Christmas Eve morning we received a call from a lady at church. She asked us if Addie would like to carry baby Jesus to the manger at mass that night. I squealed with delight! I beamed with pride! I was humbled by the honor! I panicked a little bit... exactly how breakable was baby Jesus?
It was pouring rain this eve of Jesus' birth when we walked into church. The lights were all off, except over the stable, where Mary, Joseph, shepherds and sheep waited for the gift. Wreaths and ribbons and twinkle lights decorated the church, and the choir were singing the classics.
My little big girl, dressed in her new, pink and glittery (of course!) dress with the white fur trim, satin bow in her hair, held her loving arms open and stared in wonder as the statue was placed into her arms. She cradled him as our whole family processed down past the alter, down the middle isle to the back, up the side isle, up the steps to the stable, and she placed him down, ever so gently, into the manger.
She said of the experience, "His arms were out like this," spreading her arms open, "and his feet were together like this," bringing her arms close together, "and he was a really good baby, he didn't wiggle at all!"