Two Babies in the Manger

 

by Susanne Dietze

Doll houses, miniatures, and dioramas have always attracted me—maybe that’s why my fingers were busy rearranging Nativity scenes as soon as I could reach them.

Already adept at rearranging Nativity Scenes. Check out my Grandma's white tree and my groovy shoes!

My mom placed the family Nativity scene on the credenza by the front door, which was just the right height for me to play with the porcelain figures. I loved everything about that scene. The stable was crafted of wood and straw, just like a real-life animal shelter (in my preschool-age mind). The magi were appropriately fancy, the sheep looked adorable, Joseph carried a shiny shepherd’s crook, and Mary was dressed in pink—my favorite color.

Familiar with the accounts of Jesus’ birth in the Gospels of Luke and Matthew, I knew who the figures represented: God’s Son, sent to be our Savior; His mother Mary, His guardian Joseph, and those who came to pay Him tribute. I didn’t care about Nativity scenes’ eight hundred year old legacy, or that they are known by names as diverse as the cultures which fashion them: krippe, crèche, szopka, and betlehemezés.

Neither did I care that our scene —like most Nativities—wasn’t precisely accurate. The Magi didn’t arrive until long after the shepherds had gone home, for instance. Joseph was a carpenter, not a shepherd. Mary probably didn’t wear pink.

All I cared about was playing with the figures, setting them on the credenza and replacing them in the stable “in order of their appearance.” Animals first. Mary and Joseph next. Then Jesus. Then the shepherd, followed by wise men. Other times I didn’t recreate the Christmas story, but fussed with the scene, sometimes laying a Kleenex over Baby Jesus to keep him warm.

When I was four years old or so, a distant relative saw me rearranging the Nativity and took my mother to task. “Does she know what that is? Don’t you realize how disrespectful she’s being?”

Bless my mom’s heart, she defended me. She told the relative that of course I knew what it was. I wasn’t being irreverent, and she saw no harm in my play.

Once I married, I purchased a Nativity scene that reminded me a bit of my mom’s: wood stable, mossy accents, porcelain figures (and Mary wears pink here, too. Must be standard issue these days.). Naturally, when I had my own children, I provided them with nativities fashioned of cloth and wood, and my mom bought the kids a Playmobil Nativity. (Those figures have endured adventures, makeovers, and crazy interpretations. My favorite was when Mary escaped a Viking raid on the back of a camel.)

You’d think with all the toy Nativities in my house, our porcelain Nativity would be left alone. How quickly I’d forgotten the appeal! One afternoon, I noticed some unique visitors had paid Baby Jesus a visit.

 

If you look closely, there’s a Polly Pocket, a Lego Yoda, a stormtrooper, and a creature made out of a cotton ball visiting the King of Kings.

When I mentioned during dinner that I’d noticed the special friends inside the Nativity scene, I was told, “Yes, Mommy. You said Jesus is for everyone.”

Indeed He is.

The presence of toys at the manger showed me that my children view Jesus as approachable and interested in their entire beings, even their toys. While I am not advocating that heirlooms be handed over to young children, or that kids should be allowed to play with glass, I do find the notion of involving one’s self in the birth narrative to be a helpful way to refresh one’s experience of the first Christmas.

We once met a man who’d spent Christmas in an orphanage in a northern European country. He was privileged to share the story of the Nativity with the children. Then he provided crayons and paper for them to draw the account themselves.

To his wonder, one of the children—Mikhail—drew two babies in the manger. Thinking Mikhail misunderstood the story, the man asked about the babies. Shouldn’t there just be one, Jesus?

“But that’s me,” Mikhail told him. “I’m the other baby. I want to give Jesus something, but I have nothing, so I’m keeping Him warm.”

I still fix and fuss with my Nativity scene. I shift figures, add touches, and make sure things are just right. But the best arranging of the Nativity is done in the quiet of my own heart, when I place myself inside the stable.

Where will I be in the scene? At the window, looking in? Or will I lurk just inside the door? Will I take tentative steps toward the manger, or like Mikhail, will I crawl right up to Him, getting myself as close as I can be to the Lord?

***

PS. Thanks, Mom, for letting me play with the scene. I'm glad I didn't break any figures.

Do you have a Nativity Scene? What does it look like? I have a few, and only in one does Mary wear pink. I'll tell you about my most unique Nativities in the comments.

Susanne Dietze has written historical-set love stories since she was in high school, casting her friends in the starring roles. Today, she writes in the hope that her historical romances will encourage and entertain others to the glory of God. Married to a pastor and the mom of two, Susanne loves fancy-schmancy tea parties, travel, and spending time with family and friends. Her work has finaled in the Genesis Contest, the Gotcha! Contest, and the Touched By Love Contest. You can visit her on her personal blog, Tea and a Good Book, http://www.susannedietze.blogspot.com/.