Duce's Wild: Nursery Rhymes: Sweet baby Jesus, and sacrifices we can make

A talented musician in our Mormon ward composed a Christmas song I hope all Primary children get to learn someday. The lyrics to the first verse are:Sweet Baby Jesus in a manger lowWrapped up in swaddling clothes from head to toe.Who knew this baby, gentle as a lamb,Was the Son of God, the great I Am.The tune is catchy and lingered in my head all week as I prepared for the last Sunday in nursery before Christmas. I knew our toddlers would respond well to a lesson about the baby Jesus — for most growing babies love tinier ones. It was to be a busy week, so I was relieved when my mother-in-law offered to make little mangers for her ward's nursery class as well as mine. She bought tiny plastic babies from the craft store and sewed swaddling clothes out of soft white fleece. The swaddling more closely resembled a miniature sleeping bag but was very age-appropriate for our chubby-fingered students. My father-in-law graciously offered to cut small dowels with his circular saw so we could assemble them into a manger with the help of a glue gun and some raffia for hay. I anticipated the enthusiasm of our nursery kids when presented with their very own homemade creches. But our excitement turned to horror when an ambulance took my father-in-law from his wood shop to the hospital for emergency surgery to repair his hand from an accident with the saw. We prayed for Grandpa. We prayed the surgeon's hands would effectively reconstruct Grandpa's hand. We prayed in gratitude for the ward member who amazingly scrubbed all the blood away before he came home from the hospital. With the partial loss of three fingers, a sense of humor has been a critical component to his recovery. The surgeon wondered what was lying in the mangers now. My husband ribbed his dad that he could officially join the elite group of farmers/temple workers with similar battle scars.I went to the wood shop and found a full sack of well-cut manger pieces. He must have been almost finished. I couldn't help but wonder why an awful twist of fate would afflict a man engaged in such a noble cause. Sunday morning, Grandpa was ready to come home from the hospital, and the members of both wards were concerned and compassionate. When I went to nursery, I took the bag my mother-in-law prepared containing the plastic babies in sleeping bags. As the children finished snacks, I set out pieces of our nativity set from home. We talked about Mary and Joseph and their journey to Bethlehem. Open-ended questions about where baby Jesus was born led one little girl to adamantly and repeatedly declare that Jesus was born in a "hosbibal" not a stable. Another little one was certain the creche should include chickens along with cattle and a donkey. They loved the angel who declared glad tidings of great joy to the shepherds and their flocks. They had fun trying to pronounce "frankincense and "myrrh" when we added three wise men bearing gifts. The ultimate purpose of the lesson was for the children to know Jesus is the son of our Heavenly Father. I think we accomplished our goal after clearing the confusion that Joseph who cared for Mary was Jesus' other father and was not Joseph Smith. I gave each child a baby Jesus, and we practiced saying "swaddling clothes." Their excitement was just as I imagined even without the manger. So we challenged the children to find a place at home for their baby Jesus to sleep. Some thought the baby would love the branches of their Christmas tree. Others thought a nice warm bed in Barbie's playhouse would be best. One little boy tucked the baby in his tiny shirt pocket and kept it there, peeking out, for the remainder of class. Since the accident, my thoughts about Christmas have taken a new turn. Instead of just giving and receiving gifts, I keep thinking about the gift of sacrifice and how important it is to appreciate those who don't just give and serve and help, but who also truly dig deep and offer a sacrifice on the proverbial alter. It's one thing to provide a meal for the needy, it's another to eat less because you are giving more. Do we simply buy presents or do we give something that can never be exchanged? When the bandages are removed, I think I'll always look at my father-in-law's reconstructed hand as a sacrifice for the children. He will never be the same, and neither will I, but hopefully we'll all be better. Suddenly, the week of festive and frivolous Christmas preparations has been set aside for care and concern and conversation. The birth of our sweet baby Jesus is endearing, but obtaining the spirit of Christmas includes a realization that our Savior's birth was the first of many sacrifices in our behalf. He came to do his Father's work, and we would do well to follow.