It's been a busy several weeks with our final RV trip, a trip to Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving and the subsequent preparations for Christmas. I've had so little time to write. However, I decided to share with you one recent Christmas memory. It is from Christmas 2012 when we went to the Christmas Eve service with our daughter's family in Iowa. The children presented their program as we looked on with delight, and a good bit of concealed, but adoring laughter. It is a very fond memory for me, and since we are in the midst of grand adult Christmas cantatas, school holiday programs, and children's church pageants, I wanted to share this with you. I wish all grandparents that are able to see their grandchildren perform, and parents who want everything to go perfectly for their young ones revel in the moment when the halo fails to sit where it belongs, and the star-struck ones soldier on holding fast to their 'pink kitty'. For the story of the Nativity doesn't celebrate the perfection in our lives. It celebrates the night when nothing was going right for Mary and Joseph, but in the end our lives were made perfect. Merry Christmas.
The Littlest Angel; a Christmas Story
The children's choir walked up the center aisle of the church, tallest ones leading, followed by the smaller ones. The procession stopped at the front of the church, off to the side of the manger scene. Moms, dads and grandparents strained to see their little ones as they prepared to sing the songs that went with the Christmas pageant. The voluminous old white choir gowns that passed for angel costumes had seen many pageants over the years.
The littlest angel stood in the front row, her head just shoulder height to the other 'angels' in the choir. Her long locks draped over the shoulder of her white angel gown that was several sizes too big and reached nearly to her shoes. Her brother, a full head and shoulder taller than her, stood on one side, while the older children stood around them. Tinsel garland halos encircled their heads.
A chorus of young voices rang clear as they sang the first song. "O come all ye faithful..." sang her brother earnestly. His head bobbed up and down as he emphasized each syllable. And with each syllable, his halo dipped further and further across his brow. He reached up to steady it and push it back in place.
The littlest angel sang not a word, but looked silently out at the congregation clutching her old pink kitty, the one concession her mother made as she talked her into joining the other children in the angel choir. Her little fist wrapped around it's neck clutching it to her. 'Meow' would not have lived long had he had air in his lungs instead of stuffing. Not with that grip.
The next song began. She moved not a muscle, except her eyes, which shifted from left to right searching out anyone who would come rescue her. As her eyes moved back and forth they reminded her mother of the eyes on the black and white cat clock she'd seen in cartoons. In the congregation, her grandparents sat grinning proudly from ear to ear as they watched their adorable grandchildren.
The littlest angel looked down at the floor. Her halo slipped over her face and dropped to the ground. Only her head moved as she looked back up. A boy sitting on the step in front of her picked up the garland and passed it to her brother. Matter-of-factly, and oblivious of the people looking on, he dutifully took the garland, turned to his sister and began to arrange it on her head. The billowing sleeve of his robe draped over her face as he patted it into place.
In the congregation, the grandparents sat hiding their laughter as they watched the two, coping with the dilemma of costumes, songs, and propriety, but their shaking shoulders gave them away.
The third song began. The halo slipped down. The littlest angel did not move. The older brother picked it up and turned to his sister. As the rest of the choir sang, they faced each other, she looking up at him trusting him to fix everything. He shaped the garland, arranged it on her head, studied his work, adjusted the halo, and patted it into place, again. Pink kitty dangled limply at her side, but as long as he was there, and her brother took care of her, she could make it through the show.
And the grandparents wiped their eyes, stilled their shoulders, and beamed at their grandchildren. For what is a Christmas pageant without a littlest angel, and her big brother to look after her.
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