Welcome! The stone plaque has sat on my kitchen counter for years. Through many Christmases, colorful ceramic birds have nested next to votives, burning with the fragrance of the season. How is it today, that I feel like I really saw the word for the first time? Welcome!I heard the silent voice, felt the warmth of an imagined smile...Welcome! Could it be the mismatched holy family that on a whim I placed in front of the stone sign for the first time in 20+ Christmases? Oh, but it has to be! 

      Mary, with her cracked head scarf, handmade from mud by villagers in Guatemala, the sole surviver...of a past Christmas! Mary was widowed the second Christmas she and Joseph and Baby Jesus held the center of the mantel, when the garland came loose and swept away the entire nativity: shepherds, kings, even the angel, but of course, we know angels can’t be broken. They just “grow” new wings and fly away! All the worshippers, along with the One they came to praise, lay in pieces below the fireplace. I literally cried. I had already imagined the gentle fingers, thin and bent with malnutrition, working in the hot sun, molding the only thing available to use-- mud, to create such primitive, but beautiful artistry. I imagined that the price of the nativity could feed a family for many months...maybe years. And now, the precious work of those gifted, gentle hands lay in a worthless heap on my floor. Irreplaceable. 

     The following Christmas, my store-bought, highly polished, smoothly carved, Mary and Joseph once again found themselves separated from Jesus. Unlike the time recorded in Scripture, when Jesus was later found in the synagogue, this Jesus’ parents have never found Him. But I did. And Mary, with her torn head scarf, and lineage of sun-baked mud, now watches over a highly polished, wooden Baby Jesus, whose lineage can be traced to a shelf in a store! Joseph. From another stable, his journey long and unknown, a man lonely for a family, now has one. Much like the Mary from Guatemala, he, too, is made of clay. He bears rough edges, his mudline unknown, but he stands by Mary as they both watch the sleeping Baby, who bears no resemblance to either of them! 

     “WELCOME!” I meant the sign to speak to those who enter my home through the porch door.

Day in, day out...You...whomever you are...enter my home and feel welcomed! 

      Today...it welcomes me! Before a wounded Mary and a lost, homeless Joseph, I am welcome to approach the perfect, shining Baby, who in no way resembles me! I can be part of this nativity. I can go to this manger. I can come with my tattered attitude. I can bring my broken expectations, the bruises in my heart. I can lift up my cracking, pleading voice, and know that here, it is heard. I can fall on old, stiff knees and bowing, look up to see the Shadow of the Cross fall upon me. And I shout what only the heart can cry: HE MAKES ALL THINGS NEW! 

     From the ruins of three nativities, a brand new one was created. From the ruins of my past and present, God created a brand new future for me. And every day, His mercies are new. Like those of old, who journeyed to see “this thing which has come to pass,” I make the weary trip through miles of shopping, boxes of lights and ornaments, rolls of wrapping paper and ribbon, and finally reach the baby, to discover that He has been looking for me! Touching heaven, I stop and whisper to Him as He whispers to me: “WELCOME!”