25/11/2024
Let me share a little glimpse into the story of my Nativity scene. Iām Caroline Lenoir, a French mother of 10, with memories of my happy childhood near Paris, at Chatouās 5 avenue des 27 Martyrs in a charming Ā« old house that was covered with vine Ā» exactly like the one in the Madeline stories!
Among countless wonderful moments, none remain as vivid as those spent around our ProvenƧal Nativity scene. The scavenger hunt to gather sand, moss or twigs. The journey of building the backdrop together under my motherās creative guidance. The arrival of Saint Joseph and the Blessed Virgin Mary because « there was no place for them at the innĀ Ā». And the Angel Ā«bearing tidings of great joy to all peopleĀ Ā». Baby Jesus placed with reverence between His Father and His Mother on our way back from church in the cold midnight hour. The colorful Wise Men among dozens of ProvenƧal villagers dressed in stunning 19th-century costumes.
Fast forward a good twenty years, and here I was, with my husband and first children, in the breathtaking San Francisco Bay Area. I found myself immersed in the dazzling displays of lights, towering Christmas trees, and my familyās beloved cinnamon apple cider. It was fabulous but I couldnāt help wondering where the essence of the real Christmas was. The reason for the season.
By that time, my childhood crĆØche had found a new home with my sister, leaving me longing to recreate that same dreamlike fervor for my own children. But not just out of nostalgia. As a mother, I knew the powerful role this tradition would play in shielding my children from the influences of our times particularly during their adolescence, when our faith and values would be put to the test. I firmly believed that effective teaching went beyond purely intellectual and even spiritual reasoning, and had to include the vital dimensions of emotions and hands-on experiences.
(Continued in comments)