I stopped by my parents’ house this past weekend, and noticed that my mom had her nativity scene displayed on the beautiful sideboard that I have always admired. 

I had never seen this set before.  The figures were much bigger than any set she’d displayed over the years.  The scene took up the entire sideboard, and the figures were so beautifully painted, that I picked them up so that I could examine the artistic talent that went into painting them.

For as long as I can recall, my mother has displayed a nativity scene.  She has purchased a few of them over the years, each getting more and more beautiful and intricately made as the years go by.  Displaying a nativity is an important tradition in my family.  It’s something that reminds us every day of the Christmas season, why we celebrate it in the first place. 

While I was admiring the scene, I noticed that something was missing…  Where’s baby Jesus?  I wondered if something had happened to him.  Maybe he was lost? Maybe he broke?  What a shame to have such a beautiful nativity, with no baby Jesus.

But then I remembered…  It isn’t His birthday, yet. 

Maybe my mom has always done this ritual of waiting until Jesus’ birthday to place the little baby figurine in the manger.  If she has, I hadn’t noticed it until that moment.  The more I thought about my mother’s symbolic observance, the more I admired her reasons for it.

Tonight, I went into the basement and grabbed the box that contained the nativity set my mother gave me for Christmas a few years ago.  I unwrapped each piece and arranged them on the buffet in my dining room.  When I unwrapped the figurine of baby Jesus, I contemplated placing it into the scene.  It looked so empty without the little baby in his manger, but I thought about my mom, and I thought about my own children and what I can teach them, and I hid the baby figure behind the mirror that leans against the wall above my buffet. 

Within an hour, my daughter had her Polly dolls out.

“Mommy?” she said, in her sweetest voice.

“Can I play with my Polly’s in Jesus’ barn?”

I told her that she could, but that she must be careful.  She played for awhile, and then said, quite frantically:

“Mommy!  Where’s baby Jesus?”

I smiled.

“He isn’t born, yet.”