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A Holiday Gift For My Readers!

Since the holiday season is a time for giving, I've decided to offer all my readers the opportunity to read a seasonal short story that I wrote. I'm happy to report that this short story entitled, The Baby Jesus Thief, won two awards at the 2018 Southeastern Writers Association Workshop. The story received the Award for Excellence in Inspirational Writing and also the Angel Award for Holiday Seasonal Writing. I hope you enjoy the story.

The Baby Jesus Thief

by Dana Ridenour

     Four-year-old Nicholas Atkins huddled in the closet, hidden under his Spider-Man blanket. He held the baby tight to his chest. Nick heard BANG, BANG, BANG on the front door and knew he was in trouble. "Oh please, don't let them find us," he prayed.

     Thelma Atkins had been a beautiful woman, but working two jobs had taken a toll on her once-youthful appearance.
     Another BANG, BANG, BANG rattled the front door.
     "Coming," Thelma yelled. She opened the door and found her red-faced neighbor posed ready to bang on the door again.
     "Ray, are you all right?"
     "He did it again," Ray said.
     "Who did what?"
     "Your son. He did it again. He stole my wife's baby Jesus."
     Thelma sighed. "Please come in. Have a seat," she said, motioning toward the tattered couch.
     Ray knocked the snow off his boots before entering the house. He nodded and sat down. Thelma sat in the chair across from Ray.
     "This is the third time your boy has stolen the baby Jesus from my manger scene. You told me it wouldn't happen again, yet here we are."
     "Are you sure it was Nicholas?"
     "Yes. I saw him from my kitchen window. One minute he was standing there staring at the manger, and the next he was gone and so was baby Jesus. Your son is a Jesus thief."
     Thelma tried hard not to laugh, but a grown man complaining about a missing baby Jesus struck her as funny until she noticed Ray's quivering hands.
     "Would you like something to drink?" she asked.
     Looking up from his shaking hands, he made eye contact with Thelma.
     She noticed the tears filling his eyes.
     "A glass of water would be nice."
     "Of course. I'll be right back."
     Thelma figured Ray needed a minute to pull himself together, so she took her time. She came back into the living room carrying two glasses of ice water.
     "Thank you," Ray said, taking the glass. "I'm not trying to be an ass, Thelma. It's just--"
     "You don't owe me an explanation, Ray."
     "Yes, I do. It's ridiculous for a grown man to be so . . . so attached to a manger scene. It's just, my wife derived so much joy from decorating for Christmas, and she loved that silly manger scene. I hated dragging all that crap out of the attic every year, but when I saw the joy on her face as she painstakingly placed each decoration in its proper place, it made it all worth it."
     Ray took a drink of his water before continuing. "Twenty-five years ago, Martha saw that manger scene for sale in the department store window when we visited my family in the city for Thanksgiving. She wanted it so bad, but when she saw the price tag, she knew we couldn't afford it. We were newly married, and I had just been laid off from my job at the factory. It was going to be a bare Christmas, but Martha said it didn't matter. She told me that Christmas wasn't about fancy gifts."
     "Martha sounds like she was a wise woman," Thelma said.
     "She was, and extremely practical. She also put everyone else's needs above her own. She was selfless." Tears rolled down Ray's cheeks. He took another drink of water and continued. "I saw her staring at the manger scene when she didn't think I was watching. When we returned home, I couldn't get it out of my mind. All my wife wanted was some silly Christmas decoration for the front yard, and I couldn't buy it for her. I took every odd job that I could find to try to squirrel away enough money to buy that manager scene, but we had bills to pay and food to buy. I couldn't seem to save enough money. I finally broke down and asked my father for a loan. I hated asking my father for anything. He was a spiteful, condescending man who thought Martha was beneath me. I swallowed my pride and groveled at my father's feet for a loan."
     Thelma leaned forward, engaged in Ray's story. "Did he give you the loan?"
     "He did, but not without strings. My father never did anything unless it benefitted him in some way. He made me promise to move home and work with him in the family business. I agreed under the condition he would never tell Martha."
     "So you bought her the manger scene?"
     "I drove back to the city on Christmas Eve, but the department store was sold out, and the only one they had left was the floor display. The store manager didn't want to sell it to me because the baby Jesus was slightly damaged. A store employee had dropped the statue when he was setting up the scene, so Jesus had a small chip on his shoulder."
     Thelma snickered. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to laugh."
     "It's okay. It's funny now, but I was upset at the time. I couldn't go home without the manger scene, so I begged the store manager to sell me the damaged floor model. He agreed and gave me half off, because of the damaged Jesus. I drove home and arranged the scene in the middle of the night. I didn't get a wink of sleep that night, 'cause I was so excited to see Martha's face the next morning."
     "I imagine she was thrilled."
     "When she woke up I had her close her eyes, and I walked her outside onto the front lawn. She was complaining because she was in her housecoat and slippers, but I didn't care. When she opened her eyes and saw the front lawn, she broke down and cried. She said it was the best Christmas gift she ever received. When I apologized and told her that baby Jesus had a small chip, she said that the chip made him even more special to her. So every year, on the first of December, Martha made me drag out all the Christmas decorations, including the manger scene, and she decorated the house and yard for the holiday season. She loved Christmas so much." Tears flowed freely down Ray's cheeks, and his shoulders quaked as he sobbed.
