The choir sang... and the little ones told the story, with a little help from the big ones.
They were dressed in their Christmas finery... feathery angel wings, halos spun with tinsel, gowns & robes tied with cord belts... that, at times, doubled as lassos. Joseph strayed, shepherds ran laps, and the angels were restless. And somehow, it was perfect.
It is the story that is made sweeter in its imperfection... whether in Bethlehem, an old school cafeteria or a new shiny church. The story that is told again and again, and still makes me cry because... it is my story, too. One that breathes hope and love... and promises gifts beyond our imagination. It is the story that brings our hearts back to the humble stable... where Love was born. And if you can't lie down next to the manger, where can you rest?