Every year I drive by the church advertising the live nativity, three shows a night for 2 weeks. This is the year. We'll try it out early in the season.
First we meet at Jodi's for a cookie and hot cocoa bar.
Outdoors, under a shelter, we sit on prickly hay bales, stuffed like cattle in a milking stall. The back half is standing room only. This must be really good, we think as we wait.
The young adult ward offers this nativity as it's gift to the community each year. They have a small choir, actors, narrators, and several musical numbers. The first musical number begins. The gangling young man and the two young women screech their harmonies and I am embarrassed for them. How can they bear to sing like that in front of so many people? The play continues on the same note. Three earnest wise men, bespectacled, plump, and in towels, TOWELS for crying out loud reverently make their way to see the doll. This is without a doubt the WORST nativity I have ever seen and that includes all those years of sheeted childhood wonder. So, why am I crying?
This humble and honest offering made from over one hundred individuals offering their very best was enough. The spirit of Christmas was not missing, it was strong, and we smiled as we swam through the crowd to the car. What I have to offer this season is enough. It is always enough.
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