The Nativity Set by Carol Harrison

                                                              

I hurried into the department store, glad to be out of the bitterly cold December weather. Just inside the store I stopped at a display of nativity sets. Bins of individual figurines sat beside the shelves holding the complete sets. My Christmas shopping list quickly disappeared from my mind as I stared longingly at the display.

I had always wanted to have a nativity set as part of my Christmas decorations. Yet years of holidays had come and gone and owning my own set remained nothing more than a desire. I always told myself that someday I would get one. I just didn't know when. Usually all the sets I saw and liked were beyond my budget. The most beautiful ones were delicate and breakable which would have been impractical in a house with children.

But the prices attached to these bins were affordable. My hopes soared as I began sorting through the containers of pretty yet unbreakable pieces. I started wondering if I could find all the figures needed to make up a complete nativity set. Excitedly I picked up Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus. Next I pulled out a few different shepherds and three unique wise men. Then I found a donkey, sheep and even camels. Finally I discovered an angel. I put them all into my shopping cart and began searching the shelves for a stable but all of them were part of full sets. Undaunted I completed the rest of my shopping and purchased all the affordable figures. I could keep looking for an inexpensive stable or get someone to nail a few rough boards together to represent one.

Eagerly I headed home with all my Christmas surprises and treasures. Later that afternoon I gathered the children around the Christmas tree and began to tell them about Mary, Joseph and Baby Jesus while I placed them under the tree. Then I told them about the shepherds on the hillside and the choir of angels who announced the birth of the Christ child. I added the shepherds and a few sheep to my display while I told how they eagerly hurried to Bethlehem to see this amazing event for themselves. I stood the angel close by, as if watching protectively everyone surrounding the manger. I told them about the wise men who came from the East to worship the new born King and added three figures along with their camels. Finally I placed the donkey and cow behind the holy family to complete the scene. My youngest watched every move.

As I finished telling the story my three older children scattered to activities that more fully captured their interest. I headed to the kitchen to make supper but glanced back to admire my new, long waited for nativity set. I saw my two-year old, special needs daughter lying on her tummy staring intently at the scene. I continued to watch quietly for a couple minutes. Soon her little hand reached out and began to rearrange each piece. Baby Jesus remained in the centre but she moved Mary and Joseph even closer. Then she moved the shepherds, sheep, wise men and camels until all were crowded around the manger holding the baby. Finally she turned them until all were gazing in adoration at Jesus. Completing her task she got up, noticed me and smiled before coming to take my hand and pull me toward the Christmas tree. She possessed an almost negligible vocabulary but no words were needed to let me know how important this set already was to her. I realized she understood the Christmas story she listened to repeatedly at Sunday school and at home.

Each day, until we put the decorations away after New Year’s, she spent time lying in front of the Christmas tree looking at or rearranging the pieces. Baby Jesus always remained the central figure. I enjoyed watching this often repeated task and the huge smiles that always accompanied it. Several more years disappeared before I found a little, rough wooden stable to add to the scene but that didn't seem to matter to her. All she needed to act out the Bible story of Christmas were the figures themselves.

The years passed and each year my youngest daughter eagerly waited for the Christmas decorations to fill the house. She thoroughly loved this holiday season. Smiles wreathed her face especially when the nativity set made its appearance under the tree. It became her self-appointed job to arrange it until she was satisfied that all eyes were on the baby in the manger. She also continued to sit and listen to the Christmas story from the gospel of Luke as many times as someone would read it to her.

Tasks that we often take for granted proved difficult for her to learn to do. By the time she turned ten she had finally learned to read and received a children's Bible as her Christmas gift. As soon as she opened it she brought it to me so I could show her where to find the Christmas story. Over and over she read the words all by herself. This brought her so much pleasure and filled my eyes with tears of joy.

My children grew up and the oldest three married. Our family continued to expand with the addition of grandchildren. It had become our family tradition for my youngest daughter to arrange the nativity set under the tree each Christmas, a chore she relished. If anyone moved it around she'd go over and gently replace all the figures to her liking. One year as I took out the all the decorations, I wondered if the time had come to upgrade the nativity set to a fancier one. While we decorated the house I voiced my thoughts only to quickly be met with total rejection by my youngest daughter.

