Silent Night, Holy Night

One of my favorite Christmas traditions growing up was attending the live nativity at a church in Iron Mountain. We'd stand in line on a (usually) frigid night to see the holy family in the stable with angels and wisemen, donkeys and sheep all around. There are so many things to occupy our time and our thoughts during this season, and most of them have nothing to do with the birth of Christ. I want to continue the tradition of attending a live nativity with our family now that the boys are getting old enough to appreciate it.

Last year I read about a nativity in De Pere and decided to take Liam to see it. I told him all about how we'd get to walk up close to Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus (who may or may not be a doll - it's good to be prepared) and see everything in the stable. He was super excited to see it, but fell asleep on the car ride there. I woke him up when we arrived and then realized that this wasn't like the nativities I'm used to. It was an interesting take on the traditional live nativity, but not what I'd been hoping for. Cars basically drove around the circle drive of the church and looked out their windows at the various scenes - wise men, shepherds, angels, and then the stable scene with the usual cast of characters. I was disappointed, and Liam was a little saddened to not be able to walk right up to Jesus like I'd told him he could. It was a little too much "drive through Jesus" for me, so I had hoped this year I could find something different.

This year Meg and I took Liam to the live nativity at the Bridge Between Retreat Center in Denmark, WI. It's about a half hour drive from the city, and they hold it in a big Belgian cathedral barn on their property. I had heard that it was very good, and was looking forward to taking Liam. He was once again super excited to see the baby Jesus. We arrived right around the 7pm start time and were led into the side door of the barn. A small crowd of people sitting on hay bales greeted us. We chose a bale near the back of the group and sang along to several Christmas carols. You couldn't beat the atmosphere of the barn - a soaring cathedral ceiling rose above us, geese and ducks and even a few llamas peeked in as well. Tiny white lights were strung along the beams overhead, and it was just cold enough to warrant some snuggling with my best boy. His eyes were shining each time he looked at me; I knew he couldn't wait to see what would happen next. We sang and we listened. A children's story was read. Then Sister Caroline spoke. She said that Mary and Joseph wouldn't be coming this year...

At first I couldn't believe that this was happening again! I had built this up to be a chance to see the baby Jesus up close, and it wasn't going to happen. I was afraid of upsetting Liam after all of the anticipation. Sister Caroline explained that she had prayed for three weeks about this decision and then spoke about the holy family being present in us and with us and part of us already. She did a wonderful job, but I couldn't help but feel disappointed that the night wasn't going as I'd hoped. I quietly whispered to Liam that Jesus couldn't come tonight because it might be too cold for him. He didn't miss a beat. "Can I look at the ducks?" he asked. He happily rang a small bell as we sang Joy to the World. I had worried he'd be too cold; he asked to take his hat and mittens off. I had wanted so much to see his face as he looked with wonder at this Christmas scene and just took it all in. Instead, I saw him awestruck by the sheer height of the barn's ceiling, how close he got to a llama, and a path lit by tealights in mason jars.

My son taught me in his sweet little way that Christmas, and indeed life, might not go according to plan but that this doesn't mean that something is missing. We might think we know exactly what we need to be happy, but it just might be that we need far less than we thought.