Pageant practice starts today.
Children’s hands wave in the air,
“Pick me! Pick me! Pick me,” they say.
The teacher is choosing the cast for the show.
I’m waving my hand there in the front row.

Pick me to be Mary!
Her part is the best!
I can sit on the donkey. I won’t even fall.
I’d remember my lines and hold on to the doll.

But the part goes to Mindy, I’m short and she’s tall.

Well If I can’t be Mary, then maybe I’ll be
an angel who stands on the riser and sings -
a beautiful angel with halo and wings.

Pick me! I’m an angel!
Pick me to be her!
I’d sing hallelujah, and say “Lo” and “Behold”
with my lacy white wings and my halo of gold.

But the part goes to Linda, I don’t fit the mold.

Ok, if I can’t be an angel, I know what I’ll be -
a wiseman dressed up in a crown like a king,
wearing long purple robes and a bright golden ring.

Pick me! I’m a wiseman.
Pick me, I can be
a beautiful wiseman. I’d sure fill that spot.
I can walk with my head high – Oh, no. I forgot.

The part goes to John. He’s a boy and I’m not.

Joseph and the innkeeper, the parts are so few.
The teacher has chosen – the boys get those too.
Now I’m so sad that the parts are all gone.
Oh, except for the shepherds – they need more than one.

I could be a shepherd, but you know that I’ve heard,

they just stand around and they don’t say a word.

Well, they do see the Christ child and then they bow down,

but they look kind of grubby in their old robes of brown.

It doesn’t sound great a shepherd to be -- But last year I ended up being a tree.

So now. . ..
I stop to think of shepherds in the hills of Bethlehem,
and how they felt afraid when the angels came to them.

I think about the part they played when Jesus came to earth.
You know shepherds were the first to hear the news of Jesus birth,
the first to worship at his crib,
the first to bow and pray,
the first to celebrate the fact that he was born that day.

Well, even though they don’t wear halos,

and they don’t have golden wings
and even though it seems they don’t have special songs to sing,
and even though they look a little tattered, it’s alright.
‘cause the shepherds had a very special part
to play that night.

So I raise my hand again and cry, “Teacher, please pick me!
A grubby shepherd girl
is what I truly want to be!”

The teacher smiled and said she’d always hoped that I would see
that a humble shepherd girl is someone I should want to be -
that child who ran to see the babe and bowed there in the stall
with eyes for Him and not herself, and a heart of love – that’s all.

May we see the Christ Child rather than ourselves this Christmas, and like the little girl in the poem may we realize that we don’t need to be the star of the show for God to give us a special job to do.

Merry Christmas,

Diane

© Diane Gruchow 2009