One of the elements that had long been missing from my Christmas decor was a Nativity scene … a physical representation of the birth of Christ.

It was never from a lack of effort or desire, but rather, it was mostly due to autism.

Let’s just say, I have a number of broken nativities tucked away in my attic.  

But finally, the year came that I felt that a nativity set would be safe from the hands of my son and with a little income at my disposable, I decided it was time to get the nativity I had wanted for so, so long … a Willow Tree Nativity.

The aesthetic appearance of Willow Tree figures has appealed to me from the very first time I saw them.  They are simple in form, yet so peaceful and serene.

I deposited the money I had earned from a house-cleaning job and then I ordered the basic Nativity set … Joseph, a young shepherd, a couple of animals … and a kneeling Mary, holding the baby Jesus.  I was so excited as it seemed I was in a new season of life and being able to purchase this set was a representation of that.

I remember when the package was delivered and I gingerly unwrapped each figure.  I couldn’t wait to set it up so I quickly cleared off the stone mantel above the fireplace and carefully placed each piece.  It was simple, it was restful, it was peaceful … it was everything I longed for, in a nativity set, in Christmas — and in life.

True to the nature of life, that sense of serenity didn’t last very long.  During one night, a kitten I had rescued walked across the mantel and sent my Mary crashing to the stone slab below … shattering her to pieces.

I was heartbroken.

The following Christmas, I unpacked the Nativity scene once again and looked over the broken pieces of Mary.  It seemed an impossible task but eventually we glued her somewhat haphazardly back together and placed her carefully on a shelf inside a closed cabinet.

Fragile with missing pieces … forever broken.

 

A couple of days before Christmas this year, I woke early to wrap my children’s Christmas presents so I could get them hidden away again before my son with autism woke.  I sipped my coffee and settled into the rhythm of methodical wrapping while my children slept and my thoughts wandered.

It didn’t take very long until memories began to stir in the midst of the rustling paper and whispering scissors.  Memories of long ago that seem to rise to the surface whenever I am wrapping Christmas presents.

I remember the Christmas when I had just the two boys, before my daughter was born.
I don’t remember much from that time but I know I didn’t wrap any presents that year.
I couldn’t.  I just couldn’t do it.
I’m pretty sure I bought gifts for my boys and I may have bought wrapping paper —
but somehow, wrapping those presents seemed far too monumental a task.
Autism, intense sleep deprivation, behaviors, a fussy baby, and difficult family dynamics.
It was a hard season.
While there are many gaps in my memory, I’ve never forgotten those unwrapped presents nor the lingering guilt.

Those memories wandered through me once more and, same as years past, I thanked the Lord for the beauty of being able to wrap Christmas presents for my children now.  This was going to be a good Christmas … I was going to make sure of that.

*
*

Before I finished wrapping the presents however, my oldest son came down the stairs and before long was in the midst of a seemingly random meltdown. By the time I had worked through that relatively mild crisis with him, the restful joy I had been feeling as I wrapped presents was slowly vanishing like the morning mist.

Then I saw pictures on social media that sent the last of it flying away.  There is such an  overwhelming sense of sadness that hits when one of your children is left out of a circle of friends.  This time, it triggered something deep inside.

I found myself in a war between deep sadness, old anger, and a desire for righteousness.

I prayed.  Oh, how I prayed.

I didn’t understand the depth that was stirred in me nor where it had come from.

Suddenly, this Christmas, like so many before, had become overwhelming.

*
*

Then a different Christmas memory began to stir.  A memory I have always wished I could erase from my mind completely.  I was nine or ten years old when an adored family member chose to go a different way in life.  There were a series of decisions and selfish behaviors that sparked significant grief in my family and inspired a rather traumatic scene that Christmas.  As those memories replayed through my thoughts, I realized just how deeply that time period had affected my life … and how I viewed Christmas.

My family’s entire reality changed that year.  The childhood I knew was gone.  And Christmas, that year and every year thereafter, was forever altered.

