Category Archives: Bethlehem Revisited

A Dog, A Donkey, and A Soul


As Dakota and I crossed the brome field and headed toward the farm, I glanced over my shoulder. The picture of an upset donkey caused me to hesitate. Don Quixote (Donk) was stomping, throwing his head over the top of the fence, and getting ready for a loud, obnoxious bray. Dakota, the black lab, and Donk have forged an unusual friendship during her short stay with her “grandparents.” It is no secret that I am a soft-touch when it comes to animals. Doubling back, I grabbed Donk’s lead rope and opened the gate. Satisfied that he had been understood, he offered me his chin, and I fastened the rope to his halter. So, we were three that day walking the trails.
As we made it to the top of the pasture, we had settled into a routine. Donk had given up trying to graze his way along and was quite docile walking beside me, moving his ears strategically to hear the various sounds, occasionally stopping, his ears pointed forward and intently watching something that I could not see or hear in the distance. Dakota was running through the tall grass sniffing the ground, disappearing for a while, and then reappearing to check on Donk and me. We were all acting out our given natures. Dakota was being a dog, Donk was being a donkey, and I was doing the human thing: reminiscing. I recalled all the years that I have walked, prayed, led students, and pointed others to this trail.
The trail hadn’t always been here. In the early years, after forging my way through the blue stem prairie on my daily prayer walks, Judd had mowed a three-quarter mile path around the pasture for me. Once, when it grew over, and Judd was busy, I had dragged the push mower up the rocky drive and mowed the path myself. Once, that was. I have more vision than brawn, and I never did get the “vision” to do it again. But today that path has become a mainstay. With riding mowers and tractor mowers, there is always someone who has the vision to mow them when they begin to grow over. And today the trail serves many of us as a place to get away, to exercise, or to walk and pray.
We had made it around the three-quarter mile trail and were ready to head back down into the lower pasture. At the angel shelter, I stopped to pick up a golden tin foil angel halo that had been lost in the dark not so very long ago. The cedar-chipped outcrop where the angels stood was worn and compacted. Their short “Hallelujah Chorus” followed by “Joy to the World” seemed to echo softly across the valley. Leaving the upper pasture, we picked our way over the rocky path and headed toward the shepherd’s fire pit and sheep pen, to the lower pasture. Stopping a moment, I once again found myself in reverie. Memories. A month ago, over two thousand pairs of feet had tramped the path below me. I imagined I could hear the singers as they followed the groups caroling across the pasture. A few feet down the rocky path, we passed the stump behind the cedar blind where “Gabriel” sat to wait for his cue. Donk had carefully maneuvered the rocks and Dakota, once she determined the direction we were heading, ran past us, and once again led the way. Passing the rustic sheep enclosure and rock-built fire pit, we continued toward the camels and Wiseman iron silhouettes that stand partially hidden in the little cedar alcove. Ashes filled the narrator’s fire pit, and I remembered how strikingly poignant is the delivery he makes every year as he describes the stars, the excitement, and the miracle of the star the wise men followed.
Walking down the cedar chip trail toward the barn, I can see through the cedars the outline of the barn. No children are running up the trail and shouting, “He is here! He is here! Come and see!” But, I think I can hear a faint echo. Oh, the wonder of memories!

Awe accompanied my gratitude. All of this had been a dream, a cloudy, quite unspecific dream those many, many years ago, and look what God has wrought!

Did we have a master plan in those early years that we followed step-by-step? NO. We faced many disappointments, incredible amounts of “just wait” times. Strategic people came and went. What was permanent was the land, God, and faith that He could take “what we held in our hands” and use it for His glory. And this, in turn, has become our blessing!

Gratitude. My heart was filled! “It is God who works in you both to will and to do of His good pleasure.” His pleasure has been my blessing.

My companions have no recollections and reminiscences. They find pleasure in “being.” Donk is content being a donkey, and Dakota finds joy in being a dog. But I have the opportunity to feed my eternal soul on what was, and is, and is to come. And I am in awe.


i] So the Lord said to [Moses], “What is that in your hand?” —Exodus 4:2


A Glimpse Behind the Scenes

DSC_0696Saturday, December 5, 2015

It has been busy here at the farm all day, as it has for the past four days. The younger tech guys arrived first, showing up by 10:00 this morning, a little later than usual.  Dan, as father and director had let them sleep in since they had been busy till after midnight the night before: bedding down all the animals, cleaning clutter from the trails, putting out fires, and returning all the thermoses and food bins to the kitchen. So a little extra sleep in the morning will give them the energy they need to work through the day and evening on our last day.

