It was in the heaving of the orange totes from the vacuum cleaner closet, the ones marked for Halloween but stuffed instead with pilgrims and cornucopias, that this guy gave up on the costume hunt and pleaded to be able to pull out the tote that had the Nativity in it.
Only he couldn’t spit the word out. Couldn’t quite remember what it was. So he formed the roof with his hands and charaded the baby Jesus in his arms until I said, “you mean the Nativity?”
“Nativity.” He let the words melt across his lips. Then his lips parted and his teeth showed. All his teeth.
“It’s just…” he began. “It’s just that it blesses me so much!”
We are behind, I suppose, in our Christmas decorating. No tree yet. No lights strung. No Christmas totes emptied across the living room.
But we have popsicle sticks–Had popsicle sticks. The fat and skinny kind. And the kid bent on having a Nativity before his eyes found a glue gun and made his own.
Only it rested a day until he fiddled some more and added an upstairs. And then a popsicle trough. And then a clothespin Jesus which he labeled “God” in ball point pen.
Which…may be where the blessing of Christmas really is. Realizing that Jesus is God. And that he loves us.
He loves us.
Always. And Forever.