The Nativity Baby
Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these” (Luke 18:16).
Right after Thanksgiving it begins. Families and couples, people of all ages and backgrounds, begin their annual pilgrimage to the local Christmas tree farm to tag the perfect tree for the festive yuletide season. And at Turning Pointe Farm near Hartly, Delaware, tagging trees is commonplace.
But miracles?
Well, that’s what makes the holiday season so magical.
Born and raised in New York City, and later residents of northern New Jersey, Tom and Roseann Conlon were familiar with traffic gridlock, high crime rates, high taxes, and a lifestyle that was far from tranquil. But in 1986, they purchased thirty-six acres of wooded farmland in the fertile epicenter of Delaware and became part-time weekend farmers.
After building a cozy log cabin on their own slice of earthly heaven, they planted three thousand evergreen seedlings by hand and named their picturesque property Turning Pointe Farm. For nearly two decades they farmed the rich flat acreage and planted additional firs, pines, and spruces, until the fields were filled with beautiful boughs of greenery and trees that had matured to marketable heights.
After retiring in 2003, the Conlons moved to their Delaware farm and realized their long-time dream of operating their Christmas tree farm full time. Because they now had more time to work the land, trim and sell trees, and assemble beautiful wreaths and holiday centerpieces, Turning Pointe Farm became a place that brought broad smiles to those who patronized it every chilly December.
But when they put up the annual crèche in 2004, things got really interesting. The Conlons and their son-in-law built a platform and a three-sided rustic shelter, covered with greenery grown on the farm, for the nearly life-size figures. Each piece was made of resin that resembled natural stone. There was a welcoming, watchful angel; the precious sleeping infant Jesus; and His earthly parents, a noble Joseph and a kneeling, prayerful Mary. A young shepherd came with his sheep to adore the holy child, while the three Magi patiently awaited their turn to present their gifts. The holy scenery was breathtaking.
Roseann was the inspiration behind the manger. She wanted to bring the reason for the season to tangible, meaningful life for her six grandchildren and to keep the holiday’s focus on the virgin birth of the Son of God. So the day after Thanksgiving, the Conlon grandchildren carefully carried the still participants to the manger and set up the nativity. Then they added a large stone to the display with the word Blessings carved in it.
After the nativity scene was erected, Roseann and her husband told tree shoppers about it. People who wanted to could go to the manger and silently offer any prayer requests they had. And many did. At the same time, her grandchildren, ranging in age from three to eleven, prayed daily for all the people and their petitions. For the young prayer warriors, it was a faith-maturing ministry of goodwill.
The Conlon grandchildren didn’t often know the exact requests, but occasionally someone would mention his or her need to Roseann. They prayed for people struggling with cancer, sickness, and disease. They prayed for broken relationships. They prayed for people suffering with depression, a common ailment during the holiday season.
But one desperate plea at the crèche stood out that first year.
Eric and Stephanie lived nearby and had frequented the farm. They were a fairly young couple, married for ten years and in their mid-thirties, with no children.
But they wanted children. Their hearts ached for children. For ten years they’d tried every off-the-wall piece of advice from friends, neighbors, and family. They tried ovulation kits. They tried fertility drugs. They tried medical procedures like IVF and artificial insemination in an effort to have a baby and start a family.
And they prayed for a miracle, their miracle—one about seven or eight pounds, twenty inches long, and a grin to die for.
But absolutely nothing worked.
To deepen their sorrow, Stephanie’s mother had cancer and a prognosis shrouded in darkness. Stephanie had always hoped her mother would live long enough to tenderly hold her grandchild and smile into the eyes of the little bundle that would carry on the family heritage, but it appeared this hope was wishful fantasy.
After the couple picked out a Christmas tree, a statuesque Douglas fir, they quietly walked to the manger. Roseann watched from afar and diverted foot traffic while the hurting woman and her husband clasped hands and bowed their heads. The Christ child in the crib seemed to reach toward the husband and wife, as if to welcome their petitions. They were only there for a few minutes, and then they left. No one knew of their prayer appeal except God.
Christmas came and went, and another year had passed. Soon it was cold again and Christmas was gently energizing the winter.
Roseann was in her gift shop working on holiday wreaths when the door opened. It was Eric and Stephanie—another year older, but with one noticeable difference. They appeared radiant and taller, as if they had grown like the hundreds of evergreens at Turning Pointe Farm. They bustled into the shop to blurt out their story, a miracle, but as Stephanie’s heavy woolen coat parted, Roseann knew the story. Stephanie was quite pregnant!
“We prayed for a baby at your nativity last year!” Stephanie exclaimed with tears in her eyes. “We were distraught and sad, but standing there looking down at Jesus, we felt hope.”
Roseann hugged the happy couple and then explained the motivation behind assembling the crèche, which was back up for the new Christmas season. And she told the soon-to-be parents about her grandchildren’s faithful prayers, intercessory pleas made to the Creator on the behalf of total strangers.
“And guess when I’m due!” Stephanie added with a grin. Eric interjected, “Christmas! December twenty-fifth!”
When the faith of little children, or those who come as children, is on display, God cannot remain idle. Miracles, healings, blessings, and acts of wonder become the norm. Just ask Eric and Stephanie, and they’ll gladly tell you all about their handsome little boy, the best Christmas gift they will ever know.