Over the years, Santa has brought me some mighty fine presents, including hand-crafted French chocolates, svelte sweaters and elegantly exotic earrings — but one gift, small and unassuming, stands out.
You see, decades ago, Jef had lovingly crafted a simple stable from wood scraps, but he never got around to carving the figures.
So every Christmas when we hauled our holiday paraphernalia up from the basement, we lamented the absence of the Virgin Mary, St. Joseph, and of course, the Christ Child.
We were overjoyed when my aunt, a few years ago, gave us her cherished figure of the Baby Jesus nestled in a manger. This chubby fellow — made in Italy — has a winsome smile and arms outstretched as if he’s longing for an embrace.
This will be my first Christmas without my husband, and frankly, my heart isn’t in sending cards, decorating cookies and trimming a tree.
Still, as the big day draws nearer, I find myself cradling this baby in my hand — and reflecting upon the miracle he evokes.
In “A Child at Christmas,” British author Caryll Houselander wrote, “The Lord of the universe is wrapped in baby clothes, and the angels of God attend him in a manger.”
I’ve always loved the scene in Scripture where Christ proclaims that the kingdom of heaven belongs to little children.
Maybe the crowd was surprised he didn’t promise paradise to the mighty and strong, but rather to the meek, the trusting and the humble.
Houselander added, “The Architect of Love has built the door into heaven so low that no one but a small child can pass through it, unless, to get down to a child’s little height, they go in on their knees.”
The infant nestled within our stable evokes a poignant poem by British poet Christina Rossetti: “Love came down at Christmas, Love all lovely, Love Divine, Love was born at Christmas, Star and Angels gave the sign.”
As a child, I sometimes pictured God as an angry old man in the sky, hurling darts at me. Eventually I banished that dark image by envisioning the Lord as innocent and kind.
And I wondered if “Love Divine” came to Earth as a baby because it’s so hard to resist a child.
How clearly I recall that day long ago when my husband and I said goodbye to our Florida relatives, after spending a splendid Christmas with them.
My aunt hugged and kissed us at the door and then, as we were climbing into the car, called out: “Take good care of the Baby Jesus!”
We laughed, but when we arrived home, we placed the figure tenderly in the rough hewn stable. Back then, I had no inkling he would one day comfort me in my solitude.
How small, how simple and yet how enduring is the divine baby with arms outstretched in love — a gift evoking the true heart of Christianity. Merry Christmas, my dear readers!
