I’ve written about my ragtag nativity before — a beautiful papier mache Mary, Joseph, Jesus and Three Wise Men. One of the Wise Men (the kneeling one) had his hand ripped off in the wild rush of a Lord&Taylor Christmas but my father came to the rescue. He healed the Wise Man’s broken hand and even placed a box in it so he wouldn’t arrive at the manger giftless.
As I’ve written before, everything else in my ever expanding nativity is a ragtag collection of children’s Christmas projects and gifts that I’ve accumulated through the years. Every piece has a story. There was a time I actively searched for genuine papier mache pieces that might match my original set. When I visited my daughter who was studying in Florence, she and I even took a side trip to Via San Gregorio Armenia, a crowded alley in Naples famous for its line of shops selling nativity sets. There were a number of figurines which might have pleased Martha Stewart more than my ragtag collection but none matched the delicacy of my papier mache set.
Others may cringe, but I’ve come to love the peeling milk carton gingerbread house and decorated paper trees that have more glue spots than ornaments left on them. I love the curly-topped shepherd, the gingerbread house candle my husband gave me before we were married, the angels (so many angels) and animals gifted to me. l love the lame sheep and chipped shepherd that belonged to my parents’ set.
With Christmas carols playing in the background, unwrapping and arranging each piece becomes a kind of prayer, a quiet meditation on the beauty of simple, even broken things. This year, that’s what I needed to contemplate.
It’s been a difficult year. The election just about did me in. For any number of Americans to believe that a convicted felon and sexual predator should lead our country is heartbreaking. It isn’t at all about politics; it’s about decency. Respect. Donald Trump is an unrepentant criminal. That he should be entering the White House again is heartbreaking. Our system is broken.
Which leads me to my three-footed sheep. After all these years, it finally occurred to me to take a page from my father’s book. Broken things need not be tossed away. In fact what is broken can often be fixed, not necessarily made perfect, but cherished even more. I haven’t my father’s artistic talent, but I think he’d be proud of the fourth leg I fashioned out of a toothpick. It will take more than a toothpick to set our country back on the road to progress and prosperity for all, but I believe we can do it. After years of leaning against the stable wall, just look at my precious sheep stand.
