Come to the Manger!

I trust that this sweet little story by Wendy Dunham will inspire you again this Christmas to take time to kneel before the manger!
     "When I was young, the first day of every December marked a yearly event for our family.  This was the day we chose our Christmas tree.  Early in the morning, Dad would call -- "Everyone ready?  Let's go cut down the tree."  After what seemed like a drive that would never end, Dad would shout, "We're here!  And Mr. Nicoles has the same sign he had when I was a kid --
                    CHRISTMAS  TREES
                     3 ACRES --- U-CUT
Mr Nicoles came to greet us, and while he and Dad were talking I sneaked away to the front yard.  Standing there was a life-sized, wooden nativity scene, hand carved years ago by Mr. Nicoles.  When I knelt before the manger, I was transported back to Bethlehem.  I ran my hand along the manger's wood, and it seemed to be worn smooth from sheep and cattle.  I smelled the frankincense and touched the gold.  I saw Joseph stroke Mary's head as she watched over baby Jesus.  And I heard the angels sing.
      "Come on, Wendy," Dad called.  "It's time to pick out the Christmas tree."  Reluctantly I joined the rest of the family, but I longed to stay in Bethlehem.
      Along the way, each of us tried to convince Dad that we had found the perfect tree.  Mother knew when her children had had enough.  "Dear", she said to Dad, "don't you think this one will do?  It's lovely, tall, full, and the needles are just the right length."
      We took turns dragging the ten-foot tree through nearly a mile of deep snow.  When we reached the house, Dad tied the tree to the top of the car.

      I quietly returned to the manger.  As I knelt there, I realized that I was not alone.  Mr. Nicoles was standing behind me.  "I can always find you at the manger,"  he said.  I stood and turned to face him.  "I like it here."  "So do I," he said softly.  We stood, side by side, and looked out across the blanket of snow that covered the farm.  I noticed a trail of freshly made footprints in the middle of the yard.  A deep trench ran behind the footprints, as if something had been dragged across the snow.
      "Whose footprints are those going to your Christmas tree sign?"  I asked.  "They're mine," Mr. Nicoles responded.  Puzzled, I said -- "But you opened your farm the day after Thanksgiving."

      Mr. Nicoles bent low and whispered, "Can you keep a secret?  I put the sign out this morning, just as I have for the past four years.  When your family heads home, I'll take it down."  "Why?  I don't understand."  "I have grown too old to run the farm, but I know how much this place means to your father."  He smiled, "I look forward to seeing your family every December first."  "And the manger?"
"Oh, I set that out for the entire season.  I like to kneel before the manger too; and when I do, I can hear the angels sing."

      More than 50 years have passed since that day.  Mr. Nicoles continued to open his farm on December first for three more years until his health prevented the ritual.
      Now, I walk through the snow to my own front yard, and to the hand-carved Nativity scene -- a bequest from Mr. Nicoles.  Once again, as I kneel before the manger, I am transported back to Bethlehem; and I forget about the cards waiting to be addressed, the baking that must be done, and the gifts still to be bought.  For there, before the manger, I hear the angels sing!"

          "Oh, come, let us adore Him -- Christ the Lord!"