As I pondered these memories, the word, ‘expectations’ to mind and I began to understand that, because of the gaping hole left behind from that crushing Christmas, I have walked through life looking for something, anything to fill the empty spaces that were left behind.   I began to understand that my identity had been intrinsically tied to memories of that Christmas and that overall traumatic time in my family’s story.

However, because of the work Christ has done in my life in recent years, I could also see the emptiness of my own efforts trying to glue the pieces back together … the futility of my own works.

I looked at my broken Mary on the shelf and realized she was me.  Broken, with pieces missing, held perilously together by glue, ready to fall apart with the slightest touch.

But I also knew this was not who God created me to be.  God’s plan for me does not include walking through life with holes and broken pieces from the decisions and actions of others … or my own, for that matter.  God’s plan for me does not include using a glue gun to gingerly hold pieces together so I can at least look like I have it together.  The brokenness of the past no longer defined me.

On Christmas Eve, I confessed my sin to God and handed Him my broken memories and missing pieces.  Then, as I looked at my broken Mary in the cabinet, I asked God for more.  More of Him.  More wholeness.  More of His transforming work in my life and the lives of my children.  My only expectation would be Him.

Come, Thou long expected Jesus
Born to set Thy people free;
From our fears and sins release us,
Let us find our rest in Thee.
Israel’s strength and consolation,
Hope of all the earth Thou art;
Dear desire of every nation,
Joy of every longing heart.

*
*

Christmas morning, after my children opened all their presents, my daughter brought her gift to me and knelt before me in anticipation, her eyes shining like stars in the night sky.  After opening the box, I pulled out something wrapped in layer upon layer of bubble wrap and by the time I got to the last layer, I could see what lay inside …

A new Mary.

Unbroken.  Whole.  Complete.

My precious girl understood that the broken Mary was a source of sadness to me and apparently had been  wanting to replace her for some time.  When she earned some baby-sitting money, she reached out to her Grandmother and older cousin for help and between all their efforts, a new Mary was purchased.

After some tears and sweet hugs, I immediately went to the cabinet and carefully removed the broken Mary, who came out in pieces.  As I did so, I noticed something I had not seen before.  Mary was shattered into pieces, but the baby Jesus she was holding was not.

Mary was broken, but Jesus never was.

In my hands I held the truth that so long had evaded me.  Life had caused sorrow and ripped holes inside of me.  I had patched them together as well as I could but my efforts could not bring wholeness.  Yet, Jesus has remained unbroken, solid, and completely true through all of the years.  He was the center of what held the remainder of the broken Mary together.

I tenderly placed my broken Mary on the table and then picked up my new Mary, also holding sweet baby Jesus in her arms.  As I placed her in the cabinet, a passage from Zechariah 3 came to mind … in these verses, the high priest Joshua was being accused by Satan as he stood in his own filthy clothes before an angel of the Lord.  This is a picture of us in the filthy rags of our own righteousness standing before the Lord as we are also being accused by Satan.  But, for Joshua the high priest, as well as, for the believer today, this is not the end of the story.

Now Joshua was clothed with filthy garments and standing before the angel. He spoke and said to those who were standing before him, saying, “Remove the filthy garments from him.” Again he said to him, “See, I have taken your iniquity away from you and will clothe you with festal robes.”
(Zechariah 3:3,4)

 

Christ has removed our iniquity as well by the sacrifice of the cross.  When we accept His gift of salvation, our filthy garments are replaced with beautiful robes of His righteousness.  No longer can Satan accuse us.

Christ’s gift, His sacrifice, makes us whole.

*
*

On Christmas day, I stood between my two Marys … one broken and one whole.

One purchased by her own works with broken pieces held together by worthless glue and the other, whole and complete … a gift.

One Mary representing who I was and the other … who I am now and will be in Christ.

A promise, if you will.

 

I will rejoice greatly in the Lord,
My soul will exult in my God;
For He has clothed me with garments of salvation,
He has wrapped me with a robe of righteousness,
As a bridegroom decks himself with a garland,
And as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.
Isaiah 61:10

 

You know, it was not in my power to make Christmas ‘good’ this year
— but Jesus made it beautiful.

 

 

**Come, Thou long expected Jesus written by Charles Wesley**