My proudest moment came during the children’s Christmas pageant. My daughter was playing Mary, two of my sons were shepherds, and my youngest son was a wise man. This was their moment to shine. My 5-year-old shepherd had practiced his line, “We found the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes,” but he was nervous and said, “The baby was wrapped in wrinkled clothes.”
My 4-year-old “Mary” said, “That’s not ‘wrinkled clothes,’ silly. That’s dirty, rotten clothes.” A wrestling match broke out between Mary and the shepherd and was stopped by an angel, who bent her halo and lost her left wing.
I slouched a little lower in my seat when Mary dropped the doll representing Baby Jesus, and it bounced down the aisle crying, “Mama, Mama.” Mary grabbed the doll, wrapped it back up, and held it tightly as the wise men arrived. My other son stepped forward wearing a bathrobe and a paper crown, knelt at the manger, and announced, “We are the three wise men, and we are bringing gifts of gold, common sense, and fur.”
The congregation dissolved into laughter, and the pageant got a standing ovation. “I’ve never enjoyed a Christmas program as much as this one,” the pastor laughed, wiping tears from his eyes. “For the rest of my life, I’ll never hear the Christmas story without thinking of gold, common sense, and fur.”
“My children are my pride and my joy and my greatest blessing,” I said as I dug through my purse for an aspirin. CD
