It’s Christmas eve, and my family is fed. The kitchen is clean.  Our dishwasher hums as I wipe off the table for the last time. Grabbing my coat, I headed toward the barn. A blustery wind seems to pick me up off my feet, pushing me forward.  The sky is very dark. The air carries the crisp cold of winter.

I walk into the barn and switch on the overhead light. My horses perk up not expecting my visit. They look at me with eyes blinking against the sudden light. The stables are clean. The stalls are deeply bedded with straw. Rose and Roo are content and sleepy as they nuzzle me with a greeting. I feel the day’s tension and pressures begin to fade in contrast to the warm and friendly atmosphere in the barn. 

My thoughts turn toward the manger, many years ago, also embedded with straw and filled with gentle creatures such as my own, witnessing the birth of a baby Jesus.  I visualize Mary and Joseph huddled together with Jesus wrapped in their arms.  They are at once a family. How well I remember when Jeff and I suddenly became three after the birth of our son Christopher. I know the well of emotion that flooded my heart when I saw my son’s face for the first time. I already knew him; through his little movements and internal timeclock that I had grown accustomed to.

Hugging my horses, I take in their sweet scent and the deliciousness cold air draws from hay and straw. It’s remarkable how the warmth of my horses can chase away the cold. As I ponder this, I am struck by how God blessed the animals resting in the manger with Mary and Joseph. Suddenly I realize the only the animals witnessed the intimacy of Jesus’ birth. Animals understand birth, so I’m sure they realized what was happening. I can picture their curiosity as they timidly extended their necks to see if Mary was okay. Their soft noses carefully taking in the baby’s scent after he was born. All of them, the holy family and the animals feeling very close to God.

I can see God’s wisdom in His plan to have Jesus born in a manger, where warmth and gentle companionship would embrace the chosen family. Where there was peace and unquestioned acceptance. God surrounded his son with the tranquility of the very creatures He had created.

Did the animals somehow understand that they were witnessing God’s precious gift to the world? Could it be possible that the animals knew who the baby was, when so many people would reject Him?

Standing in Roo’s stall I petted his neck considering this last thought. Rosie gave me a firm nudge with her nose, reminding me that she wanted attention too. I give it to her, positioning myself between both horses, simultaneously petting their necks, before saying goodnight.

Walking back to my house, invigorated by the night air, I can almost hear sleigh bells ringing. I pause to gaze into the sea of stars, focusing on a small twinkling light. Too often we are taught that the manger was a cold, unfortunate setting for the birth of Christ. But now I realize that isn’t true!

The manger wasn’t an accident, it was intentional. God placed His beloved, family within the acceptance and warmth of the gentlest creatures on earth. And I’m sure that after Mary and Joseph’s long journey, following the birth of their son, the three of them found supernatural peace. The kind of peace that surpasses understanding. And with the animals they were able to sleep, undisturbed by a noisy hotel.

So often throughout my walk with God, I am continuously drawn back to the simplicity of small blessings, where I often find God’s lessons the most powerful. It’s the quietude in still places where I hear His voice the strongest. It was gratitude that drew me to Him and gratitude that sustains my journey in faith. This holiday season, as you celebrate whatever your family embraces, seek joy in the smaller blessings, for it is in those blessings where strength and joy are drawn.