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.
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.
Taylor wasn’t so thrilled with his role as Baby Jesus, and we didn’t even swaddle him.
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.
The next year Taylor was ready for the Joseph spot.
I guess we eventually outgrew the home Christmas program and graduated to the church and school programs. Quinn, where’s your red nose?
Madrigal? You’d think the mom could/would remember.
I imagine these are Herod’s militia, but what do I know. I’m only the mother.