JOY ALONG THE WAY: ASSEMBLING NATIVITY SCENE STIRS MEMORIES

"To me," says my friend from Virginia, "the nativity scene is the most important of the Christmas decorations." She has no argument from me.

As I assemble my own creche this year, I hold each piece in my hand for a while to let my real-life experiences cluster 'round it. First, I pick up the largest piece, the shelter itself. It is a replica of a crude open-faced wooden building. There is a lot of imitation straw glued onto the roof, inside floor and a suitably sized outside area leading into it. The thing that comes to mind is our old farm barn. There was always a lot of straw and hay around at Christmastime and throughout the year. Wide doors were left open for the animals to come in out of the cold. Besides the horses and cows some owls went in, too, at night and perched on the high beams. Chickens that heard a different drummer spurned the chicken house and went in to roost on the big binder wheel. Although cats and mice lived there, uneasy with each other, the old barn was somewhat cozy from the warmth of the creatures' bodies. There was an occasional ring of a cowbell as Jersey Star and Holstein Stella adjusted their reclining heads to a more comfortable position. There were velvety whinnies, stomps and rustling feathers. Odors of corn, wheat, leather, hay and straw-strewn stalls usually overcame the more pungent smells. Having absorbed the ambiance of my real-life barn, I set the creche shelter on an expanse of crumpled green velvet. I could have chosen white, but I'm not sure there was snow that night in Bethlehem, and green seems to represent more accurately the beginning of things.

I pick up the next two largest pieces of my Christmas creche, the camels. I cannot relate to them so readily in any real-life experience. It was much later after the "barn days" before I encountered real camels. I haven't stroked a camel as I have the horses and cows, but I'm scholarly familiar with them because of the research I did when writing The Crosses At Zarin. I know the reason for their two toes, their slitted nostrils, their long eyelashes, their knobby knees and why they can traverse the dry places without water. The ones that I hold in my hands are harnessed in elegant molded attire, although of all white ceramic I can still see in my mind's eye the camels that were in "my" caravan that passed close to Capernaum and Bethsaida. They were richly dressed with vividly colored caprisons edged with long tassels, tinkling bells and sturdy saddlebags of tapestry.

I place the white camels in the strewed area in front of the stable, wondering why there are only two in the set since tradition, not the Bible, has it there were three wise men -- Gaspar, Melchior and Belthazar.

Since I'm going from the largest pieces to the smallest, the next one I pick up is a cow. She really isn't as tall as one of the Magi, but she is lying down. I call her Star since she was our favorite real cow. The ceramic cow's ears are alert as if she is looking upon something unusual. Real live Star's ears were always alert too, looking for Grandpa or Dad to come along the walkway with another portion of bran or hearing the sound of clinking milk pails as the milkers came on. I was one of these milkers, sometimes assigned to Star.

We didn't have a farm donkey, but there is one in the ceramic crowd. One ear is alert, the other slightly bent forward as if it needed to hear better. We had a real live mule. He, too, drooped an ear every once in a while as if he was puzzled by human goings-on. Perhaps my ceramic donkey belonged to someone up at the inn where a boisterous crowd had come for the census.

They didn't see what the donkey saw.

The wise men, because of their crowns denoting kingship, are the tallest of the humans in the creche. I place them nearby their camels. They are holding gifts they are preparing to give to the Baby Jesus.

In real life I've known a lot of wise men, none of whom are or were astrologers as the biblical wise men are described. Most of my wise men have been preachers, teachers and a few old tillers of the soil.

Joseph is next, standing as tall as the wise men but without a crown. He is molded strong and muscular, as are most real-life carpenters. I stand him inside the shelter. I'm acquainted with lots of Josephs, all of whom I've called Joe. I cannot bring myself to call this rigid one Joe.

Since the kneeling shepherds and the sheep are about the same size they are assembled next, inside the shelter. Jess Stacy, our farm neighbor, had sheep. I suppose he is the only shepherd of sheep I have ever known. His shepherding was easy -- no lions, jackals or stealers of sheep around. I passed through Stacy's pasture often. I loved to let my hands sink into the white wool on their backs. The little lambs would even suck on a finger if I held it out to them.

Loving sheep as I do, I supplemented the two that came with the ceramic set with an abundance of little plastic sheep about the same size and scattered them out on the green velvet pasture in grazing groups.

Little Mary is sitting down and looking with admiration at the baby in the manger before her. Adoration is hard to mold in ceramics, but it is there just as it is in the face of all new mothers who choose to let their children be born.

The manger with the Baby in it is the smallest piece and the last to be put into place. All the others have been leading up to it, the least but the most important.

When all is in place I sit and look at it for a long time, even hum a few bars of "Sweet Little Jesus Boy." Everything is now ready, the centerpiece of Christmas has been put in place. I rise to get on with the tree trimming and the cookie baking with a joy in my heart.

Rejoice.

Jean Bell Mosley is a long-time columnist for the Southeast Missourian and author of numerous books. She is a frequent contributor to Guideposts and other national publications.