By By, Lully, Lullay

Simple Gifts

Lullay, thou little tiny child. - Lyrics, Coventry Carol

I'm looking at a pink crocheted ball that's about an inch in diameter. I've just made a doll's head, I say tentatively. In amigurumi style, no less. Amigurumi is the Japanese art of crocheting small, stuffed yarn creatures. Thus encouraged, I dutifully follow the rest of the pattern to complete my nativity set.

It has taken me several days to finish, and I now peruse the figures in my creche, marveling how a series of single-crochet stitches can create forms which when sewn together and stuffed can result into distinctive-looking characters. I beam at them and gush, You've come alive.

They look at me with wide-set French-knotted eyes. Mary's sweep of brown bangs peeks underneath a disproportionately-long veil. I stare amazed at the male figures' beard. How manly-looking! I'm quite satisfied as to how their elaborate head coverings have turned out. The magi each bears a crocheted mini yellow ball, their gift to Baby Jesus. Joseph carries a staff made from brown floral stem. All have been robed elaborately with a colorful outer garment.

The baby's head is topped with a curly tuft of hair made of yarn. He's snuggled in a white blanket set on a brown manger. Cut pieces of green yarn simulate hay. And, yes, the requisite donkey brays its completion. An ojo de Dios, literally 'God's eye,' woven out of yarn around two crossed sticks is on standby as the guiding star.

I carefully position my dolls in the moss-covered twig stable purchased from Goodwill. 

Mary looks at her newborn over distant eyes, like someone one might see in dreams, her face serene. She unconsciously narrows her eyes and purses her mouth as she contemplates her surroundings. Then the corners of her mouth turn up, her smile like a slice of summer watermelon. My soul gives glory to the Lord, she whispers, her hands in prayer. She contemplates all the things that have been said to her, pondering them in her heart.

Elongated by the lamplight, Joseph's shadow looms over his family. His high forehead creases into rows of parallel wrinkles. Heavy brows form a straight line underneath. Looking as placid as the man on the moon gazing down upon earth, he fixes his eyes on the infant, fine lines forming out from their corners, as if he were teaching him something important. You shall be named Jesus, he gently says.

The baby stares at Joseph without blinking, the way one looks at a stranger or some unknown object. Then his faces brightens with a small encouraging smile.

Outside, the sky has cleared and a single star is the only light, yet it dazzles, filling the entire heavens. A donkey grazes quietly on the outskirts of the stable, as if it were holding its breath, waiting. Then the strain of music, soft and distant, floats in from some invisible herald of angels. 

The air changes, becoming electric as the Magi walk into the stable. I marvel at how they have come at once without anyone having to invite them, as if they had been summoned there by magic. After strutting back and forth, gesturing grandly, they stand around the manger.

We have seen His star in the East, the first one begins, his finely-cut lips relaxed into a half smile. His eyebrows are expressive, rising and lowering at various angles. 

The second visitor's eyebrows are thick and very black, tilting up at the corners, but his eyes crinkle up as he smiles. The star led us by night with a light on the road which we should travel, he says humbly.

The third one has sagging jowls. His brows, drawn together, are dark as well, but even though his tone is gruff, his watery eyes twinkle as he lapses into babbling idiocy with the infant. You're the promised Messiah, he says amiably, stepping quickly toward the baby. The latter seems to like it. He breaks into a broad toothless grin as he looks at him. 

The night is so silent that I can hear the sound of distant stars moving across the heavens. I feel like only this moment, unanchored and drifting free of time, exists.