“A new fancy one will be breakable. How will all the nieces and nephews play out the Christmas story? They have to be able to play with it and move them around. You have to keep this set. It has to go under the tree.” she said with a worried look on her face.

I realized the intensity of her desire for my grandchildren to have the opportunity to enjoy the simple pleasures she had experienced year after year and I gave in. The original set stayed.

Over the years I have added other decorations that depict the Christmas story from the Bible. Yet none of them holds the special place in her heart that my original purchase does. This first visual representation, which made the story come alive for her, needs to remain part of our family tradition. My desire for a nativity set had a wonderful ripple effect within my family, but mostly with my youngest, which continues to surprise and amaze me.

Carol Harrison loves the Christmas season. This story originally appeared in Chicken Soup for the Soul, Tales of Christmas 2011. The picture is one she took of this nativity set which still sits under their tree each year even though the grandchildren are mostly all adults.

A Blue Christmas Story by Sharon Heagy

 

(I have been asked to supply a 'Blue Christmas Story' for an upcoming interdenominational service. What follows is the result. Constructive feedback welcome. Details at the end.)

The world faded away that day and became a foggy jumble of indiscernible voices and blurred vision. People walked around me in the days and hours after the accident but I couldn't tell you who was there or what they said. The odd little snippet would float by my brain like a clip from a movie but I was unable to discern if it was real and or fantasy. 

The exhaustion consumed me as a dark cloak of heaviness descended upon me, making it hard to even put one foot in front of the other. Slowly the house emptied of the shadowy figures of fellow human beings until there was only deafening silence and my own roaring thoughts of confusion. The nights I did sleep I'd awaken thinking it was all a dream. But it was a nightmare that greeted me instead.

Dragging myself through the motions of some semblance of daily routine, I'd brush my teeth and run a comb through the tangled mat of hair on my head and try to have something to eat. Tea and toast, tea and toast. Often I'd just go back to bed and try to remember to breathe.

Friends and family offered well-meaning advice with none of it making sense to my coddled brain. My face forgot how to smile, my spirit could not recall how to laugh, or to live and I didn't care because, really, what was the point without you.

I prayed and cried out to God. I railed and screamed and sobbed. Why, why, why? The word fell like a continuous waterfall from my lips but there was no answer. 

And now it is Christmas, a season I used to embrace but this year I have no energy to celebrate, or decorate....or....anything.

My mind drifts to Christmases past. Feasts with family, beautiful music filling our house, carols sung, candlelight services at church. Wait. What was that? Something stirs inside me briefly. The flicker of a warm glow in the centre of my being and then it's gone again. Snuffed out.

A further journey into the past leads me to ponder that first Christmas. The difficulty for a woman nine months pregnant to travel the 90 miles from Nazareth to the small town of Bethlehem. Did she walk? The Bible doesn't mention her riding on a donkey but it was possible. What an arduous journey either way. And once they arrive there is no place for them to stay. No room in the Inn and Mary is in labour. There's shelter where the animals are kept. A place filled with the mixed odours of hay and straw and dung and the animals too. But it's time for the delivery and the birth of the One sent to deliver us. A holy babe, laid in a manger. I can feel the beat of my own heart as I consider the magnitude of this moment and close my eyes.

As they flutter open again my eyes are drawn to a newsletter published by the town. It came with yesterday's mail. I flip through, absently scanning the pages until I freeze focus on an advert for an evening church service at the local church. A candlelight Christmas service, 7 p.m. Do I have the courage to go? Maybe. Nobody knows me in that congregation and the lights will be dim. I can slip into the back if I arrive just before the service starts, and that is what I do. 

There's a spot right on the end of the pew near the aisle, in case I need to escape, and I slip in. It isn't until the service starts that I realize the back row is reserved for parents with young children. A practical solution for those who may need to leave for a time to quiet an upset or hungry child. Or to take their kids on what seems to be rotating bathroom breaks. 

Beside me sits a young, sandy haired boy about 4 years of age. His dark eyes are alive with adventure and he's got the cheeks of a cherub. His warm smile is infectious and I smile back at him, almost automatically. He is very well behaved and understands what's expected of him. As the service begins I can feel his eyes on me from time to time and it makes me shift uncomfortably in my seat. Those big brown eyes, so honest, uninhibited and full of life are such a contrast to my own downcast gaze. My peripheral vision catches a glimpse of him as the service continues.

