My baby Jesus has a chip on His head. Not on His shoulder, but right on His forehead, and it was my fault.
I love my Nativity set. It was a gift from my mom the year I moved away from home to live in Tulsa, OK. She thought I needed a Nativity set in my little studio apartment far far from home. A subtle reminder of where and what I came from and what was truly important. So every year since, at Christmas, I carefully unwrap each fragile ceramic figure and reverently arrange them in an appropriate position. Being sure that all the shepherds eyes are gazing at the baby Jesus and Mary and Joseph are looking sufficiently wondrous yet peaceful while the angel's glory shines 'round . I try to make it as perfect as possible.
Sometimes I try to do that with Christmas and even with my life. Find the perfect gift, send the perfect card with the perfect picture, try to host the perfect party, make the perfect appearance, and as much as I would like the "trappings" of Christmas to be perfect, it just isn't. We just aren't. I am not. I need a Savior. Sometimes I forget that in trying to make everything just right.
So, yes, one day as I was hurrying to put the Christmas decorations away until next year, I dropped baby Jesus on the table. He didn't do anything, it was all my fault. I look at that chip and think of my sin that He so willingly took on, a little farther down the road on a less than perfect cross. He is the perfect gift, and I am eternally grateful.
"For God so loved the world, that He gave His only son, that whosoever believes in Him, should not perish, but have eternal life." John 3:16