When I was in Kindergarten, I was chosen to be Mary in the school’s performance Christmas Story–when Jesus was born. My first crush–a boy named George from my class–was cast as Joseph, and I was very, very excited. As far as I was concerned, Mary was the leading lady, and despite not having any actual lines, I felt so proud.
My mom and my aunts swathed me in long white and blue lengths of fabric, and my grandma wrapped the plastic baby Jesus from her lawn nativity in a blanket for me to carry. I tapped a fingernail on his hollow little head, and practiced gazing lovingly down at him.
On the night of the performance, while walking down the aisle with my practiced gaze of adoration, Joseph at my side and plastic baby Jesus in my arms, I tripped on my robes and Jesus flew out of my arms.

I don’t remember being embarrassed. The doll was passed back to me from the audience. I wrapped him up, held my long dress out of the way of my sneakers and continued on.
Having partially recovered from Catholicism and found my own amalgamation of spiritual beliefs over the past few years, Christmas has come to have more significance than when I actually went to church.
Cross-culturally for millennia, various solar deities and shepard gods have parallels reflected in the the Jesus story–Osiris, Buddha, Huitzilopotchli, Jesus, and many more all have similar threads in their tapestries. And let’s be real: it’s all the same damn tapestry when you zoom out far enough.
But I’m not a comparative religion major and not really trying to prove anything, so there.

Just like the great epics, myths and fables, we each are every character in the story, the Christmas Story included.
In this time of darkness (seasonally, culturally, socially, etc.) we are desperate for deliverance, hear whispers of change, revolution, salvation. We see a glimmer of hope in the darkest of nights.
Are we not the Seekers, weary and ecstatic and driven by pure faith, bearing hopeful hearts and holy offerings?
Are we not the Protector, staff in hand and holding vigilant space, humbly guarding and keeping watch?
Are we not the glowing Creatrix, breathless with labor and beaming with pride, eager to nourish, mother and give everything we possibly can?
We too are the infant Savior, seed of Light. This infant is not hollow and plastic, but thriving and full of life, sweet and innocent in this rebirth, this newest incarnation, precious and requiring time, care, and nurturing.
Right now, nurturing is of utmost importance. Compassion, care, quietude. The time to rise is soon, but for now we rest, we keep watch, we grow.
The prophetic Star hangs above us and lights the way–this is the path. You are the one you have been waiting for.
Rejoice, rejoice.