When I was young,
at church, there was a Christmas dinner for all the members.

A nativity play went on as we ate potluck.
My mother was cast as Mother Mary.

My youngest brother, the one closest to newborn,
played baby Jesus.
He only had to sleep and be sweet.

My mother was excited to be Mary,
surprised she had been chosen,
used to being overlooked.

After the dinner, her voice had changed.

She had learned, from overhearing,
that she was chosen only because of my brother,
not on her own merit.

She felt used.
She said she would have been more comfortable
sitting with us, her family,
than standing on a stage
while everyone looked at her,
knowing quietly
she was there only because the baby mattered.

I didn’t understand what she meant.

The way I saw it,
she was the most important one.

Without her,
there would be no baby Jesus at all.

That still rings true,
all this time later.

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