TheBanyanTree: The Real One

[R J Fernalld]

 The Real One

 I, in the company of much of the general population,  spent
a year fraught with pain and troubles, death, debt and disappointment. The
days have been long, and often the nights have been interminable. Through it
all that proverbial "light at the end of the tunnel" has been a fable I have
not believed in.

I buried my mother, known a nephew blown to bits in Iraq, 
endured changes in those around me...and watched my physical self nearly
wither away to nothing. Though a survivor, I am much wearied with much that
the world holds dear. And I have lost faith in much of what I, too once held
dear.

And now...comes Christmas.

Christmas: That season of jolly fat men, happy children and that
nebulous "all-American, home grown Christmas spirit" that pervades the
airwaves, and always makes me feel at odds with the world.

I believe in no specific, namable religion, though due to my
Christian background, Jesus remains the most familiar of the "familar". I
know the old stories and traditions about
him...and still do not know what I believe. Somehow I think that if he
really is who he claims to be...he's forgiven my well researched
unbelief.


This year, I received a most wonderful gift. Today, from the
heart of a badly misshapen child, I received what can only be
termed....a miracle. The warmth and grace of that moment has rekindled
within me a long forgotten memory, and has renewed within me a once held
hope.

I held his hand, when he let me. He was ashamed of his nearly
fingerless hands, and usually kept them out of sight while in public. For
someone only six years old, he already suffered much pain and humiliation. 
He already knew to hide his differences, for the world prefers it. We were
at the Mall...Christmas shopping. The stores were crowded, the tinny carols
blared overhead. Children and harassed mommies and daddies were standing in
line for the picture with Santa, and my companion was starry-eyed and silent



This year the annual contest the mall owners held was a
pagent of nativity scenes. On a series of display tables through the center
of the building, contestants arrayed their shepherds, angels, wise men and
mangers. Such a variety there was to be seen...crystal, plastic, wood,
realistic as well as Impressionistic baby Jesuses...and Mama Mary? Black,
white, brown, blond, brunette, dredlocked, redheaded Virgin Marys....
daunting, and unappealing to say the least! 

As unimpressed as I was with this strange "Creche Contest", my
small charge was awestruck. He was barely breathing as he stopped before
each tableaux before him. He stopped before each one...looking, studying
each figure as if trying to memorize each feature.

"What are you looking for?" I asked him.

"For which one's the real one," he replied in all seriousness.

Careful not to chuckle, I gently squeezed his fragile hand, and
allowed him to stop me every few feet so he could look for "The Real Jesus".
It could do no harm. Let him be a child as long as he can, I thought. Let
him believe as long as life's realities will let him. There will be enough
disillusionments to come.

"I FOUND HIM!"

Shaking with excitement, he pulled me closer to the table he was
leaning into.

"Look! It's really the real one!"

I followed his crooked finger, and found myself looking at a rather
disfigured little baby Jesus, lying grotesquely on a beat up plastic
manger. To say my little friend was excited would be a gross
understatement.

"My dog chewed it," the little girl across the table whispered,
with downcast eyes. "I should put it back in the box."

"Oh no!! Don't!! Don't !! He is the real one...he's like me!!"

The little girl stopped and, noticing his hands, passed the
fingerless Jesus to him. He was so stunned I thought I might have to pick
him up off the floor. He caressed the small plastic figure with his crooked
fingers, and his little heart seemed so moved...so full.

Lovingly and with great care, he kissed the baby, reached into the small
rickety stable and placed the deformed Baby Jesus back in his chewed up bed.

He stood there another moment, smiled at the little girl and turned away. He
again began pulling at my hand...this time in earnest, as if on another
great mission.

"Come on!"

"What are you doing?" I asked, seeing that he still was looking
intently at each nativity scene on the tables. "What are you looking for
now?"

He stopped and turned to stand directly before me, crooking his
finger to say he had need to whisper to me.  I knelt before him, and nto my
ear he said...

"We have to find the baby Jesus with no mommy....for you."

As I knelt there on that dirty mall floor, surrounded by a sea of
noisy shoppers, I felt the touch of my Creator through the love in this
little boy's heart. A feeling I thought was lost to me forever.

Never have I been given so much unspoken understanding, or such gentle care.
It seemed that his need to find a god that he thought could identify with
his need, led him to understand the needs of others. 

Namely me. 

The miracle this child wrought for me I hope will remain with me forever..
and I hope it will touch you as well.

copyright R J Fernalld 2003