My lesson

What I pictured in buying the Playmobil Nativity scene was a nice way to perpetuate the true meaning of Christmas.  “Why dearest mommy, I see the baby Jesus and I am filled with the glory of his birth,” Ethan would say after opening the box.  We would sit down together and talk about who the figures were and what lead them to be together on that very special day.  I would gaze upon my own angels as they shared the beauty of the birth of our savior.  Magical.

What I got was much different.  “Stop tearing off Joseph’s head.”  “Do not put that Shepard down your pants.”  “That is not a girl with a tea kettle, it is the Wise-man with Frankincense .”  These were the phrases that erupted from my mouth.  Arwen was stealing Mary, Ethan was hording the manger, I’m pretty sure the dog was chewing on one of the Wise-man’s staffs.  “Put down Jesus! Step away from Jesus! You do not deserve to have Jesus,” I finally muttered.  Oh there was gazing alright.  Gazing in horror. Opening that box was about as magical as as a town plundering.

Chaos did eventually calm, as it always does.  And, after a bit of lecture and a sprinkling of discipline our nativity has now reached a level of peace.  Everyone has remained clothed with heads for some days now.

The crazy thing is, what started as an attempt to teach… actually taught more than intended.

Seeing them made me think… I am guilty of often fumbling with my FAITH.  Ignoring the proper care that IT deserves.  Often I do not deserve Jesus either.  But, after a bit of self lecture and a sprinkling of disciplined bible study I manage to reach a level of peace too.

We all have lessons to learn.  Some may be to not put the angel’s halo in your mouth… mine was to respect my faith.

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