About 2:30 the kitchen crew arrives at the farm-house, unloading the frozen soups, cookies, bread and other supplies for this evening’s cast and crew.  They will be busy in the kitchen fixing the sandwiches, making hot chocolate, heating up the soups, and filling the bins with cakes, veggies, soups, crackers for the cast that the tech crew will deliver to various stations through the long evening.

At 4:00 the farm explodes with activity.  Cars, trucks, and vans begin to arrive, their occupants spilling out as they head across the road to the farm-yard. I love this time of the Bethlehem Revisited days.  The farm is transformed from its quiet, mundane existence to a life of vibrant expectancy. Something is about to happen that only God can do.

After the cast puts on their costumes that are hanging in the barn, everyone meets at the foot of the cross, a tall, rugged cross that has been erected for the tour.  The cross’s significance brings our attention to the purpose of our message.   We meet in total dependence on His grace.  The empty tomb, the very next station, reminds us of His victory.  As we sing together, “In Christ Alone” we are reminded of the story we are telling . . . and why we are telling it.

In Christ alone, Who took on flesh,
Fullness of God in helpless babe!
This gift of love and righteousness,
Scorned by the ones He came to save.
Till on that cross as Jesus died,
The wrath of God was satisfied;
For ev’ry sin on Him was laid—
Here in the death of Christ I live.

There in the ground His body lay,
Light of the world by darkness slain;
Then bursting forth in glorious day,
Up from the grave He rose again!
And as He stands in victory,
Sin’s curse has lost its grip on me;
For I am His and He is mine—
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

After a short biblical reminder and challenge from Dan, both young and old offer spontaneous prayers. We are finally dismissed to our various locations, and as we disperse we sense God’s blessing.  He has begun His work of the evening in us first.

Anticipation Abounds!

costumesChristmas comes early on the farm! Everyone here is knee-deep and prayer-deep in preparing for the thirty-first year of what has become Bethlehem Revisited.  Anticipation fills our hearts as we grandparents along with our children and grandchildren are joined by our large community to worship and work together in bringing this narrative to life once again.  Costumes hang in the barn separated into categories: Angels, market-place, shepherds, guides, children, Marys, Josephs. We have covered the paths with wood chips ready for hundreds of people to trudge up and down the hills.  The tickets that sat in Judd’s office have been distributed to various outlets.  Stock pens for all the animals who will need boarding overnight are ready and waiting for their occupants.  The lanterns (around sixty of them) sit on tables in the barn;  some will hang from lampposts, others will hang from the guides’ and guide assistants’ outstretched arms as they lead the groups through the forty-five-minute walk. Cut wood stands in neat, orderly stacks beside the fifteen fire pits.

With prayerful anticipation, we are asking that the whole weekend will be drenched in God’s Spirit as we invite our guests to relive the greatest story we humans can ever tell. In fact, last year, as one woman was waiting to board the bus to go back to the welcome center, she hesitated before boarding.   “You mean to tell me,” she almost stammered as she addressed her guide, “this story is TRUE?”  And we can say without hesitation, “Oh, the amazing thing is, it is TRUE!”

I am attaching a two-minute link for this year’s event.  Enjoy!!!

Third Phase: “Swihart Annual Christmas Pageant”

A  terrible commotion was coming from behind the cabin.

Our guide, Dr. Paddock, the Old Testament prof at Manhattan Christian College, had led our group down the small knoll, the journey lit only by the guide’s lantern.   We had approached a small cabin, the staged home of Mary and Joseph.   Through the window, we could discern a couple sitting at the table, apparently enjoying their evening meal.

Immediately the source of the commotion became clear, as out of the darkness a white horse appeared, running full speed toward the onlookers. Wide-eyed the group gasped in unison.  Before charging the onlookers head-on, the wild steed took a sharp left and disappeared from view.  As the horse and rider hurtled past the startled audience, we caught a glimpse of a disheveled soldier hanging on tightly, his helmet dangling precariously from his head.

Without missing a beat, Dr. Paddock turned to his shocked audience. “Now, that would be the Roman soldier, he explained. “He was supposed to tell Mary and Joseph to go to their home place to register for a census.” With great composure, he continued to explain the census and the importance of the decree to the young couple behind the window.

