Janet’s Notes

As a child, the Christmas story for me was mostly fun. I liked babies and loved being part of the Christmas drama at church. I found it hard to identify with the characters in the story. I knew I was celebrating the birth of Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us, but the story itself had little relevance for my life.

I wrote “Can I Hold Him?” to help all ages understand that our precious Christmas story deals with real life issues similar to ours today. I have used my research of the context of the story and my imagination to add the details and feelings that are not mentioned in the Biblical story. My belief is that when you identify with the character, you will find wisdom for your life. For example: In Mary’s story, “Isn’t He Beautiful”, you will discover a young teenager, pregnant before marriage, an outcast in her society. Although today we are more accepting, teenage pregnancy still carries with it a myriad of problems just as it did for Mary. Whether you are a pregnant woman today feeling Mary’s exhaustion and fear the night of Jesus’ birth, or a father identifying with Joseph and his need to care for his beloved Mary, “Isn’t He Beautiful” will speak to you.

I suggest you begin reading Can I Hold Him? about as you begin your preparations for Christmas. Read a story; spend a few days thinking about it. Discuss it with your family or your friend. Think about what it has to say for your life today. When you are ready move on to another story. Even the four contemporary stories can speak to you as you and your loved ones prepare to celebrate Christmas.

I have told these stories as monologues in intergenerational worship, adapted them as Sunday School drama, and even used them for adult bible studies. As a resource for group programs, teen study groups, or fundraisers the unique perspective of these Christmas stories can foster lively discussion as they entertain.

Table of Contents

Isn’t He Beautiful
I’m An Angel
Can I Hold Him?
That’s Not Your Baby
The Last Shall Be First
The Reluctant Shepherd
Melchie, the Third Wiseman
A Life Completed
The Refugees
An Ancient Love Story
Santa’s Story

Sample

(Note: This sample is from the title story Can I Hold Him? In Jesus time, the Bethlehem Inn would probably have been a family business. I imagined that the young daughter Hannah would have been hard at work caring for guests the night Jesus was born.)

Can I Hold Him?

That particular year, Caesar Augustus had decreed that everyone should return to the place of their birth to be registered for the tax. Bethlehem was teeming with people. Our business had doubled. I remember my father rubbing his hands together in satisfaction and saying, “Thank you, Caesar, thank you,” as he scurried around the inn.

The night Jesus was born, loud, boisterous men filled our inn. Sweating bodies surrounded me, each one demanding something. I was up before dawn, fetching and carrying, preparing food, washing dishes. I thought the day would never end.

As I cleared away the evening meal, I heard a persistent pounding on the door. “Who is it now?” I wondered. I tripped over someone’s outstretched leg and almost fell as I struggled through the people to the door. I wrenched it open and without looking up shouted above the din, “No room. We’re full.” I tried to slam the door shut but the man had his foot in the way. It was only then that I looked up and saw them. A beautiful young woman, great with child, sat on a donkey. She winced with pain. The man reached out and grabbed my arm, his eyes wild with desperation.

“Get your master!” he commanded.

I knew what Father would say, but I had no choice. I shrugged off his arm, turned on my heel and yelled, “Father! Father!” as I threaded my way through the crowd toward the kitchen. Out of the gloom and smoke, Father appeared at my elbow with Mother standing close behind him.

“What is it?” he roared above the din.

I put my mouth to his ear and shouted, “There’s a couple at the door wanting…

“There’s no room. We’re full,” he interrupted. Then, pushing me aside, he stomped off towards the door muttering to himself.

I turned to Mother and pleaded, “Isn’t there some way we can help them? The woman is going to have a baby.”

“Get back into the kitchen; the dishes are piled high,” she scolded. A tear slipped down my cheek. Mother reached out with her apron and wiped it away. “My sweet Hannah,” she sighed and hurried off after Father. “I’ll try,” she called back over her shoulder…