Last Christmas, my parents gave each of their children a small Nativity set complete with a little stable my dad built from the old cabinets they'd ripped out of the kitchen. I noticed while I was at my sister's house that every figure in their Nativity was crammed into the tiny stable.
I had my own set on a table by the front door of my house. Just before I left town for the holiday, my sister's family dropped by with a few gifts they wanted to me to take with me. It didn't take long for my nephew Seth to see my Nativity and promptly proceed to crowd the figures together inside.
When I began to explain that there wasn't enough room inside the stable, showing him how it should look and pulling the pieces out to give each their proper space (I'm all about personal bubbles), he threw his arms up and with frustrated tears shouted, "Stop! There'th enough room! They can't thee the baby from outthide! They need to thee the baby!!"
The other day I caught a glimpse of my sister's Nativity, again with the figures tucked snugly inside, each with a clear view of the wooden baby.
Christmas is always an oddly sad time for me. I usually blame it on the magic that's lost as we grow up, the faces I love but rarely see any other time of year, the gifts I wish I could afford to give. This year, through the words of a five year old, I'm reminded that through the twinkly lights that remind me of childhood, the reunions I wish wouldn't have to end and the annual painful search for the right gift for my dad (why doesn't anyone make soap-on-a-rope anymore?), to make sure that I can see the baby. There is always enough room, and that is where the real magic lies.
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"It seems, then," said Tirian, smiling himself, "that the Stable seen from within and the Stable seen from without are two different places."
"Yes," said the Lord Diggory. "Its inside is bigger than its outside."
"Yes," said Queen Lucy. "In our world too, a Stable once had something inside it that was bigger than our whole world."
- CS Lewis' "The Last Battle"
