To See The Christ Child

Monica Shepherd had an extraordinary gift. She was a wonderful artist even at her tender age. And she had the potential of being a great sculptor one day. All her teachers said so. She could take any medium -- clay, paper machÈ, wood -- and create something beautiful from it. But she would
probably never realize her promise. Monica was suffering from adolescent leukemia. It had been in remission for a year but now, in past months, it had returned with a vengeance.

Christmas was just around the corner and the church that Monica and her parents attended was preparing its annual Sunday School Christmas pageant. Monica was bedridden and much too sick to participate this year, but she could contribute nevertheless.

"Let me make the Christ child for the manger," she begged one day when her pastor came to visit her. "I can make it out of paper machÈ and it will look quite realistic."

The pastor thought that was a great idea and told Monica to get right to work, that is if she felt up to it. Monica smiled. Her skin was dead white -- almost transparent. Her bald head was wrapped in a cloth -- chemotherapy had made her long blonde hair fall out weeks ago. Her blue eyes -- now ringed by dark circles -- had lost some of their sparkle, but none of their fire. "Don't worry, pastor," she said quietly. "I feel up to it. It will be ready on time. I just want to make sure that I see it in the pageant."

For the next week, Monica worked on her creation. Slowly, patiently, she worked fine wire mesh into a skeleton for the figure. Then she dipped strips of paper in a water and glue mix, applying it layer by layer onto the frame. All the time her best friend, Jackie Bateman, kept her company. She helped
Monica by mixing glue and paints and providing endless chatter. And when Monica's hand became too shaky to paint a straight line, Jackie steadied it for her.

Finally the model of the Christ child was finished. Jackie stood back and admired Monica's creation. "It looks so lifelike," she said.

"Thanks. I think it's the best thing I've ever done." Then Monica laid her head back on her pillow and said, "I'm really tired now. Would you mind taking it to the church for me tomorrow?"

Monica's model of the Christ child was delivered to the church the next day -- Christmas Eve -- just in time for the afternoon rehearsal. Jackie, accompanied by Monica's father, who had driven her, held the model as if it were the finest, most fragile glass. "I've arranged for an ambulance to bring Monica to the pageant tonight," her father told the pastor. "Can you make a place in the front row for her cot? She wants very much to see her model in the play."

"Of course," the pastor replied. "I'll make the arrangements myself. And thank her for me, will you? Her work is beautiful."

The rest of the pastor's afternoon was filled in the role of stage director/cattle drover. There were two dozen children in the pageant -- ages five to ten. All of them knew exactly what they were supposed to do, but none of them seemed to be doing it. Tomorrow was Christmas and their thoughts were obviously somewhere else. Finally the pastor was able to establish enough order from the chaos to assure an audience of expectant parents a reasonably coherent tableau of the first Christmas.

Now it was a few minutes before seven o'clock and the children were backstage in their costumes, awaiting the pageant to begin. In the auditorium, the church organist played a medley of carols on the piano as a sort of overture.

The pastor looked into the auditorium, which was rapidly filling with parents. The space he had made in the front row for Monica's cot, however, was still empty. Maybe the ambulance was having a hard time getting through the snow. There must be several inches on the ground already. The pastor had
considered canceling the pageant because of the weather, but had rejected the idea. People in northern Virginia were used to much worse than this.

Just before the curtain was scheduled to open, the church secretary approached. "You have an important call, pastor," she said.

"I don't have time right now," the pastor replied quickly, almost impatiently. Then he noticed that there were tears streaming down his secretary's cheeks.

--------

The pageant was late in getting started and the audience was beginning to get restless. At ten minutes past seven, the curtains parted on an empty stage -- a representation of the inside of a stable, complete with mounds of straw and a manger. Odd. Where were the players? Just then the pastor walked out on stage. He moved to the manger and placed his hands around the Christ child, lifted it, and brought it to the front of the stage. He stood quiet, looking over the audience.

Then he said, "This statue of the Christ child was made by our friend Monica Shepherd. She worked all last week, assisted by her good friend Jackie Bateman, to make the model especially for this pageant. In the front row you see an empty space that was cleared for Monica's cot so she could see this performance. A half hour ago, Monica Shepherd died in City Hospital."

A low murmuring crept through the auditorium.

The pastor waited for a moment, then continued. "I'm sure that we all feel as empty as that space in the front row -- we all loved Monica, not only because she was a fine Christian girl but also because she was a fighter. Our hearts should be joyful because there is no doubt where Monica is at this very moment. On the other hand, Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd have lost their precious daughter and all of us share their grief. They are in our prayers."

The pastor took a long breath, then continued. "It was Monica's final prayer that she attend this pageant -- which will start in just a few minutes -- and see her Christ child used by the children of this church in their play." The pastor held up Monica's sculpture so everyone could see it clearly.
"Well, she will. God answered her prayer -- a prayer from a wonderful, feisty little girl who wanted to see the Christ child. I know this is hard to accept right now, but it is the truth -- Monica is more fortunate than any of us this Christmas Eve. Tonight she not only sees the Christ Child, she is with the Christ child."

At that time Jesus answered and said, I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes. (Matthew 11:25)

Viewed 754 times

Ed Price spent 35 years in print and broadcast journalism. He is author of 15 books. After becoming an ordained minister he settled with his wife on a farm in the mountains of Southwest Virginia, to study God's word and to write. Ed and Patty are the parents of three girls, have one grandchild, and cater to the every whim of two spoiled cats.
© 2009 Ed Price - All rights reserved. Visit his website, The Loving Heart.

This column is used with permission.