When I was a younger teenager, I worked as a sacristan for my old parish of Incarnation. I loved that church, especially when it was done up in all its Christmas splendor. We had elderly ladies who volunteered their time arranging flowers, altar linens and various greenery all over the sanctuary. Being a sacristan, I was kept out of this work as my job consisted of cleaning and replacing candles / candle holders, making sure chalices and cruets were sparkling, and ensuring we had ample supplies of unconsecrated hosts and wine for whichever Masses were coming up.
However, I always fancied the idea of being part of the troop that made the sanctuary explode with color to celebrate the birth of Christ.
This year, I got my wish in a very odd, but super "God knows all" way.
A friend of mine solicited nursery advice from me now that she's expecting her first little boy. I happily shared fun little things I did with Vince's nursery. After the conversation, though, I felt a sadness due to the fact I will likely never decorate a nursery for my own little one ever again.
I went through a brief couple days of sadness because of this. It wasn't just the conversation I had with her. It was just that our conversation had capped a string of similar conversations that added up to me longing for a little baby to decorate for.
Well, God saw my sad little heart and sent my friend, Steve, to give me a boost. Steve is our parish Superman (arranging liturgies, directing music, directing pretty much everything that goes on in regards to the church in general - ha). Anyway, he sent me an e-mail inviting me to take part in decorating the church for Christmas.
I was delighted! Would I like to help decorate the church? YES! A thousand times yes! How exciting would that be?
So at the appointed time, I arrived ready to move some poinsettias, hang some garland, and swap out the purple for gold.
The first task at hand was the altar linens. At first I didn't want to step foot into the sanctuary. I don't believe it's proper for a woman to enter the sanctuary, but I realized it was a foolish notion on my part. How was I going to help if I couldn't enter the very place that needed dressing?
The next problem I ran into was the altar. I was asked to change the altar cloths, themselves, and I really didn't like that idea. Steve wasn't going to make me do it because he could see that I was uncomfortable, but I figured if I maneuvered everything just right, I wouldn't have to touch the altar, itself, and would only adjust the linens over it as respectfully as I possibly could.
It was then that I realized I was preparing Jesus' nursery.
I mean, there we were, this troop of volunteers running to and fro getting linens in order, flowers in place, and decorations just right. We were just like nesting mothers driven to perfect the nurseries of our little newborns.
And that really is what we were doing. We were preparing the dwelling of the Christ Child who come to us in a very special way at Consecration. The thought was so moving to me. I was so grateful, then, to be given this chance to dress up the King's nursery. I imagined how Mary must have felt as she made certain the garments she wove were lined up and ready for His arrival... how she must have straightened and restraightened the meager belongings she and Joseph had taken on their impromptu trek to a cave on the outskirts of Bethlehem, all the while singing songs of praise to the God who took refuge in her sacred womb.
I was so happy, then, to realize that God was kissing my broken little heart by letting me make ready His nursery in lieu of one of my own. I was almost thankful for the sadness I felt earlier since it made me that much more aware and appreciative of my part in decorating the church.
God is good. He really does see all, and if you patiently offer even your tiny, silent sadness, He'll return it to you as a gift.
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