Inside the house, we could see Mary and Joseph packing their belongings into a cloth satchel. We watched as they came out of the house, loaded the donkey, and began to walk away.

At this point, Dr. Paddock, our guide, turned from the scene and began to explain as we walked back up the knoll to the barn, “We are going to an inn this evening and will try to find a room for the night.  Follow me.”

I lagged behind the group wanting to check on the poor horse and rider.  In the darkness I could see them emerge from the barnyard.  The soldier was carrying his helmet; his uniform was a bit torn and dirty.

“Are you ok, Ryan?” I whispered.  I had chosen this particular student as my soldier because he was a skilled rider.  He had had lots of experience training and breaking horses.  But Shiney, my Arab, was a bit unpredictable, even for an experienced rider.

“Yeah,” my soldier grumbled.  “I was talking to my sister over by the manger, and I lost track of time.  When I saw the group coming, I ran back to the horse, but just as I jumped on her, she bolted.  I guess I scared her,” he said disgustingly. Cowboys don’t like nervous horses much.  He motioned to the darkness of the barnyard. “She lost me out there by the water tank.  But I caught her again, easy.”

Yep, easy-does-it worked for Shiny; cow-boy was just not her style.  I helped Ryan straighten his costume, dust off, and get his helmet back on securely.  Shiny was still a little agitated and nervous, but Ryan would be more careful now; she had gained his respect.

The rest of my group had gone to the barn by now, so I decided to go down to the pole shed area to join another group waiting to begin their tour. A large bonfire was burning brightly and warmly.  Parents, children, and college students were gathered near the fire.

We were in, what I call, our Third Phase of the not-yet-named Bethlehem Revisited.  Every year we were finding more interest and enthusiasm for our Christmas pageant, and we found it was impossible to take one large group around.

The groups had become too large.  People could not hear what was being said, and it took too long to get the large group assembled at each of the six stations.  The best solution we could come up with was to break people into smaller groups and have guides lead them through.  It was a big step in logistics and demanded that we have guides who knew scripture and were accustomed to speaking and shepherding people.

Our little college was quite involved in those mid years, and this year we needed an actual script for the guides.  Dr Paddock the Old Testament Professor from Manhattan Christian College pulled one together for us entitled, “The Annual Swihart Christmas Pageant: December 15, 1996.”

The very first guides of this new phase were three professors and their wives from the college.  Our cast was made up of college students, many of whom had been given the choice by one of the professors of either writing an eight page report for their final Bible assignment, or being in the pageant.  Of course, we had a good supply of volunteer cast that year.  Jim, the surly innkeeper and staunch visionary of our group, called these sometimes unpredictable cast members “conscripts” which seemed to be a fitting description for them.

You could call us a rag-tag, but joyful and expectant,  a mixture of people: the visionaries, the professors, the conscripts, all under the leadership of a very mighty God who empowers with His Spirit and makes His message come alive.

The Barn Doors Open (continued from last post)

mary and joseph at barn door0001The audience quieted as the knock came on the large, rolling barn door.  Joseph was standing in the darkness.  The innkeeper appeared in the large doorway, and Joseph, motioning to a pregnant Mary sitting on a donkey close behind him, began to explain their plight:  “Please, sir, can you give us a room for the night?  My wife is about to deliver, and we have nowhere to stay.”

“Can’t you see,” shouted the surly innkeeper as he turned and waved with a sweeping arm across the audience, “we are full tonight.”

Ah, we were finally on track.  What was to be an experience of remembrance and worship was beginning to take place.

As Mary and Joseph left to find the stable, the audience was invited to join in singing, “O Come O Come, Emmanuel” in the dimly lit barn.

It was time for the audience to move to the next scene.  As together we trudged up the hillside, the beautiful voice of an “angel” caroled us singing, “I Wonder as I Wander.”  The words to the song echoed through the calm, winter air:


I wonder as I wander out under the sky,

Why Jesus the Savior did come for to die.

For poor lonely people like you and like I

I wonder as I wander, out under the sky.


We joined the shepherds on the hill around the large bonfire.  The sheep were held tightly in hand.  Suddenly, Gabriel came forward out of the darkness.  “Behold!!!”  Shepherds fell to the earth in “fear.”

After Gabriel gave his startling announcement, the truck lights beamed upon the angels standing on the hillside. “Glory to God in the highest,” they declared and began singing the first part of the Hallelujah chorus.  Wonderful!!!  We, along with the shepherds were amazed.