After the Christmas story is read from the scriptures, candles are handed out to each person there, young and old alike. A tall, well dressed man lights his own candle from the large candle on the altar, the Christ candle. He goes to the first row and lights the candle of another who turns and now lights the candle of her neighbour. The room begins to glow softly and then more brightly as each shares their flame with another. It will take a minute to get to our row at the back. 

The boy is staring at me now and I meet his gaze. It's like he is peering into the very depths of my soul. He kneels on the pew and then pulls himself up to his feet and stands beside me. Close. Laying his head on my shoulder he wraps his chubby arms around my neck and whispers into my ear, "Everyone needs love." He is in no hurry to let go and snuggles in. With tears brimming in my eyes, I find myself hugging him back with thanksgiving and love. My tears are different than my tears of grief. They are a gift. A gift given by a 4 year old boy, the spark to live, to step out into the faded world and find the colours once more. 

As the candle comes round, he oh so carefully lights my candle with his and for a moment we bask in the hope that came to the world on that very first Christmas night. Hope for life beyond loss, salve for the pain and the courage to live again. All delivered this night by the Christ child and one small boy who let his light shine.

Sharon Heagy writes from the wonderful town of Rockglen, Saskatchewan where she lives with her husband, a big dog and furry cats. Their kids have flown the coop and made lives for themselves and their families, as it should be. She writes to bring hope and humour to a world that needs both. She can be reached @ sharonheagy@gmail.com 

Thanks for taking the time to visit today.

God’s Provision Through the Storm: A Christmas We Won’t Forget by Dana-Lyn Phillips

 

Please welcome Dana-Lyn Phillips as she joins us once again as our Guest Blogger.

We didn’t have much money when I was growing up. Although we never did without, there wasn’t a lot of extra for vacations. One year we decided to forgo Christmas presents and drive to Disney World for Christmas day.

We began the trek from Canada to Orlando on December 22, 1989. That same day, the eastern states got hit with a blizzard that impacted our entire route to Florida. Southern states that never see snow were not equipped to handle it. Driving became treacherous and hotels filled quickly with stranded travelers.

We made it to Georgia but at the hotel we, like Mary and Joseph, were told that there was no room at the Inn. In fact, we were advised to turn around and head back in the direction we came from because there were no available rooms any further south.

We reluctantly pulled back onto the highway, praying we would reach the destination safely, and there would still be available lodging. We thankfully got the last room in the area. It was a motel end unit, on the second floor, that had its carpet cleaned that day leaving it soaking wet and frozen under our feet.

Exhausted and anxious we crawled into bed fully clothed in an effort to stay warm. We contemplated whether we should go on in the morning or turn for home.

As daybreak came, the storm raged on. We couldn’t stay in our frigid room, and travelers further south were not leaving their hotel rooms, so we made a decision to head home.

We reached West Virginia and found a hotel tucked up on a mountain. It wasn’t large but had a lobby with a stone fireplace and a restaurant that served the most amazing hot apple fritters.

Christmas Eve day the storm continued so we decided to stay through Christmas. The only hotel guests consisted of my family and a stranded family from California. We quickly became friends and spent our days around the fireplace. Hotel staff got to know us and brought us leftovers from their family Christmas dinners.

For the first time, there were no presents to open on Christmas morning. There was also no Disney World. What we did have though was God’s provision. God had provided safety as we traveled the roads, a warm place to stay, new friendships, a home cooked meal, the kindness of strangers, the beauty of His creation in the mountains, and memories to last a lifetime.

Scripture reminds us of the countless times God has provided for His people through land, food, shelter, children and protection but God’s most precious provision was Jesus. That’s what makes the Christmas season so special. We can remember and celebrate the birth of a baby born to a faithful teenager and arriving in the most humble of conditions. This baby is the Savior of the world. God provided Jesus to pay for your sins and mine. There’s no greater gift.

“He that spared not his own Son, but delivered Him up for us all,

how shall he not with him also freely give us all things.”

(Romans 8:32 KJV)

What I learned in 1989 is that Christmas is not about presents but about presence. The presence of God, the presence of family and the presence of strangers.

