" A relative who lives in Brisbane was telling me about her visit doing Christmas shopping. She wanted to buy for her young children a Nativity Scene so she could put it on the table and explain the meaning of Christmas. Do you know that none of the shop assistants had a clue what she was talking about or even the real meaning of Christmas. This shows how much Australia has lost over the past generation.
So much for politicians enriching our society by bringing in aliens. To me it shows how bad Australia has got"
And that got me thinking about a Christmas a long time ago.
It was December about 1984. The long Australian summer had commenced and George Orwell's book of the same name was about as far from reality as you could get. He was only about 40 years out, but who's counting?
In those days, kids went to Sunday School and prayers were made on a daily basis to bring everything from world peace to the latest " Pink and Pretty Barbie doll " for Christmas. Slip in a new swimsuit ( or " bathers " , " togs" or whatever is your favourite vernacular ) and you get the picture.
Christmas is a joyous time of year. And that joy can come from an old beer carton, a recycled Barbie doll and some garden mulch.
My girls were always open minded, so they didn't mind running by Santa's pop-up in the local shopping centre to sit on his lap and ask him for the same things as they had already prayed for. It was, as they say in Australia and New Zealand and England, having two bob each way.
My girls, now on the " shady" side of 40 were then, as now, rather delightful young ladies who went to ballet class, learned tap dancing, jazz ballet and were budding musical talents with a school recorder. While one went on to master the flute, the other preferred to stick with tap dancing and still enjoys a great devotion to Miss Shirley Temple.
Christmas was a time of year that both girls adored. In fact, it could be said that they liked it better than their birthdays because it seemed that it was a celebration of so much more. They got far more presents than they did on birthdays and they also loved the fact that school holidays meant 6 weeks of unadulterated swimming, laughing and generally being happy.
It was a time of giving. Of joy. Of expectation. A time of hope and excitement. And all, as my youngest told me with a solemn and serious voice one day " because a little baby was born in the desert. " She went on to ask me why HER birthday was not as important. Surely, she argued, every little baby was just as good as this Jesus kid?
It was hard to answer her without denigrating her birth or that of Jesus. It was the sort of question a parent often wishes was never asked.
But ask it she did.
So I went on to explain that it was because he wasn't born in a comfy bed in hospital and he didn't have a team of Doctors and Nurses helping his Mummy and that Jesus' father didn't faint and fall on the floor when he was born. ( I put that in for dramatic effect you understand.)
It caused great giggles and much taunting of Daddy later on by the way . " Daddy, did you really fall on the floor and faint when I was born? Why?"
Daddy did the only sensible thing and said " ask your mother in about 20 years. "
But, as always, I have wandered off subject.
My daughter seemed rather happy with that answer ( thank goodness! ) and I went on to explain that maybe if we recreated the place that Jesus was born, it might help her to understand. Her older sister nodded knowingly.
" Yes Mum. You can't tell her. Show her. That is what my teacher says. " My eldest daughter is still like that. She is what they call a kinetic learner. She learns by doing things.
So we embarked on the Nativity Scene as viewed by two little girls in sunny Queensland Australia all those decades ago.
Firstly, we found a beer carton. Once cut correctly, it would serve as the stage backdrop. Some skillful drawing of lots and lots of stars and one very big one popped in to keep historic accuracy, and I think there may have been a pyramid or two but the " vibe " was right.
Fortunately the girls had been given a farmyard set the year before ( which, I might add, was not terribly welcome. Older daughter said, ( after thanking her Uncle profusely for the best gift EVER!!! )
" Well, at least that finally came in handy. "
Now, at least I know why there were so many cats at the birth of Jesus. And dogs. And lions. Not that many donkeys or sheep though.....weird
Mary was easy. Air hostess Barbie Doll got wrapped up in a face washcloth ( flannel down under ) and looked suitably demure and pregnant with a ping pong ball shoved on her tummy. I think she was having quintuplets but the message got through quite well. Quite why she was depicted as still pregnant and had just had baby Jesus was something that I found puzzling, but the girls seemed happy enough.
Joseph was more problematic until Daughter number 2 said he had probably fainted and had been carried out of the stable and was getting a cup of tea and a biscuit perhaps.
Yes, I replied, that would certainly explain why he was not in the scene or on the scene and why we didn't have a Joseph doll.
Hay was a big issue. But we had some mulch delivered for the garden about a week before so that seemed to do rather nicely in lieu. There was an absence of sheep and the donkey must have popped outside to keep Joseph company.
Baby Jesus was in a cattle trough that strangely resembled an old ice cube tray that had been hacked down and said that the baby was an older, out of favour Barbie doll whose hair was whipped off with a pair of craft scissors, body removed and swaddled in yet another flannel. I must admit baby Jesus had a rather large head for such a newborn and looked distinctly like an air hostess I once knew but the girls seemed more than content with the effect.
By the time that we had finished, a long and intensely arduous hour later, we looked at our creation in amazement. I placed a small bedside lamp inside the beer carton and, having switched off the lights in the house, turned on Bing Crosby singing " Silent Night . "
On went the bedside lamp.
The girls clasped their hands in rapture. Here was baby Jesus lying in a stable in Bethlehem and Santa was nowhere to be seen.
The Three Wise Men had yet to arrive ( of course. They were men so they were ALWAYS late, according to Daughter 1 ) and Daughter 2 proclaimed:
"You know, Mum. It's just like camping really."
And I did understand what she meant.
The men all go to have a beer when there's work being done and they come back later with presents to make sure you don't stay angry.
But, joking aside, that Nativity Scene is still captured in my mind and I like the fact that my girls created a vision of Christmas that so many today have forgotten.
We don't need tinsel, Christmas trees and fancy food to celebrate the joy of Christ's birthday. We don't need to spend money on gifts we cannot afford. We don't need to do anything other than be thankful that, over 2000 years on, there is at least one birthday we celebrate globally and it is His birth that we celebrate, and it truly has nothing to do with a rather jolly man in a red suit.
After all, Santa is just like me and you. Keeping the joy alive and inspiring children all around the world to be nice, not naughty.
If only our politicians would share our beliefs.
Have a happy and Christ filled Christmas.
Shaydee
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