ghost of christmas past

This morning in his sermon Steve asked who of us had dressed as shepherds in our past. Mauri raised his hand. I would have too if I had any memory of my childhood Christmases (other than a few stand-out gifts received—oh, and the candy). But that question was all it took for my brain to head back in time to my own kids’ Christmas plays. This afternoon I had some fun pulling out pictures, as I’m prone to do when something triggers an idea.

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What Christmas event were Quincy and Bentley acting out when their mother allowed them to hold candles with open flames? This was back when life wasn’t so precious.

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Taylor wasn’t so thrilled with his role as Baby Jesus, and we didn’t even swaddle him.

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The next year he’d outgrown the crib, so we upended a footstool and let “Wiggly Baby” be Jesus. At least she cooperated. I made a pretty good Joseph, don’t’cha think? And Ben a willing shepherd.

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The next year Taylor was ready for the Joseph spot.

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I guess we eventually outgrew the home Christmas program and graduated to the church and school programs. Quinn, where’s your red nose?

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Madrigal? You’d think the mom could/would remember.

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I imagine these are Herod’s militia, but what do I know. I’m only the mother.

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