Way back then, I was setting up the Nativity scene before Christmas. Since there would be “little ones” in the house for Christmas, I chose to put the Nativity scene on the mantle. We had a corner fireplace made of brick, including the mantle.
As I thought about where it came from, unwrapping each figurine and placing it “just so” in the manger or surrounds, I dropped the figurine I was unwrapping at the moment. It bounced with a sickening “ping” on the brick hearth and then on to the carpet.
I gasped and tears welled up in my eyes. My mother hadn’t been gone all that long and I was devastated to have broken something so special that she had given me. I closed my eyes and decided that, no matter how broken it was, I would glue it back together and continue to use it.
It’s now been forty-one Christmases ago that my mother gave me the Nativity scene. She bought it for me at a little gift shop here in Podunk. It was, and still is, a link to my mother and our family traditions. I have never seen another Nativity like mine: pure white ceramic figurines made by Hummel. They came with a simplistic manger and a gold tin star.
Even if there were readily available replacements, it just wouldn’t be the same.
Slowly, I bent down and picked up the fallen figurine. It was the Virgin Mary. My tears made it hard to see, so I felt her outstretched hand with my fingers: still there. I felt the base: still complete. I ran my hand over all her surfaces: no chips, nothing missing.
Full of hope, and with my tears dried, I looked at her under a very strong light. Not even a crack, anywhere. I was utterly dumbfounded. How could a small ceramic figurine, with outstretched hand, fall so far, hit so hard and not be broken?
Christmas miracles come in all sizes and shapes, I guess….
Cali
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