One of those things that appeared over time in our house and came out this time of year was a nativity set. It was made of white porcelain and had a wooden stable. I remember that nativity would find its way to the top of the piano most of the time because it was about the only safe place for it. You see, in a house with six kids and their associated friends and a dog or cat or two, there really weren't too many places where anything breakable had a fighting chance.

When my mom passed away more than twenty years ago, that nativity ended up  packed in the things that I claimed when my siblings and I took on the sad job of dividing her worldly possessions. That nativity has moved many times since it became mine. And it has been forgotten more years than I can count. But in the last few years it has found its way into the lives of lots of people - all of you as a matter of fact.

  My mom's nativity is the one that you will see growing before your very eyes on the altar at church through Advent and Christmas. And every time I look at it on our altar I remember it sitting on the piano in our house so many years ago. I remember the singing and the laughter and the Advent devotions we did together at that piano as my mom would play and we would sing carols and light the candles on the Advent wreath. And I especially remember the unique looking stable. A stable without walls. One that invites people in to see what will take place there; who will fill the space.

  As we placed that stable on the altar this last weekend, even though I know who will come and what will take place there, the season of Advent never ceases to fill me with hope and love and joy and peace. That stable is inviting us in. It is inviting us to make room in our hearts and minds for a baby born in the most humble of circumstances to touch our lives once again as if for the first time. I invite each and every one of you to take that journey with me.  

 Come and see!