Commentary

View PDF

Wedged into the same chair, 
my husband and son station 
themselves, duplicates 
of each other. 
Too tired to talk, 
my son listens. 

“This is the story of Jesus,” 
I hear my husband say, book open. 
“His mom and dad were homeless 
but found shelter in a barn. 
They had pride; 
you’d never see them 
begging on the side 
of the road.” 

My son’s eyes grow wide. 

“This is Mary. She’s the mom. 
Must’ve had an easy delivery. 
She’s wishing all these 
visitors, the ones with the 
glittery lights around their heads, 
would leave so she could stop 
smiling and looking patient.” 

My son’s eyes droop 
with unasked questions. 

“This is Joseph. He’s the dad. 
He’s hoping that his insurance 
will cover an out-of-hospital 
delivery.”

“And this is baby Jesus. 
He’s a nice kid, doesn’t 
bite or throw food. 
These are the gifts the 
wisemen brought. Jesus is 
wishing they were wise enough 
to bring toys or blocks 
or maybe a Lego giftpack.” 

My son nods his head in recognition, 
the scriptures made plain 
by his father.