand a block away in the parking lot of Nunley’s, a neighborhood amusement park. Nunley’s featured, among other rides, an ornate 1912 carousel. The tree stand outside the tall, white pavilion was like the one in your hometown: white lights dangling from poles, a fire roaring in a metal drum to keep the proprietor and customers warm, and what seemed like hundreds of trees to choose from.

After making their selection, the McKee kids would then carry the tree home together, singing Christmas carols as they walked. I happened to be on the front porch that one year as they arrived with it as the snow fell. They were laughing and cutting up as they came up the path.

Following them into the house, the mood was festive. Mrs. McKee had been awaiting their arrival. Mr. McKee had died years earlier, a tragic blow they had managed to weather, something they attributed to God’s grace. There was a fire roaring in the fireplace, and fresh cookies straight out of the oven.

As the youngest of five children, I was no stranger to large and happy families, but the scene has stuck with me my whole life. There was joy in that room, delight drawn from love and family and a shared sense of brothers and sisters being committed to one another. They weren’t just siblings, but also friends.

The population bust is the existential threat facing the world, and especially America. Most people are ignoring it altogether, and if it is mentioned, it’s often framed in cold, sterile, sociological terms and statistics. We read about fertility and replacement rates. We hear about demographics and economics.

All of these layers are important components of the issue. They’re pieces of a complex puzzle.

But it’s a huge miss if we don’t also stress and highlight the sheer fun and joy of big families.

All too often we hear about the high financial costs of raising children. We’re browbeaten with the supposed mental and emotional strains kids put on moms and dads.

Instead, as Christians, we should be focusing on images like the McKee’s living room on Christmas Eve. We should be talking about a house bursting with family on Thanksgiving, siblings arguing over who’s going to sit at the children’s table.

Then there are the summer camping trips, the backyard barbeque on the Fourth of July, touch football games, and taking up an entire pew at church. There are birthdays and anniversaries. Then there are the ordinary days where nothing exciting might seem to happen – but where bonds are established, and friendships are forged.

Big families teach patience – like having to wait your turn to use the bathroom. They train you to share what you have and be grateful for what you receive. Large families remind you the world doesn’t revolve around you and your whims. You learn how to compromise and how to forgive.

With a large family, you almost always have someone to play with when you’re young – and someone to confide in when you grow up. They bless you with memories that will last a lifetime – and hopefully sow the seed that you’ll want to pray for a big family when it’s time to have your own.

As Christians, we should be the most vocal and most effective promoters of God’s gift of marriage and children – and we do that by modeling the blessings of a happy and fun family.

Image credit: RKO Radio Pictures