It was almost a year ago since we piled into the back of the wagon to take the day long trip to town with Papa. We stocked up on provisions at the mercantile, papa even threw in a licorice whip for us each. We were all outfitted with a new pair of shoes, for Sundays and for school, then off to the feed store for the grand finale. It was there that we would pick out the feed sacks which would eventually become our Christmas dresses. I can still see the grin on papa's face as we pursued the many patterns just as if we were in one of the finest stores in England or France. We picked out three of the loveliest patterns, three matching sacks per dress, just enough for mother, sister and me.
It had been eight months since our little excursion with papa. The summer had been long and hard with plenty of work for us all even the harvest had since come and gone. We, sister and I, had just finished our chores and were tending our small winter garden when we heard papa bellow our names from somewhere out back. As we rounded the corner our eyes fixated on the cord stretched between two old oaks for thereon hung nine freshly washed feed sacks, (dresses in disguise). In the background stood papa laughing, patting mother gently on the shoulder as if somehow he could sense the new journey we were about to take, though this time not in a wagon but at mothers feet as she sewed and spun stories of a time long ago.
With each cut and stitch she told us a story of men of old who, just like us, waited with anticipation after a long journey of their own though not for new clothes but for a king. She then went on to explain just as our dresses were hidden in a few old feed sacks so too would this King be hidden, from those who could not see, in the form of a little baby lying in a feed trough much like the one in our own barn. She spoke of the candles on our tree, how they transformed darkness into light and how this babe would light the world with His love and peace and joy. We drifted of to sleep that night, there at mothers feet, as we listened to her weave the stories of the Christ Child into each and every stitch.
We, sister and I, walked into church on that Christmas morning as proud as we could be. Women all around were dressed in there finest but not on could compare to us in our Christmas dresses. We stood before the congregation, mother and papa right up front, and told them of our journey to town, of nine old feed sacks that were really dresses and a little baby who was actually a king. We told them of an expectant mother, shepherds in a field, learned men of old and two young girls at their mothers feet all who saw only because they first believed. We then gave to all, from a basket mother had prepared, a small quilted square with patterns from each of the sacks we had chosen long before. Attached to each was a simple note:
Just Believe and you too will see!
Kyle Boyd-Robertson
December 25, 2011
