I almost did not go. It was one of those cold, drippy evenings when racing out the house, leaving soup bowls heaped on the counter, seemed to visually represent how I was feeling: disheveled and rushed.

I had hurried to get dinner together in the first place and pressed the kids to get their homework finished so we could get ourselves out the door on time. I felt like the ringmaster or worse, the taskmaster.

A small but powerful voice inside me suggested, If you stay home you can pick up everything and maybe even get some gifts wrapped. Let Daddy and the kids bond! Meanwhile, you can think your own thoughts for a few minutes. You deserve it!

Faith-filled reasoning won out, this time, for I know that modeling is always the best teacher. I had set our plans in motion and I needed to follow through. Seize the moment! The other voice in my head urged me. You’ll benefit in ways you cannot see at the moment!

So off we went to join a gathering of other families. The plan was to sing well-known carols and hand out plates of homemade Christmas cookies. We would publicly honor Christ’s birth. We would spread a little Christmas cheer and pass a fun, old tradition on to our children.

I was quickly reminded, however, that things — they be a-changin’.

Not only did some of our children experience caroling for the first time, but so did a whole lot of our neighbors, it seems. And they had no earthly idea how to react. Or what to say. Or what to do with a bunch of people standing at edge of their porches, singing church songs.

“First and foremost,” we prompted the kids before heading out into the chilly night air, “You must be polite. That means no banging on people’s doors or running around or screaming, even though this is all pretty exciting stuff.” The entire bunch of eager little faces nodded with understanding.

Those who preferred could hang back to provide a vocal background to the event. It seemed like an easy, workable plan and we assumed that people — especially the older generation — would enjoy seeing the kids. Perhaps they would join in the singing.

But ten short minutes into the activity the pauses between songs filled with nervous giggles, shrugs and polite expressions of utter astonishment as we watched residents, with few exceptions, peek tentatively through blinds and curtains, only to quickly shut off house lights to discourage any interaction.

Brave souls who opened their doors appeared, well, uncomfortable as they tentatively peeked from behind their front doors. Some smiled briefly before hurrying to close the door as we sang. Others responded with hesitation about the cookies, asking how much they cost, who was fundraising, and why. A few refused the cookies altogether. Adult carolers stepped forward to explain that the decorated plates were just treats, simply small gifts. Free for the taking. No strings and safe to consume, for that matter.

My own mind raced as I watched in fascination and it occurred to me that we were seeing much more than a long-standing tradition gasp its final breath. It seems that a growing number of us are afraid to interact with strangers because we no longer know the rules. When we isolate ourselves we are unavailable to receive a spontaneous gift. To meet the giver. To hear the melody. To taste the sweetness that might stir something deep inside. Or to take a personal risk.

So what motivates people to bake cookies for perfect strangers and go sing ancient songs about God? It’s really so easy. We accepted God’s gift. We did not deserve it and not one of us could possibly earn it. We simply said yes to Jesus. In doing so we depend on this amazing gift of eternal life and freedom — and occasionally courage — to motivate us to love as best we can, in return.

I am so glad we went. God has placed in our hearts a song to sing and sweetness to share.

Dishes can always wait.