Thoughts on "sparklies" from my daughter

I can’t believe it’s already Christmas!  

I know lots of year-end messages begin that way, but call it post-Covid life or the speeding up of time as we age—I’m not sure, but this year seemed to pass in a blink.   

Some of you know I’m in the process of adoption. I haven’t talked about my daughter much publicly, but my 2 ½ year old and I have been together since the beginning.   

While crazy and hectic and stressful, life with her is just better—and especially at this age, it’s so much more fun. Even the most mundane of things seem to take on a new sparkle through the eyes of a two-year-old—and there is no time this is truer than during Christmas. 

When I was a kid, Christmas had that intoxicating magic and wonder—a feeling that began to fade somewhere along the way. In adulthood, we often strive (unsuccessfully, year after year) to experience that special feeling again—and then you have kids, and bam! That feeling is back as you live the season through their awe-filled eyes.  

Last year was fun, but this year we are all in. The music, the nativity set, Santa, Christmas cookies, ceramic Christmas villages, holiday print dresses…she is HERE for all of it. But the thing that gets her attention most is the lights. Our Christmas tree, the neighbors’ yards (hopefully by the time you read this, ours too), the string lights wrapped around her playhouse—she’s enamored with all them.  She’s been calling them “sparklies,” and whenever we are in the car at night, she calls out every decorated yard she sees. “Look Mom, there’s sparklies! And another one! And look, another sparklie!”

I know, I can’t handle the cuteness.

But beyond being adorable, it’s made me think a lot about light as well. Some of you were able to join us for our annual year-end event in Dallas last month where our theme was “Light the Path”—an image we chose to illustrate how we hope our organization, as a tool in God’s hand, is coming alongside our girls and their families on a journey often filled with darkness, illuminating hope in seemingly hopeless situations.

Leading up to and since the event, it seems like I am noticing light everywhere, both thematic and literal—from strings of lights adorning every street corner to Christ coming as the “Light of the World.”  

In a beautiful coincidence, my toddler’s current song of the moment (the song that must be on repeat at all times, as I’m sure all of you who are parents understand) is “This Little Light of Mine.”  The version we listen to (and, of course, the ONLY version we can play) has a bridge that chants:

“I will stomp my feet, and I will clap my hands and shout; 

I will run around, I’ll jump off the ground and shout – SHOUT.”

This is her favorite part by far. Now, every time we walk out the front door—whether to say goodbye to a visitor, check the mail, or get in the car for preschool—she feels the freedom to abandon her inside voice to sing this part of the song at full volume. She lifts her not-so-little voice and yells, "Shout!" from our stoop, for the whole neighborhood to hear. 

It probably seems so random to our neighbors and friends, but I realized the other day that I bet that song, and that bridge, in particular, is probably playing on a constant loop inside her head. Like a shaken pop bottle ready to explode, she can’t wait to let it out—to shout out the excitement her little heart is experiencing.  And I thought, wow. What an appropriate response to this (actually not little) light of mine. 

This Christmas, I’m thinking about my own response to the light. I want my heart to be brought to a place that wants to shout; that wants to stomp my feet and clap my hands in joyous celebration of the light Christ brings, not just on Christmas Day, but on normal days too.  

In the work we do with our girls, coming from and living in some of the darkest situations imaginable, I’ve watched with my own eyes how a hope-giving, life-giving light brings transformation. And in those moments, an emphatic exclamation of joy absolutely seems like the most appropriate response. 

And the best part is that the hope His light brings in this life pales in comparison to what it will look like, what it will feel like, in the next. That gaze I see in my little girl’s eyes showing an almost-euphoric wonder and excitement? I think that’s a glimpse—just a little glimpse of what awaits us someday and a reminder that we can experience some of it on this side of glory as well. And that brings a joy that makes me want to shout and clap my hands. 

So for all of you that have walked alongside us here at The Kukhoma Project this year, I pray that Joy of the Lord for you and your family, especially in this season. We’ve watched God use our day-to-day efforts to bring His light into dark places in Zambia, in Lusaka, in our communities, and in the individual lives and hearts of our girls and families this year. 

And in so many different and impactful ways, you have been a part of that work. Today and always, we are so grateful.  

Thank you, and may your Christmas be merry, bright, and filled with light. 

Amanda