By ALICIA WOODWARD, guest columnist
A simple nativity scene is the only holiday decoration I put out this year. It’s a drastic departure from the years I obsessively decorated every corner of our home. My dad once joked, “Don’t stand still, or she’ll tie a red bow on your butt.”
In the past, our nativity scene fought for space among all the snowmen, Santas, elves and reindeer I pulled from several plastic tubs of decorations. As I thoughtfully arranged the nativity scene on our fireplace mantle this week, my mind wandered back to a memory I had all but forgotten.
It was the day after Thanksgiving, and the Jaycees were putting up Christmas decorations in town as they did every year on this day. I looked out the passenger window of my dad’s car with a flutter of holiday anticipation as we drove down Main Street.
On every light post was a familiar friend I hadn’t seen for a whole year. Against the faded gray afternoon sky, their colorful lights twinkled, but for a few bulbs that hadn’t worked for years. I greeted each one as we drove past: Santa, candy cane, angel, tree, Santa, candy cane, angel, tree. The angel was my favorite.
I was 10 now, old enough to be part of the live outdoor nativity scene held each year at the Central Church of Christ. It was a staple of Christmastime for as long as I could remember. I was scheduled to play an angel for two nights in December. We passed by our church where the makeshift barn was being built.
In just a couple of weeks, I would stand on 10th Street dressed as an angel next to a real live donkey and sheep. (I was old enough to know baby Jesus was a doll wrapped in blankets lying in a manger.) I shivered with excitement and the thought of standing in the cold from 5 to 8 o’clock. I wondered if I could wear long underwear with my costume and if I’d get to pet the barn animals.
December flew by in a flurry, and it was suddenly the day of my participation in the live nativity scene. My mom took me to the church to pick up my angel costume after school. It was cold and raining as we ran inside.
“We’re in for some very nasty weather,” the preacher’s wife said. Looking at me sympathetically she said, “We’ve decided to cancel the nativity tonight.” By morning, freezing rain coated every sidewalk, tree limb and phone line with a layer of sparkling glass. As rarely happened, school was cancelled for two days. I never did get to be part of the nativity scene.
I emerged from my childhood memory as if from a dream. My hand tightly held the angel from our nativity scene. In the absence of all the distracting tinsel and trinkets, my mind was free to conjure up pure memories, magic and meaning of the season.
For just a moment I was, at last, dressed as an angel standing on 10th Street next to Mary and Joseph, the wise men, a shepherd boy, a donkey and a sheep in celebration of the beauty and wonder of a baby born in a manger on Christmas Day.
