Friday was the last day of school for the kids until after the new year. And, as they do every year, Sam's preschool class acted out the Nativity story during the last 10 minutes of class.
It is one of my favorite things to look forward to at Christmas.
This year Sam was a king. Last year he was a donkey. In the weeks leading up to Christmas they act it out every day in class switching around the parts- so everyone had got to be all of the people at some point.
As I stood in the back and watched what was my sixth preschool nativity 'play', I was startled as I felt a giant tear roll all the way down my cheek and drip onto my shirt. I suppose it caught me off guard because I didn't realize I had began to cry.
It is so overwhelming to me to imagine that God's plan to save the world, to save us, began with a tiny newborn baby. So helpless. So little. So pure. He used normal people to orchestrate the most beautiful dance for all of eternity- Mary and Joseph, the shepherds, even the kings. I wonder if they all knew, I mean really knew, what was happening as they stared at that small tiny baby. That he would grow and save us all from our own sins. That his mother would stand next to him crying as he was cruicified to do so. That we would all be so anxious to meet him in heaven. It's overwhelming now- I'm sure it was then too.
It was also difficult to watch this acted out by my favorite group of 4 year olds and know it was the very last time I would get to do so. As my youngest wraps up his last year of preschool- it also wraps up our families involvement there. All three kids, two years each- 6 years of our lives. I can't imagine how strange it will feel not to go to that church three days a week to retrieve my overly excited preschooler anymore.
Dang- there goes another one of those tears.