The truck lights went out, the angels disappeared, and the crowd was invited to follow the shepherds to find this promised baby “wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.”

We began our trek across the field coming to the spot where, from the pasture, we could look down on the tiny village of Keats.  Stopping to watch the village lights twinkling in the blackness of the night, we stood in reverence.

“Oh little town of Bethlehem, how still we see they lie.”  We sang softly and reverently, imagining we were there in that holy land the very night the tiny King was born.  Continuing the trek down to Bethlehem, we again started to follow the shepherds and their sheep.

Following shepherds should have been fine, except in the dark the shepherds, our would-be leaders, got lost, and the crowd began wandering like the Israelites in the desert.

Never before had my sheep had a strange crowd of people following them around in the middle of the darkness, nor did they know the voices of these newly acquired shepherds.

Finally, not liking the disorientation of the shepherds, the sheep high-tailed it down a ravine to the safety of their pen.  One lone sheep survived in the pasture on a lead rope. On the other end was a very determined and somewhat successful shepherd.

The lone sheep, Charlie, my gentle giant as I fondly called him, was none too happy about losing the rest of the flock.  The shepherd who was leading Charlie was frustrated.  “Mrs. Swihart,” he whispered hoarsely to me when I finally got to the front of the crowd, “I can’t get this sheep to do anything.”  Grabbing the lead rope, I nudged and pulled Charlie in the right direction until he finally headed down the proper trail.  Recognizing me, he became compliant and grudgingly allowed the crowd to follow him and his flock of shepherds down the hill to the manger.

Everything seemed to be in place at the manger.  Mary and Joseph had found the stable; Mary had birthed the tiny baby.  A peaceful, blessed scene. We had planted some angels beside the manger who ”signed” in American sign language words to “Away in the Manger,” as the audience reverently joined them.  It was all quite beautiful.

Then it was time for Mary’s monologue, a touching  monologue:

 O infant-God. Heaven’s fairest child. Conceived by the union of divine grace with our disgrace. Sleep well. .Sleep well. Bask in the coolness of this night bright with diamonds. . . .”

As you might remember, the tech guys had been working on installing a mic that was hidden in Mary’s shawl.  As she began her monologue, it was apparent that there was no amplification installed.  All the crowd could see was Mary mumbling into her shawl.

An apparent failure.  No great thoughts transmitted to the crowd that night.  In retrospect, perhaps the great Director Himself had over-ruled my inept plans.  Scripture itself testifies only that Mary “pondered these things in her heart.”

Finishing this scene, the shepherds who were bowing at the manger, left to spread the good news, and it was time (according to the script) for the three kings to arrive.

laarge wisemen0001Poised in their beautiful costumes, ready to enter the scene with their horses (no camels available) the wisemen stood in the shadows. However, a confused narrator deleted the wisemen from the script and jumped to the next scene.

Following the narrator’s lead, Mary and Joseph arose and slowly made their way to the temple where Simeon and Anna would bless the Child.

Oh, but we could not forget the wisemen in their beautiful costumes with their nervous horses!  So, while Simeon was giving his blessing, I tried to quietly, but quickly, get around the crowd to the wisemen.  A wooden gate back by the water tank was in my way.  Gingerly climbing over the old, locked gate, I stepped on a rotting slat and the entire gate came crashing down along with me.  Surely, nobody heard, I hoped. Picking myself up, I continued to the confused wisemen.  “Go!”  I whispered loudly, “Go!!”

As the crowd sang the closing carol, “Joy to the World,” the wisemen rushed in and bowed low to the ground for the final chorus.  Not the way I had planned it, but it worked, and probably the Director Himself, was once more overruling my own dramatic and inaccurate interpretation.

Later, that evening after the crowds had left, all of the luminaries were out, and the animals had eaten and were back in their pens, my heart entered into the stillness of the evening.  Quietness surrounded me.  The brilliant stars illumined the evening sky.  In the backdrop of God’s world, nothing had changed. Ah, peace, beauty, wonder even in the midst of all of the background chaos.

Work and worship are not exclusive of each other.  To work to make it possible for others to worship is sometimes difficult.  In my working to achieve the worship opportunity for others, I had missed some of that peace, yet it had been there all along:  in the scenes, through the scenes, above the scenes.

“Oh, God,” I breathed, “ let the meaning of this story have seeped into the cracks and crannies of people’s hearts so that they might have just a glimpse of the profound message of this Peace Child, who came to bring His peace to the earth.”










