Last year, our church held a nativity pageant for the Christmas holidays. We re-enacted the story of Jesus' birth, complete with a set portraying Bethlehem, shepherds tending their flocks, the Three Wise Men and the stable where Jesus was born and placed in a manger.

My two-month-old son, Nathan, played the role of Baby Jesus. He looked adorable, wearing a blue and white tunic. But I was worried. How would Nathan handle being in the manger for three whole hours? And when “Mary” picked him up, would he realize that she wasn't his real mommy? I had visions of him crying because the spotlights bothered his eyes. I worried that he might have a diaper leak or spit up all over the woman playing Mary. My imagination ran away with me, convincing me that Nathan would ruin the entire program, making us outcasts in the community. My poor infant son would be branded a trouble-maker for life. At his high-school graduation, I imagined people pointing at him, saying, “There's that boy who ruined our Christmas program 17 years ago.”

My worries grew and grew until I was convinced Nathan shouldn't play Baby Jesus after all. I didn't think he could handle the pressure.

The Real Thing
I expressed my concerns—OK, my hysteria—to our church's music director. She held up a baby doll and said, “This will be Nathan's substitute. If he gets fussy, during the intermission, take him from the manger and replace him with the doll. No one will even notice.”

That seemed like the perfect solution. I managed to calm down—at least, until opening night, when I overheard a little girl say, “Someone said that the Baby Jesus is a real baby, Mommy! I can't wait to see him!”

And then my crazy worrying started all over again. What if I was feeding Nathan when that little girl happened to be watching? Would she be disappointed that a doll was in his place? The pageant was meant to welcome new members to our church and I didn't want anyone to leave with negative feelings.

I worried right up to and including the pageant. But then I overheard two little girls talking. Both children had just seen the program and both wore the same expression, a mixture of fascination and hope.

The first little girl said, “That play was awesome! It was neat to see the angels and Wise Men and even that real live camel.”

The second child said, “I loved it, too. The camel was cool, but the real live Baby Jesus was even better.”

The first girl's eyes grew big. “It was
a real baby? I thought it was a doll.”

“I saw his arm move,” the other girl whispered conspiratorially. “He was real.”

The first girl seemed unconvinced. “Anyways,” she decided, “it doesn't matter if that baby was real. I know that the real Jesus is real.”

The Reason Why
I smiled at their conversation, touched by the girl's faith. I wondered which half of the program the girls were talking about, with Nathan or the doll. But did it matter? Nathan's presence—or lack of it—hadn't made any difference in the message the girls had received. Jesus is real, and He loved us enough to humble Himself and come to earth as a baby. Both girls heard the same incredible message of God's love.

And I realized that, as usual, all my worrying had been for nothing. I had been so distracted by little things, such as a crying baby and diaper leaks, that I completely missed the reason we were putting on the pageant in the first place.

At this time of year, it's easy to become distracted by little details that seem important at the time, but don't mean anything at all in the long run. The gift-buying, the decorating, the rushing about. It's easy to forget why we do any of it.

But then something will happen to remind me, like the conversation between the two little girls.

Jesus is real. And He's the reason behind everything I do.