The monster truck arrives at the nativity. Again.
The two boys, now ages eight and six, brake their monster truck to a stop, sideslipping in a somewhat controlled fashion but not before careening into what had been a beautifully hand-carved, lovingly displayed, nativity complete with angels, shepherds, and kings.
But not sheep. Or donkey either. All critters great and small had scattered upon the arrival of “Grave Digger” as the boys called it, complete with left and right steering, oversized monster truck tires, and remote control forward and reverse.
Well, maybe not reverse.
Prior to the collision, the boys’ mother had been enjoying a moment of quiet.
Peace on earth.
Awe and wonder.
The Christmas medley was stunning.
But then the “loud whirlwind of short-legged chaos arrived” she smiled.
“I’ll listen again when the whirlwinds go to bed and I can breathe in the beauty.”
Too soon the whirlwinds go off to college, to careers, to places their adventuresome souls seek, and to families of their own.
And they come back, all of them, all at the same time, this time of year, every year.
And once again the lights will twinkle on the tree, the Christmas Story will be read, gifts will be exchanged.
And the mantle manger scene will shine below the star.
And the monster truck will arrive.