Oh Holy Night?

9k=Where is peace? Where is it hiding, when our world is overwhelmingly disjointed and we feel the need to hold it together?


I was feeling the need to hold things together one December in the early 90’s.

Using the land for our Bethlehem story had been a vision  of my heart for years.  It seemed that God had given us land with the story written into its very geography. I was directing the “performance” of our not-named-yet nativity once again. My gifts do not necessarily lie in directing, but I determined to do my best.  Judd, the behind-the scenes’ director was loyally helping me.

The majority of our cast that year was college students.  Students are great:  they are fresh, enthusiastic, creative, and energetic . . . and this particular weekend they were also stressed because we had chosen to do the event the weekend before finals. That was one mistake.

The other mistake was we had only one rehearsal.  So on the day of the event, just an hour or so before people were to arrive, there was a touch of bedlam. It began when the guys with the microphone for Mary who was to give a wonderful soliloquy from Max Lucado’s Jesus Came Near arrived late and didn’t have the proper equipment.

As I was problem-solving with the tech guys, the sheep, who were in the pen next to us, decided not to leave the security of the barnyard to go up the hill with the shepherds to their designated “set.” The encouragement that always worked for me, a bucket of grain, worked to no avail.  These sheep were being asked to follow very active, loud young men dressed in strange clothing.  In their sheep-like rebellion they refused to co-operate.  The biblical application was evident, “My sheep know my voice,” and these voices were not the familiar voice of their shepherd.

Leaving the microphone quandary, I helped the would-be shepherds find ropes and get the sheep going in the right direction. I stood at the top of the hill until the sheep were in place around the shepherd’s fire.

Going back to check on the progress of the microphones, I was sidetracked by a truck stuck in the driveway to the pasture.  The driver was spinning his wheels while several other students were hand pushing from behind.  This truck would provide the shining lights on the angelic host.  Finally, gunning the motor, the driver  made it up the hill.  Unfortunately, no sooner did it approach the shepherd’s campfire than the sheep, already on high alert, became terrified and frantically ran back down the hill to the safety of their pen.

Since the sheep now had ropes that the shepherds could easily grab again, I left the shepherding to them.  They would certainly earn their title of shepherd by the time they got their sheep back up the hill.

From the manger scene, I made my way to the top of our two-story barn where the guests were to be seated, the prophets were to make their prophecies, and the crowd would be introduced to a desperate Mary and Joseph looking for a place to stay. The benches had been organized in rows facing the large roller doors.  We were in pretty good shape now, and I was beginning to feel comfortable.

With a half hour left before the guests arrived, Judd and I dashed to the house to finish cleaning up from our evening meal.  A few cups and dirty dishes were left on the counter.  I ran some dish water in the sink and grabbed a cup to immerse in the hot soapy water.  “Hurry” is not my strong suit, in fact, I have a tendency to be quite clumsy as my mind becomes disengaged from my fingers.  As I started to dunk the last cup into the water, it fell from my fingers.  Without thinking I grabbed it as it shattered in the sink.

Pulling my hands from the soapy water I looked at the blood beginning to spurt from the middle finger on my right hand.  Not good!  Trying to stop the bleeding, we realized that this was going to require some “doctor” attention.  A trip to the ER was out of the question at this point.  Judd decided we should call our “doctor in residence” Charlie Bascom.

It only took a few minutes for Charles to arrive.  Looking closely at my finger, he agreed. ” Yes, this should have some stitches, but . . . perhaps we could apply a butterfly band-aid and find something to stabilize the finger.”  Looking around the kitchen he queried, “Do you have a spoon?”  Of course we did, thinking this might be a joke.  After cleaning the cut and applying a band-aid Charles reached for the spoon we had pulled from the kitchen drawer.  Applying the spoon to my finger, he began wrapping it tightly.

Now I sported a spoon on my finger with the bowl of the spoon protruding from the top. There was not time to commiserate or to ponder how to adapt to this new appendage.  The show must go on!

Quickly, I pulled on some woolen Army gloves.  They would somewhat  hide the strange specter on my finger.  Donning my Army jacket, I rushed out to the barn where the guests were already assembling.

No sooner had I stepped in to the barn when my neighbor Sharon rushed over to me with a kind gentleman in tow.   She excitedly introduced me.  “Nancy, I would like you to meet my priest, Father D.  I have been telling him about this, and I’m so excited for him to meet you.”

