Rock Me, Rock Me, Rock Me, Baby Jesus!

In spite of the fact that most, okay probably all, of my religious education comes from watching The Ten Commandments and The Passion of the Christ, (Only once, and holy Mel Gibson, what was I thinking!?) I love me some Baby Jesus.

 Every time I hear a Baby Jesus carol on the radio, I weep.  That's why I don't listen to country music.

Therefore, imagine my delight when my sister whipped out this priceless nugget at her house last weekend:

It's my very own Rock Me, Rock Me, Rock Me Baby Jesus!

It seems that my sister's nativity had twin Jesus-es,  (Maybe it has something to do with the fact that she also has two Joseph-es?  Bet nobody every taught you that version of the story.) so knowing about my deep love for the Baby Jesus, she graciously bestowed the spare heir on to me.  Hooray!

I tested out several locations for my Baby Jesus because I wanted to make sure he had a place of honor in my home. He made a great centerpiece on my kitchen table for a while.

The problem?  Madeline is petrified, and I mean petrified, of Baby Jesus.

I can't imagine why.

She won't even go into the same room with him.

I was hurrying around the kitchen attending to some chores the other afternoon, when I noticed Madeline whimpering softly and trying desperately to climb up my legs.  Distracted, I finally looked up from whatever I was doing and huffed, "Madeline?  What's with you?!"  I followed her horrified gaze to the kitchen counter top where the Baby Jesus lay in state.

Ironic considering the name Madeline comes from Saint Mary Magdalene.  Don't you think?

We toyed briefly with the idea of using the Baby Jesus to guard things we don't want Madeline to touch the same way we use our stuffed dog, Bird.  Yet, while I think a healthy fear of the Lord is natural, I don't want to inflict permanent psychological damage on my child.

Then I thought I could use the Baby Jesus like other people use the Elf on the Shelf.  It might be a fun kind of game for Eric and I to play until Madeline got over her fear, and then she could play too.

Each morning we'd wake to find the Baby Jesus up to some new shenanigans in our house.  One day we might find him reenacting the Last Supper with Madeline's toys.  One day we might find him turning our water into wine. (Shyaa, I wish!)  One day we might find him in the freezer eating some ice cream.  Then the Baby Jesus could tell Santa whether we'd been a good boy and girls all year so that we could get our gifts.  

I told Eric of my divine plan, but he hinted that he'd leave me if I tried such a thing.  I guess the idea of waking up to find the Baby Jesus curled up beside him in bed was just too much for him to handle.

In the future, I hope to build him a creche so he can live on the lawn where he belongs.  That way, the whole neighborhood may behold his radiance.  

But for now, the Baby Jesus lives in on the desk in our office.  I am gazing at him with love and awe as I type, and from time to time, I start bellowing, "Come let us adore him!" at the top of my lungs.

"OH COME LET US ADORE HIM!!!!"  (That one was for you, Eric.)  

*If you are a bigger fan of the Baby Jesus than I, I hope this does not offend you.  I take the real Baby Jesus quite seriously...just not plastic ones.