Though it often gets lost, the meaning of Christmas is about the only thing that doesn’t change.
People my age know that Christmas has stages of change. I’m not talking about how Christmas isn’t like it used to be for all the nostalgic reasons or even for the increased emphasis on consumerism and I’m not qualified to talk about the changes brought by loss.
I’m thinking about the changes felt by people whose children are grown and have no children, or live too far away to be a physical presence in their homes.
I am one of the lucky ones. Having gone through the stages of having little children at Christmas and having grown children home at Christmas, I now have little children again; grandchildren who think my house is their house, too.
That puts the “mas” (i.e. mess ha ha) back in Christmas. That also puts the unexpected back in Christmas. Like me almost eating the Baby Jesus and now not being sure if He will make it in time for His birthday. Figuratively speaking.
When Daughter #1 was three or four I bought a nice nativity scene with a wooden stable and unbreakable figures. She learnt the story of Christmas while playing with them. Eventually I started setting up the empty stable on the first Sunday in Advent, with the figures a yard or so away and every morning she would move them a little bit closer to the stable. I kept the Baby in the manager hidden and it appeared after she went to bed on Christmas Eve.
When Daughter #2 was big enough they spent many a happy hour “playing Christmas” with all the figures discussing their journeys, even the cows and sheep.
Eventually they stopped playing with the nativity scene and for many years it spent each Christmas with its dignity intact.
And now I have another generation of children putting some action into the tableau.
Six-year-old Reed understands it and its play value isn’t the same as it was for his mother and aunt (more changes).
Grandson Miles is 18 months and all he knows about the nativity scene is that he can reach it if he stretches a bit and there are little figures on it that look like they’d be fun to pick up and deposit somewhere else.
I don’t discourage this; it’s the reason for the unbreakable figures.
So there might be a wise man on my window sill or a shepherd in my shoe or a cow under the couch.
Which is why the Baby in the manger is missing.
There was my littlest darling last week, having the usual nutritious supper he gets when he eats at my house; chicken strips and fries. (In my defence he usually has fruit before supper). When he was finished I slid his chair back to the corner. Later, when I was carrying the tray from the now dimly lit room, I spied a couple of bits of chicken left over and popped one into my mouth. It was tasty so I reached for another one. The texture of the second one immediately told me it was not a piece of chicken so it didn’t actually reach my mouth and I avoided being known as the woman who chocked to death on the Baby Jesus.
I set the little breaded chicken coloured figurine down and continued to the kitchen. I must have put it somewhere in reach of little fingers because it has not been seen since. I was looking in a few more places the other day when Janine was here and she suggested I could find it by following a star. Ha ha. That is about as helpful as Janine gets.
People in my Christmas boots have the best of both worlds, missing mangers and all. We get the joy of having the children here and then they go to their real house.
We take a few minutes to put every back to rights and enjoy the solitude because we know they’ll be back soon.
A person is very blessed to have the stages of Christmas come full cycle.
Peace and happiness to you and yours.
Janice Wells lives in St. John’s. She can be reached at [email protected]. (or [email protected].)
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