If you've never been to the St. Mary's Christmas program, you will want to put it on your calendar for next year. The Kennedy gym was filled with proud parents, beaming grandparents, and supportive friends who were treated to a visual feast of little girls dolled up in satin and velvet and holiday bows and little boys with slick-backed hair, wearing neatly-pressed slacks and shirts and eight-inch ties. They dressed as if they understood that what they were doing represented something holy, that they needed to be on their best behavior...and they were.
There was no horseplay, no shepherd jabbing Joseph with his staff, no angels giggling to the tune of flapping wings, no wise man waving to the flashing cameras. Instead, they stood or knelt, positioned with praying hands, while the angel Gabriel posed with arms raised to the heavens as the arrival of our Savior was narrated.
For that magical hour I was no longer concerned about finishing my Christmas wrapping or guilting over cards I should have sent or mentally preparing my menu for the holidays. Instead, I was transported to a different place and time by a bell choir that would rival that in St. Patrick's Cathedral. Candy canes represented a sacred birth, and kazoos, I realized, when in the hands of God's little angels, sounded reverent. Even their awkward bows and curtsies made me smile and served as a sweet reminder of why Jesus loved the little children as He did.
And that evening, those little ones showed Him they love Him back. As for my blessing? They helped me do the same.
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