Emmanuel

Preparing the way of the Lord: During the first week of Advent, while digging through boxes of decorations, I came across a small nativity scene that one of the kids received as a gift a year ago. It’s a cute set, appropriate for a child, and complete with all of the main characters and a host of animals. I set up the scene in my daughter Kelsey’s room; from the moment she notices it she takes delight in using the pieces to enact the story.

Away went the manger: A few days later my oldest son, Phillip, provoked by something Kelsey said and trying to get her into trouble, drops a bombshell. “Have you been in Kelsey’s room lately? Did you notice that she lost the baby Jesus?”

We turn to Kelsey. Her silence tells the story.

“What happened?”

“Well, I was playing with it, and I dropped baby Jesus, and I couldn’t find him.”

Despite my annoyance, we assure the kids that we’ll find the baby.

After a half hour of searching everywhere we could imagine in her small room, I am less convinced. We can’t find the baby. “Tomorrow I want all of you to look again,” I order the children.

The cattle are lowing: A week later, still no Jesus, despite repeated searches and interrogations.  As I pass my daughter’s room I observe Mary and Joseph on bended knee, silently worshiping an absent savior. To compensate for the horrible emptiness, Kelsey has moved the animals to center stage. The magi, piously kneeling with hands clasped, look with adoration at livestock. Holy cow.

The loss of the baby has done little to diminish Kelsey’s infatuation with the set, but each day I get more frustrated. How can something drop and then not be there?

What child is this? Somehow, we get through Christmas without the physical presence of the baby Jesus. A few days later, Kelsey and I roam the mall, seeking post-holiday bargains. In a china shop I spot him: an orphaned baby Jesus, asleep on the hay, with no family or shepherds to guard him. Although by comparison he is huge for our baby-less set, I figure it’s better than honoring the friendly beasts. He’s not marked with a price; the clerk shrugs and suggests $2. Kelsey and I take the foundling home. Our little family is again complete, although the baby would be more than an armful for the diminutive mother, rather like the cartoon mice who adopt and raise a kitten as their son.

Joy to the world: On a blizzardy February Saturday long after I had put away the decorations, Kelsey and I are cleaning her room. While rearranging the books on her shelf, I have difficulty getting them to line up. I yank one out and there, wedged between its pages, is the little Lord Jesus, completely unconcerned that he has missed his own birthday. After a proper amount of rejoicing over the lost lamb, he is tucked away with his family and his oversized stepbrother, ready for Christmas 1999.

Lessons and carols: This Christmas, I will try not to sweat the small stuff. I’ll try not to criticize how others celebrate the birthday of Jesus. I will remember that Jesus is always near, whether I can see him or not. And while the isolated and lonely will always be welcome in my home, I won’t waste my time looking for Jesus in the mall. I’ll look instead into the face of a child and the pages of a Book.