“Welcome, Father!” I smiled as I stuck out my right hand to shake his. Retrieving my hand as quickly as I had offered it, I blurted out, “Oh, I’m so sorry!  I can’t shake your hand; I have a spoon on my finger.”

No sooner did those words leave my lips than another guest came up to talk.  The crowd closed between me and the priest.  I never saw him again that evening.  I have no idea what that poor man thought.  I wonder if he lay awake that night trying to puzzle out the strange response.  “She said, ‘I have a spoon on my finger?????'”

There was no turning back; no time for explanations. The program was about to begin, and the past was the past.  The audience took their seats, and the lights were dimmed.   The first prophet made his appearance, and the evening’s performance had begun.

“Ah, Lord God,” I breathed, “please bring your presence and peace to this place and to the guests.”

Yes, there was an inordinate amount of chaos going on about me, but at the core of it all, God was offering His message of transcendent truth.

And . . . the evening had just begun!

To be continued. . .

The First Nativity

first BR0001We led the animals down the road, Judd holding the lead ropes to the horse and pony, and I with my bucket of grain for the sheep. The beam from the flashlight Judd held in his free hand lit the way through the darkness. At the bottom of the hill, we turned in to the pole shed area which had become the designated spot for our first nativity program.

The pole shed area boasted of nice round bales that were stored in the shed.  Those bales and the old shed would be the perfect area for our endeavor.   With a concrete slab near the fence and feeding troughs along the edge of the concrete, this area must have been Oscar’s winter feedlot when he farmed here.  The tall, long metal three- sided shed made good shelter, not only for the cattle, but also for hay and farming equipment.

The meadow was familiar territory to our animals for we had on occasion brought them down to graze  the rich Brome.  It was easy to lead them in through the gate and up to the shed.  They were probably thinking it was going to be an adventure in grazing.

The germ of an idea had grown into a plan, and that plan was being carried out by all of our Wellspring group. The beauty of community! Imagining together, working together, and supporting each other as we live out various aspects of God’s truth.   This is true worship.

Preparation was pretty simple. One of the mothers had found a pattern for cardboard angel wings and had made some simple white costumes. There would be a Mary and Joseph in bathrobes and shawls and a baby wrapped in a nice white blanket, with a few little shepherds to stand by the sheep.  The script was simple scripture from Luke, and the songs were carols that we all knew.

We tied the horses near the hay and coaxed the sheep near to the manger where a “shepherd” would guard them carefully.

Someone  had already hung a couple  lanterns and had built a fire in the fire pit close to the manger.  A soft flickering glow from the fire added to  the rustic scene.  As smoke wafted out into the small meadow, the nostalgic smells of campfires added to our anticipation.

Gathering around the fire, we  waited for everyone to arrive. Slowly the moms and dads, children and college students began to join us around the fire.

We were ready. Moms and Dads lifted the two and three-year-old angels up on the large bales where they perched (or sat) in expectation of the unfolding scene.
To begin, we distributed a simple white sheet with the verses we would read from Luke, interspersed with a few carols.  The first reader began: “In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree . . .   .”

The second reader continued: “4 So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, . . . and when the time came for the baby to be born, 7 and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.”

Now we focused on the manger. Ah, the simple, the quiet, the holy. And we sang quietly, “Silent Night, Holy Night.”

“All is calm, all is bright.”Yes the quiet and the calm surrounded us.

We continued through the rest of the story, the sheep and little shepherds standing guard over Mary, Joseph, and the babe in the manger.

At one point we were interrupted by one of the little angels protesting loudly, “Stop! Mommy, the horse is eating my hay bale!” We all giggled, someone repositioned the horse, and we continued with the next reader.

 And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified.. . .  
 Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying , “Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

Now was the angels’ time to sing their hearts out. “Angels we have heard on high . . . .”   I watched in amusement as one little angel  filled her lungs, and sang at the top of her pint sized voice, and I wondered  what God might have in store for this little angel. Today that litle angel, Leta, is a grown-up angelic singer and server in the kingdom of God with The Salvation Army. Just one story of so many of those little angels who are serving God as adults today.

We finished the evening with the rest of the passage, ending with verse 20: “The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.”

After putting out the fire in the pit, and gathering up the horses and sheep, we headed from the meadow to the road and back to the house for hot chocolate. And so we also”returned” glorifying and praising God for all we had seen and heard. Yes, this was an experience we wanted to replay in our memories for a long time.  Little did we realize the legacy we had begun.