CYNTHIA BALDINO 

We brought our newborn son home on Christmas Day. It’s our all-time favorite Christmas memory. We had waited and prayed so long for the day when we could tell of his coming, and the nine months until his birth seemed to take forever. The trip to the hospital was long and uncomfortable, and the special birthing room was unavailable, but all that faded the minute we heard his little voice.

Christmas carols took on a new meaning. Oh, Holy Night, the longest, most joy- filled night of our lives, registered as we heard them call out the date and time of our son’s birth. Away in a Manger ran through my head when I saw the clear rolling “shoe box” where they placed our little one… no crib for a bed. While Stephen was making jubilant phone calls from the nearby pay phone (remember those?), I was humming For Unto Us a Child is Given. Stephen’s father arrived after a long drive, in holiday traffic, in the dark, bearing a glorious hot fudge sundae from the hospital cafeteria, and We Three Kings added itself to the playlist. As congratulatory calls, cards and gifts arrived, we realized what an impact a tiny child can have. He had given Joy to the World, especially to us.

Having a real-life Christmas child gave us a new perspective on the meaning of Christmas. We understand now how the world groaned, waiting for a Savior. We understand the feeling of no room in the inn after a long journey. We understand the awe that we, simple working-class people, should be favored with such a gift, and we understand the eagerness in joyful expressions of the season. May you, too, be filled with wonder and joy each time a carol fills your ears and heart.