Was There Room at the Manger for Her?

She had sat in the service Sunday evening, listening to the visiting preacher, the son-in-law of the pastor, talking about why the King of Glory had come to a manger.

Why had He come to a manger?

 The preacher had used big words like "alienation," and "association," "accessibility," and

"announcement," all alliterated like a wonderful sermon is supposed to be--to help us to remember the points. 

But then there were all the simple words in between the big words of the outline--

to help us understand and relate--like the dawning of a new day against the dark of an opening amaryllis on the kitchen windowsill.

 That young visiting preacher had said that Jesus came to the manger, there being no room at the inn--because He wanted to be able to relate to people that nobody wanted--people for whom society or family has no room, people who were in financial messes, and family messes.

 He wanted to be able to relate to the least and the lowest--the dirty, grimy, smelly shepherds, for example.

 He wanted to be accessible to everyone--however small, or ugly, or fat, or stupid, or slow, or not-too-smart, or skinny or tired or poor.

 The shepherds--and does that mean cowboys?

And carpenters who make sawdust, and plumbers who clean out other people's sewer pipes, and remodelers who make a huge mess before they make something nice?

 And does that mean the wives of the cowboys or ranchers or homesteaders, 

the wives of the plumbers and remodelers and blue collar workers?

The ones who sweep up a storm of drywall dust behind the remodelers--and sometimes create dust of their own--and get caught in photos they didn't know were happening--and in messes they don't know what to do with?

The home schooling moms who are the misfits of society?

She had sat there, and listened to the words the preacher used:

"Room at the Manger."

 After the message, the pastor had invited the church family to gather around the altar for a time of prayer.
And just at the end of prayer time, her suddenly feeling like she wasn't worth anything, like every time she opened her mouth she stuck her foot in, 

she had thought again about those words,

"Room at the Manger."

Room for people like her?

And there was this intense desire to go up on the platform to the window scene in the baptistry behind the pulpit to touch the little wooden manger with the little replica of the baby Jesus in it--But wouldn't that look ridiculous?

Instead, she found herself crying and being held tight in the arms of a white-haired grandma who whispered something into her ears as she shook like a leaf.

She could not stop crying. People must not see her cry like this.
It was so stupid to just want to go and touch a manger.

She grabbed her coat and hurried outside the church. People must not see her cry like this.

They would not understand. Why should she hug a manger?

So she hurried into the darkness--and suddenly, there in the distance--was another manger--

all lit up in the front yard of the parsonage. 

She could not understand what drew her to this silly plastic thing?

This plastic figure of Jesus and his mother and Joseph--and of course, a manger.

The plastic yellow straw was spilling over the edge of the manger, and tears were spilling over the edge of where they belonged. 

And she hoped nobody would see--her being so stupid, her heart sobbing in front of the manger.

She turned around quickly. No one must see her. It was so dumb. 

No, no one had seen her.

No one saw the tears in the dark van on the way home from church.

 And it wasn't until she was in bed that night, shaking with tears beside her husband, saying just this,

that she had been so profoundly touched with what the preacher said about "room at the manger,"

that she realized that she had never understood before, 

quite this clearly, the love  that sent the Lord Jesus to the manger.

 And like the gentle but unremitting light of the dawning of a new day, 

the understanding of His love for her personally took on a new meaning.

 He could have chosen to be born in a palace, in order to relate to the the rich and the smart and the nice, good, well-liked people.

But He chose the opposite--because most of us--really all of us--

are not so very smart or rich or good.

He lay, the preacher had said, in the feeding trough of stable animals 

in order to become the Bread that would feed the hungry hearts, the poor, the unloved of society. 

No wonder she had wanted to touch a manger!

Usually, when the tears wouldn't stop like that, she couldn't go to sleep.

But before she knew it, wrapped in the arms of that wonderful love that had shone out to her from the long ago manger, 

she fell asleep.