The Greatest Among Us

Last night, Woodstock had her theatrical debut ... as a sheep in my mom's family's annual Christmas celebration. She obligingly said "baa baa" when asked what sound a sheep made, shortly after the angel (standing on the coffee table) proclaimed the birth of Jesus to the shepherds (several, dressed in cast off bathrobes), at which point she lost interest in the whole production and spent the remainder of the production happily "chatting" on a cousin's cellphone while obsessing over a book of Christmas carols.

There were 16 kids - ranging in age from 15 months (Woodstock) to 19 years, although the 19-year-old declined to participate in the pilgrimage across the living room - from the front door (representing the Far East) to the mantel (representing the stable). It was a happy cacophany of holiday-related sounds, caloric monstrosities (my pasta salad would make a weak heart give up) and chaotic children, happily amped up on adrenaline, sugar and anticipation over the next snowfall. In Woodstock's case, she was amped up over the juice she normally doesn't get and the fact that she was surrounded by kids - instantly transporting her to her very happy place.

In the midst of all of this craziness, however, came a quiet, special moment that brought the prick of tears to the corners of my eyes. I was snapping pictures right and left, trying to capture kids who didn't sit still in costumes either too large or too small for their frames, when out of the corner of my lense I spotted Mary (a cousin of a cousin - about 9 or 10), sitting next to Woodstock, baby "Jesus" cradled between them.

"Mary" gently laid the doll in Woodstock's lap, leaning over to shelter the renegade sheep and the baby from the chaoas that swirled around them. Woodstock's eyes lit up. "Baby!" she exclaimed, scooping up the doll and smothering it with love. Then Mary gently scooped up baby Jesus, scooted over to my 2-year-old cousin and repeated the same thing. Over and over, Mary went to each of the smaller children, bringing the baby Jesus to them to hold and to love. She spoke not a word. Each time, she silently shared her "son" with each child, letting them shower the doll with love.

In that moment, I thought about how Christ comes in mysterious ways to touch people's lives - stopping to rest in the hearts of those who will allow Him entrance. He shuts out the chaos from around us, He whispers to our souls, lights the eyes of those who revere Him. He doesn't forget those that are easily overlooked or forgotten among the chaotic holiday revelry, instead, showering those who seek Him with love and comfort and peace.

Last night, He touched us all through the innocence of a little girl, clad as Mary, sharing her child, the Son of God, with the smallest among us. Their eyes lit up as they cradled the baby Jesus and enveloped Him in love - their pure innocence shining out from bright eyes. In that moment, it wasn't a doll - it was a symbol of reverence and little ones, like the shepherds and wisemen of old, paid homage with an awe reserved only for children.

Mery Christmas, to all, I thought. And to all, the remembrance of how the greatest among us sometimes barely reach our knees.