God is good to always give us the gifts we need - not necessarily the gifts we want. I’d like to encourage you this season that when it seems as though your whole plan may be falling apart, embrace it. It may just be the gift you didn’t know you needed.

Dana-Lyn is a wife, and mother to teenage boys as well as a 14 year old cava-poo named Hockley. She is passionate about encouraging Christian women in their faith and is stepping into her mid-life "calling" as a writer. Her happy place consists of a comfy chair, a great book, a hot cup of coffee and a chocolate…or three! You can read more of her work at https://plansfargreater.substack.com

Celebration in Betria by Steph Beth Nickel

Photo Credit: Steph Beth Nickel

The following is a short holiday story based on the characters in my yet-to-be published YA (young adult) novel, Rule and Reign. Think medieval, earth-like setting; political intrigue; and strained family relationships.

"Again." Definitely Under Officer Othar's favourite word.

The newly appointed Betrian Council Lead, Princess Unita Jumalik, sighed as she pulled her horse to a stop in front of the under officer. "Really? I've hit the target three times."

"Out of seven attempts. While trotting—slowly. While riding Tenacious. You'll need to do this at a full gallop on the back of a warhorse when the time comes."

"Let's hope that time never comes."

"Still . . . we must prepare for the eventuality nonetheless."

"I will never be ready to host the Arrival Day celebrations," Unita muttered as she led Tenacity away from the under officer.

Just as she got her mount up to speed and nocked her arrow, she caught a glimpse of Vice Chancellor Selton Wright's carriage approaching the castle. Miraculously, she let the arrow fly in time, but it hit the edge of the straw bale.

"Four out of eight?" she asked sheepishly when she came to a stop.

Othar shook his head and pointed to the stables. "We will work on your skills four sun-risings from now. First thing."

Unita made quick work of handing Tenacity off to the royal stable hand and taking the less-travelled route to her chambers. While she had instituted many changes since becoming council lead, wandering the castle in her late father's shirt and riding trousers wouldn't impress the guests who had begun to arrive. 

“Quickly, Princess,” Marra said, as the princess entered her chambers. “I’ve drawn a bath and laid out your gown. The welcome reception officially begins in less than two full measures.”

In three-quarters of a full measure, Unita was ready to greet her guests. “You will come with me, won’t you?”

Marra looked down and shook her head slightly. “But, Princess . . . Unita . . . It’s unheard of.”

Unita reached out and touched the young woman’s forearm. “Marra . . .”

She looked up.

“What is your title?”

Marra took a deep breath. “I am chief advisor to her highness.”

“And so, it’s settled. I have never hosted a gathering for the Betrian people, residents of the Borderlands, and Children of the Promise. No one has. I will most definitely need an advisor.”

A smile spread across Marra’s face. “I have no doubt that you will do an amazing job on your own, but I would be pleased to join you. And . . .”

“Yes?”

“I want to apologize again.” The advisor’s voice was just above a whisper. “For my role in your capture. For my cousin. For making assumptions about you.”

“Marra. My advisor. My friend. That is all behind us. And the Promise had a plan all along. And you were—and are—part of that plan.”

When the two entered the reception hall, the princess saw that the guests were clustered in segregated groups. It would take time to overcome their differences and to accept—and forgive—one another. She hoped the assigned seating at the sun-setting meal would spark pleasant conversation and perhaps, be the first step in breaking down some of the barriers.

Vice Chancellor Wright approached Unita and bowed. “Princess. Your Highness. Council Lead.” His eyes sparkled, and he grinned widely. “What exactly should I call you?” he added quietly.

Unita felt the faintest flush in her cheeks. “You may call me any of the three.” She glanced around, but no one seemed to be paying attention to their exchange. “And I will do my best not to refer to you as VC Selton.”

Just then, the double doors behind them opened. “His Majesty, King Hart Jumalik of Betria,” a steward announced.

 “Grandfather?” Unita exclaimed.

The king beamed at his granddaughter. “You didn’t think I would miss the princess’s greatest achievement to date? And the first Betrian celebration of the Arrival of the Promise?”

Steph Beth Nickel is the former Editor of FellowScript and the current InScribe Contest Coordinator. Steph is an editor and author and plans to relocate to Saskatchewan from Ontario to be close to family in 2026. (Headshot Photo Credit: Jaime Mellor Photography)