my nativity story

I began reading my daily intake of blogs and came across Nicki's Story. 

I first met Nicki Salcedo many years ago at a Georgia Romance Writers' meeting in Norcross. We were very much the same in that we loved words and writing and dreamed of being published, pages overflowing with magic and romance. Soon, we found ourselves in a writing class taught by Nancy Knight (amazing lady, I must add) at the Art Station in Stone Mountain. Reading aloud our weekly assignments, it didn't take me long to realize that Nicki's gift was special and that it was only a matter of time. No question about it. Her first novel will be published in 2013. Blessings.

And that brings me back to her blog and my inspiration . . .

Everyone has a nativity story, a story of birth, of life. For me, there was truly no room in the Inn.

My mother had gone through this before, and it had ended tragically. The next time, she imagined, would be different - circumstances that would center around marriage and a home, an ending that would include life.

She was a few years older yet only one year past her teens. In between days working at the broom factory, she day-dreamed of escaping the tiny north Georgia town for a more romantic world. It was the 1958 Christmas season that introduced her to Dave, a Navy man, and it was as if he flipped a switch. The New Year's Eve party rivaled any tales coming from the big city. The Commercial Hotel, Cornelia's Waldorf, overflowed with beautiful women, elegant men and endless champagne. The songs, the dancing, the dawn of morning. Don't ever let this end, she must have pleaded. Precious time faded, and the good-byes morphed into heart-felt promises, to rest in each others arms until it was his time to ship out. He would return.

These memories held her within that moment, and dreams of their reunion gave her stock in a tomorrow. She waited, and as she did, changes began to happen. She was a little more moody, a little more uneasy, and the signs told a story that would unfold over the next few months. Still, no word from Dave. The two short weeks together were now her catalyst for breathing and the subject of her prayers each night. Although there had been others, he was her first.

Days turned into weeks, turned into months. The baby was coming, but Dave was not.

There was a broom factory worker who knew of an older couple who dreamed of a child. And with pressure from her mother to give away the disgrace, she agreed to a meeting and a beginning to the end. The transaction was simple, the legal documents were few, and in October, a baby was born. The baby traveled to the opposite end of the county, and the birth mother went home to her mother and routine days at the broom factory.

I'm not sure this is how it unfolded, but for the most part, spot on. The older couple are my parents, now long gone, but forever the ones who made room for me.

We all have moments that define us. A chance meeting. A heavenly message. A baby's touch. Those that transform and transfer us to a more befitting place. As with most things in life, they rarely happen as we think they should. There are disappointments, sharp turns.  People come, and they go. Rarely is anything black and white. But then, suddenly, as the angels proclaimed, the colors fade into one another, and in the clearing, there's wise men, angels, a heavenly host, and best of all, a star. 

The only thing I have that belonged to my birth mother - a jewelry box given to her by Dave, a few meaningless trinkets, and my birth bracelet - the only thing she had that once belonged to me.