The Germ of an Idea

By the second December on our Kansas farm, we had acquired two horses and a few sheep.  Many evenings in the dark, I would walk to the barn, fill the grain buckets, toss some hay, break the ice in the water tanks, and then stand and enjoy the scene that played out before me.  After the first general excitement of feeding time, the animals would settle down to contentedly nibbling at their hay.

In the quiet, I leaned against the gate to the barnyard and gazed at the scene before me. My mind went back to those unique celebrations we had experienced in California.  Polished programs drew thousands.  We would dress in our best, and with great anticipation enter the auditorium.    We were handed a program, ushered to our seats, and waited in excitement for the program to begin.  Two thousand people had gathered to observe this one-of-a-kind performance. At last the house lights were dimmed and the curtain rose.  We were enthralled with the talent and the props.  The message was nostalgic and we were “Christmased.”

I looked at the current scene around me.  The millions of stars above shone brilliantly in the dark winter sky, and below the white snow padded the rocks and ground with softness.  The quietness and the unpretentious atmosphere were reminders of that first Christmas.

No red carpet…just trails of manure and hay and dirt.  No dignitaries…just the residents of the stable.  No gold lined crib…just a hand-hewn wooden manger that the sheep and donkeys had been eating from.

Yet in the presence of these simple creatures the God of the universe was born.  Watching my horses and sheep chomp their hay, I had a feeling that the creatures that special night just went on with their business of eating and resting, continuing  in their calling, their “isness” of  being sheep, being goats, being horses (or camels as it may have been).

As I drank in the magic of that December evening, I thought of the reality I was so privileged to witness.  No pretense, no glare of spotlight, no loud parties or raucous laughter.  Reality, simplicity: this was the scene into which God had chosen to send His Son.

I was in the midst of something very real.  It had been a real woman, a real man, in a real stable, full of real animal smells, and unimpressed animal life surrounding them in that Bethlehem manger.  No one had been there to clean up the place, to set up the lights, to sterilize the manger.

And so began a dream.  It was a dream to share this simple experience with others so their imaginations might be bathed with the wonder of the entrance into the world of the Infant Savior.