Have you ever been playing Barbies and found yourself with too many girl dolls for the double date you want to stage? And so you dress up one of the girls in a pair of jeans, stuffed her hair under a cap, and called her "Tim?"
Um . . . just me?
Ahem! Moving on . . .
This is my daughter, Zoe.
She's the little one, with the "Wake me up and I'll KILL you!" countenance. The fourth and final fruit of my loins. The other one is my wife. Both beautiful, no? And both of the female persuasion.
The date was Sunday, December 17th, 2000, a mere eight days before the big show that is Christmas Day. She entered the world on a dark and snowy morning just after 2:00AM. Or so I'm told; I think I slept through it. She didn't cry too much. My wife was drugged up and giggling maniacally when she wasn't snoring herself. We'd done this before, you see. Not a big deal.
We all loved holding her. Especially her big brother:
That's a death grip, people. That grin? Even at a tender eighteen-months, he is most certainly contemplating the havoc he will wreak upon her in the coming years. But darn it if she isn't just simply a cuddle bunny!
Fast forward one week. We're at church for the annual Christmas Eve shindig. The church famous for their live nativity. With live shepherds and sheep and donkeys and . . . people dressed up as angels. There is no shortage of live. And for the evening service, our friend Keith is going to sing a song by Michael Card titled "Joseph's Song." And because a live baby Jesus beats a plastic one any day of the week . . . and twice on Sunday . . . (sorry) . . . he asked if we'd be willing to let him hold Zoe while he sang.
(Holy crap! Show business! The crowds! The applause! The FAME!!!)
"Um . . . sure," agrees my wife. So she removes Zoe from her favorite pink blankie and we wrap her up in some brownish swaddling clothes. And there she was . . .
. . . swaddled, sashayed serenaded . . . and completely zonked. He kept rocking her and singing into her face, yet she snored and snored and refused to stir. They could have gone ahead and used the doll and no one would have known the difference.
Except for my wife and I. We stood in the wings and beamed with pride. Our little girl, the baby Jesus. That, my friends, is a helluva show . . .
So, it's Christmas week. Was Jesus really a girl? Scratch that . . . Do you and yours attend a live nativity? Or is that just too creepy, with all the hay and animal dung and all? With just a few days before the Big Day, what is one special thing you do to help bring it all together? And last-minute shopping doesn't count . . .
1 year ago