My Mother had a tiny nativity set made from plaster of paris. Every Christmas she would arrange real straw in the little manger that my Dad made for her, and very carefully place the tiny figurines on the straw. The little scene held it's place of loving honor on the library table in our living room. And it was NOT to be touched! We children were welcome to pull a chair to the table and look all we wanted. Just NOT touch!!!





There was an often used phrase in our house. It referred to me. As a little girl,I was known as Francie. And everytime somebody was about to do something that could result in tradgedy, my parents would caution....."Now don't pull a Francie!" I probably should have been offended! But I wasn't. Because I knew exactly what they meant! Trouble followed me like honey on corn bread!

Everybody was busy with one thing or another on the day I decided to pick up the Baby Jesus from Mommy's nativity. I rolled Him around in my hands and kissed His little cheek, and told Him how much I loved Him. And then.....I dropped Him!! Right smack on the surface of that hard, walnut library table!

My heart stopped! I think for about ten or nineteen minutes....I had NO heartbeat!!





There was a closet off the living room where I always went to ponder my more serious "Francie's". Like the time out of sheer curiosity, I got my finger stuck in the rubbing alcohol bottle and it turned purple and swelled up and my arm started dying. And now...with the two pieces of Baby Jesus clutched in my sweaty hands, I felt that the closet retreat was a good place to be!

I didn't cry. Sometime back I had discovered that crying was a dead give away and a waste of my very important time. Instead, I pulled the light cord on, crawled back under the big winter coats and studied Mommy's Baby Jesus.

The decision was made. I'd fix it! I left the evidence lying snugly on Mommy's fur trimmed snow shoes that she only wore for dress-up, and I went to find my library paste. I decided singing was good, so I sang all the way through the house to the stairs and all the way up the steps and then sang even louder while I dug around and found my paste. As I sang my way back towards the closet, Daddy looked at me and asked..."What are you up to?" I smiled at him, continued quickly back into the closet and went to work.

Needless to say...the paste was a miserable failure! NOW, I was getting scared! Losing control! My hands shook....my voice cracked when I came out of the closet trying to finish my song.....THIS was BIG trouble!! I managed to get back to the table with the sticky Baby Jesus in tow. I climbed onto the chair, glanced around me, and as fast as a bunny, stuck the little figurine back together as best I could and stuck Him back in His nest!





Sleep evaded me that night. My little stomach churned and my eyes hurt and I finally just wanted morning to come so that I could confess my awful secret. When I heard Mommy stirring around, I crawled out of my bed and made my way downstairs.

Mommy was surprised to see me up at dawn, but went on setting her table. I moved, with pure dread, to the library table and pulled up the chair, and picked up the Baby Jesus.

WHAT WAS THIS?? I cradled Him in my hand in amazement! He was in one piece!! All the sticky was gone....and there was only the barest evidence of a crack!

In a state of complete discumbumblement, I layed Him back in the nest of straw and went greatfully to Mommy and asked if I could help her set the table.

Not one word was ever said about this incident. Not even a knowing look! It was my worst secret for many moons! I STILL do not know who saved my neck on that heart stopping Christmas.....but I've always wondered.......?





Author © MaryMax4470 (M.F.F.) 2008

~'TIL THEY ALL COME HOME!~