“Shhh…Come see the baby!” Finger to her lips, my mother softly called me to the wicker bassinet where my new baby brother slept. On tiptoe, chin resting on the edge of the bassinet, my curiosity rising, I looked at his tiny ears. “Can he really hear me?” I wondered.
Stretching over the side, I touched his little head and petted the softness of his hair. “Does he know who I am?”—a four-year-old’s question.
“Put your finger in his hand and watch what happens,” my mother prompted me. Putting my finger in his soft little hand, I was amazed when his tiny fist opened up and closed again, around my own finger! He was MY baby brother; I was His big sister. When Christmas came that year, I remember feeling very proud because I had my own Christmas baby.
Throughout our childhood, whether we were decorating the Christmas tree, shaking mysterious packages, or watching for Santa’s sleigh on Christmas Eve, Christmas held more magic because my brother was there to share it. I loved reading the story of the Littlest Angel and the Christmas story from the Bible to him–whether he wanted to listen or not! And early, very early each Christmas morning, we would tip-toe to the living room to see what Santa had left under the tree.
The Christmas magic continued to sparkle and expand through the years, as long-awaited invitations to “Come see the baby!” beckoned us again and again to the cribs and cradles of tiny cousins. Christmas dinners at my grandparent’s house became blessed to overflowing with children of all ages. Besides several aunts and uncles, there were lots of cousins—toddlers to teens. Yes, there was always a baby to pass around.
A few years later, it was my husband and I who welcomed those who would rejoice with us. “Come see the baby!” and again, “Come see the baby!” I could never have imagined the exquisite joy I felt when God placed these miracles–our sons– into our lives. I marveled at their beauty, their miniature hands and feet, tiny toes and fingers.
“How can I already love you so much? What kind of man will you be? Do you already know who I am?”—a mother’s questions.
Something else happened, too. I began to look at Christmas through the eyes of a mother. The figures in the manger scene that we place on the coffee table every year became real to me. Did Mary hold the infant Jesus so tenderly that she had memorized every hair on His little head? Did His tiny fist open to the touch of her finger, to close around it in a tight little grasp? Did she wonder about who He was?
Through the years, as we welcomed new little nephews and a niece, and the babies of friends and neighbors, I called to my own young children, “Come see the baby!”
Christmas has a way of gathering in and making room for more loved ones and traditions. There may not have been enough room at the inn, but there’s unlimited space at the manger. And in the heart, I thought, hanging our stockings over the fireplace this year. I smiled as I hung two more–one for my new daughter-in-law, the other for her sister who is joining us this year. As I set out the manger scene, decorate the tree, wrap the gifts and prepare for the arrival of family and friends, I feel that old familiar tug at my heart.
First comes the giddy excitement of childhood Christmas memories—my own and when our sons were young. Next, a snowball of Christmas memories flies into me, of loved ones now gone–happy and sad memories all mixed together. I am thankful for them all.
Christmas grows sweeter as the years go by. I do not try to recapture Christmas Past, but build on it. With awe and wonder, I wait for Christmas Present to unfold. The day before Christmas still provides time for last-minute preparations for Christmas dinner. As we chop vegetables and make divinity together, laughter and “Remember-Whens” fill the air.
At last, it’s time to enter the Holy Mystery of Christmas Eve. The Christmas lights, inside and outside, glow softer on Christmas Eve. I respond again to the rejoicing of the angels as they called to the shepherds, “I bring you good tidings of great joy… for unto you is born this day…” In other words, “Come see the Baby!” Even Heaven’s beckoning Star extended the invitation to the three wise men.
Tonight, again, I will share Christmas Eve with my loved ones. Following our candlelight service at church, we will drive around town to see the Christmas lights that many of you share with us. In that way, you, too, will become part of our Christmas. We might even sing Christmas carols around the piano when we get home, if my rusty fingers don’t stumble too much. Later, we will each take a candle from beside the manger and place it in our own bedroom window to welcome the tiny King, Jesus, the Light of the World.
And before I go to bed, I will again be drawn to the manger by its intimate familiarity. The creche gently reminds me to lay aside the colored paper, the ribbons, the singing snowmen, the jingle bells, and the frantic rushing for last-minute perfection. As I tip-toe closer to the manger on this Holy Night, I can almost hear Mary whisper to me, “Shhh…Come see the Baby.”