With the holidays upon us, I thought I’d share a post from my first year of blogging, detailing a Christmas memory that rather stands out. š May joy find you this holiday season!
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Regardless of how we spend them, the holidays draw up memoriesāsome wonderful, some weād rather forget and some that just keep getting funnierā¦
I donāt recall many details about the day I stole Jesus.Ā But since I was in high school, it was probably like most winter days. I awoke to the sound of my motherās voice, munched on toast in a fog then slipped on the ice en route to catch the bus. *winces from phantom butt ache* Come dusk, after more fogginess known asĀ classes, I went to my friend Andreaās house to meet with my Odyssey of the Mind team. (If youāre unfamiliar with O.M., think math team for creatives.) There, I woke up.
BeckāsĀ āIām a loser babyā¦āĀ hummed from the stereo while we dined on doughnuts and M&Ms in preparation for the eveningās events. Tonight we would do a scavenger hunt, Andrea explained. In O.M., making practice activities as difficult as possible was key, particularly since our sights were set on state competition and beyond. Toward this end, Baby Jesus appeared on my search list.
Numerous of my teammates were atheists, the equivalent of devil worship in the eyes of my strict, Baptist grandparents. Iād spent the summer organizing benefit concerts to raise awareness about child abuse, for which I was made co-recipient of the Minnesota Peace Prize. In other words, I was aĀ goody-goodyĀ supreme, not someone predictably comfy with Jesus-nabbing.
To worsen matters, I couldnāt yet drive and the only Jesus in the neighborhood was real, and not in a Second Coming type way. Mary and Josephās breath made frozen white puffs in the air and the little tyke in the manger wasnāt plastic.
Crap, I thought, unable to evenĀ thinkĀ cuss words yet, much less state them. Then I had an idea. Iād call a friend, hitch a ride to my house andĀ borrowĀ the plastic, light-up Jesus from the nativity scene in the yard. My family was asleep, I figured; no one would miss him for a few hours. And besides, couldnāt the little dude use some respite? As far as I knew, he hadnāt even rested on a Sunday.
The call, ride and borrow went smoothly. With the mission accomplished, I returned to Andreaās house. The gang fell speechless as I presented every item on my list, including the almighty savior. Sure, Iād found a creative solutionāone of the O.M. pillars. But far more remarkable was the fact that I, Ms. Goody Two Shoes,Ā stoleĀ him, presumably from aĀ strangerāsĀ yard. And seemed not only fine with it, but pleased.
Hours later, exhausted and high from sugar, creative tricks and camaraderie,Ā we called it a night and a teammate drove me home.
The next morning I woke to sounds best suited to nightmares.Ā Muffled crying. Serious voices. Something terribly wrong. I jolted upright:Ā Cora?Ā Listening closer, I had no doubt. My youngest sister was upset.Ā ReallyĀ upset. Before I could rush downstairs to soothe her, she said something Iāll never forget: āBut Mom, why would someone steal Baby Jesus?ā
The word crapĀ no longer seemed strong enough.Ā @$%#! I forgot Jesus!Ā
I snuck into my parentsā room and phoned Andrea then held my breath as she searched to no avail: Jesus wasnāt there.Ā @#$@#$#&$#@$!!!Ā
I sat paralyzed in my room, scrambling for what to do. My parentsā angst-filled voices echoed through the hallway, their disappointment surely due more to Coraās heartache than the missing figure. What my team didnāt know was that amidst my recent good-doings, Iād been picked up by the cops (for skipping class with a friend, leading our parents to believe weād been abductedālong story) and gotten in trouble for otherā¦*clears throat* ā¦things. Seeing my sistersā sad faces as the cop car pulled into the driveway that day had been too much. I couldnāt disappoint Cor, or any of them, again.
I spent the day working up the courage to confessĀ whileĀ the term āfinding Christā took on a whole new meaning.
That night, still Jesus-less and lost for an alternate plan, I heard my mom and Cora praying for the bad person who took him.
Tomorrow,Ā I decided. I would spill everything tomorrow.
I woke the next morning to brighter sounds. Sing song chatter. Laughter. Coraās voice, now chipper: āItās a ChristmasĀ miracle!ā
Tears filled my eyes once I realized what had happened. The teammate whoād driven me home from Andreaās had tucked baby Jesus back in his bed. My sisterās joyĀ almostĀ made the ordeal worthwhile.
Deeming my shame and frustration punishment enough, and not wishing to taint my sisterās āmiracleā or opinion of me, I kept the truth to myself until last year when my dear husband outed me. Iām glad he did, as the laughter itās brought up since is a near holiday in itself.
That Christmas, plug-in Jesus shed light on a few things. While the truth may set us free, happy outcomes sometimes pan out regardless. Pausing to think/panic may enhance those results. And perhaps the āgoodā in Goody Two Shoes speaks solely of her intentions, and her walk isnāt pristine, but creative.
What’s your funniest holiday memory? Have you ever semi-accidently stolen a religious icon?