     Thelma put down her glass of water, moved over next to him on the couch, and placed her hands on Ray's. He looked up at Thelma and smiled.
     "Two years ago, in August, my wife was diagnosed with inoperative cancer. By December she was weak and dying, but she made me put up all the Christmas decorations, including the manger. She died two days after Christmas. Just before she died, she told me she understood the cost of the manger scene. Neither my father nor I ever told her about the agreement, but she was my wife, and she knew. She told me that the manger scene was the best gift she ever received, and then she made me promise to put it up every Christmas as a reminder of the real reason for the season. Martha told me she loved me with her whole heart, and then she faded off. She died in my arms a couple hours later."
     Thelma squeezed Ray's hands and then reached up to wipe a tear from her face. "Thank you for sharing your story, Ray."
     "Well, you and your boy seem like nice people. I guess I wanted you to understand that I'm not just a crazy, grumpy, old man."
     "I never thought that."
     "Oh, come on. A grown man nearly knocking your door down over a silly ceramic statue? If the roles were reversed, I would think you were crazy."
     Thelma laughed. "Shall we find out why Nick is so fascinated with your statue?" Thelma asked.
     "Okay."
     Thelma walked over to the bottom of the stairs, crossed her arms, and yelled for Nicolas. She cocked her head and listened for a response.
     "He always answers when I call him. I'll be right back."
     "Do you want me to come with you?"
     Thelma nodded, and Ray followed her up the creaky wooden stairs. She opened the bedroom door, but there was no sign of the boy.
     "Nicholas? Nick, where are you?" She opened the attached bathroom door, but he wasn't there.
     "I think I heard something," Ray said, pointing to the closet.
     Thelma opened the closet door, and secreted in the far back corner was Nick holding tight to the ceramic baby Jesus. The paint on the statue had long faded, leaving the infant's face featureless.
     "Nicholas, what are you doing in there? Come out right this minute."
     The four-year-old wrapped his arms tighter around the precious item, guarding it as if his life depended on it.
     "Nick, come out."
     "May I try?" Ray asked.
     Thelma stepped aside, allowing Ray access to the closet. Ray knelt down so he could see the small boy partially hidden under the Spider-Man blanket.
     "Hi, Nick. Do you remember me? I'm your neighbor."
     Nick scrunched up under the blanket, making himself as small as possible.
     "My name is Ray. Can we talk for a minute?"
     Nick nodded.
     Ray sat down and crossed his legs so he was on the same level as the small child.
     "I think you and I share a love for baby Jesus. Can you tell me why you don't want Jesus to sleep in his manger?"
     "No one wanted baby Jesus," Nick mumbled.
     "What was that?" Ray asked.
     "The teacher told us in Sunday school that no one wanted baby Jesus. There wasn't room for him, so he had to sleep in a manger."
     "So you were offering him a room?"
     Nick nodded. "He was cold outside in the snow. I wanted to help him."
     Ray looked up at Thelma and smiled. He looked back at the child. "You're a good boy, Nick. How about if you come out of the closet and we can figure out a way to keep baby Jesus safe and warm?"
     "Am I in trouble?"
     "I can't answer for your mother, but as far as I'm concerned, you're not in any trouble." Ray looked to Thelma for confirmation.
     Tears were streaming down her cheeks. "You're not in trouble, Nick," Thelma said. "Please come out of the closet, son."
     Nick crawled out of the closet, bringing with him the statue that was swaddled in a tattered old blanket.
     Ray slowly got up from the floor, his knees cracking as he stood. The three sat on Nick's bed.
     Thelma noted, "I see you wrapped Jesus in your baby blanket."
     "He was cold, so I gave him my blanket. I told him it would keep him safe."
     Thelma continued, "Nick, we know you were trying to do a good thing by taking baby Jesus, but he doesn't belong to you. Do you understand that he belongs to Mr. Ray? And baby Jesus has a special meaning to him, so you can't keep taking him."
     Nick hugged the statue and looked down at the faceless figure. "I wanted him to know I love him and I wouldn't make him sleep outside. He can sleep in my bed with me."
     "I know you were doing it for the right reason, but you can't take other people's things," his mother said. "It's stealing, and Jesus wouldn't want you to steal."
     Nick's eyes shot open wide. "I didn't mean to steal."
     "We know you didn't mean anything bad," Ray said. "Maybe you and I can both take care of baby Jesus."
     "How?" the boy held the sculpture tighter.
     "It's obvious you and I both love this particular baby Jesus. How about if Jesus sleeps in the manger during the day, and then at night, he can come and sleep with you in your bed? That way he'll be safe and warm at night. But you have to promise to take good care of him. He has special meaning for me. When you're older, I'll tell you a special story."
     "When I'm five?"
     "What?"
     "Will you tell me when I'm five? I'll be older then."
     Ray smiled. "Maybe a little older than five."
     "Six, then?"
     "Okay, when you're six."
     Nick squeezed the baby Jesus and then handed it over to Ray. "He can use my blanket during the day. It'll keep him safe. Then when he comes to sleep with me, it'll keep us both safe."
     Ray looked down at the chipped-shoulder baby Jesus and remembered the true meaning of Christmas. "Thank you for loving baby Jesus as much as I do." Ray looked up at Thelma. The pain and anger had left his face. Years disappeared as he smiled a wide, beautiful smile.
     The perfectly imperfect, chipped-shoulder baby Jesus would always be safe and well-loved.