We have a Christmas tradition around here of wrapping Baby Jesus and a Christmas ornament nail in brown packing paper with a shimmering gold bow. It's the first gift we open on Christmas morning as we read Luke 2 and place Jesus in the Christmas hay. We hang the nail on our tree, reminiscent of another tree and read of his sacrifice, the second one, because wasn't leaving heaven for earth a sacrifice too?

Right now, the first gifts are still unwrapped, alone under our tree.  I unboxed Jesus for a photo session the other night and just half-heartedly stuck him back into the tissue paper, box gaping open with tissue and Jesus' torso hanging out irreverently.

As I flipped the switch to light our tree this morning, I noticed the boxes neatly restacked under the bow looking conspicuously unmolested. Apparently one of my teenagers had carefully replaced Jesus, closed the lid, and gingerly nestled him, box and all, back under his shimmery bow.


A teenager, who leaves the towels on the bathroom counter, dirty clothes on the floor, and has no qualm about an unmade bed, carefully tucked Jesus back in.