Jason was taking artsy pictures of our nativity scene a couple days ago as we enjoyed a leisurely Advent morning.

“Look at this one,” he said, holding up the camera’s preview window. “I’m calling it, ‘Wiseman With a Missing Hand.’”

We laughed at the stub on the wooden figure and my smile lingered as I remembered how his hand had recently been broken off. Visions of my brother dancing around the living room, mimicking the dancers in the Charlie Brown Christmas Special, came to mind. And, with one hilarious flourish of my brother’s left arm, the wiseman bringing myrrh was without a right hand.

It’s funny. Every year I’ve had this nativity set, some small piece has broken. Part of Joseph’s staff. The angel’s ‘Hallelujah’ banner. Mary’s foot. I smiled as I thought of the lost pieces and how they fractured; I smiled as I walked away from the ragamuffin nativity pieces.

The memories of the breaking better by far than any pristine presentation.