Our Nativity Story

I have been searching for the perfect nativity for a couple of years now.  I wanted something timeless yet matched the look of our home.  Apparently there are not a lot of shabby chic inspired nativities out there!  It felt weird to not acknowledge the nativity in our home the last few years but I wanted to hold out for the perfect one.  It was a goal that I wanted to achieve at least by the time we had kids.  So we had a little time to be patient in looking.

On a recent trip to visit Brent's grandparents, I stumbled upon this beautiful white nativity at this cute small town restaurant/gift shop.  I immediately turned to Brent and said, "I think this is the one."  I was so nervous.  I didn't know if I should commit.   I even sent my mom a photo to get her opinion.  After agonizing over whether or not I was making the right decision, Brent's grandmother settled my debate within myself by offering to buy it for me as a gift. 

And I love it so much.

I have wonderful grandparents but due to distance and family circumstances I rarely get to spend a lot of time with them and was not raised in a family with a lot of things to pass down through generations.  Not only did I find the perfect nativity but the fact that it was given to me by Brent's grandmother who, in such a short time, I have been able to get to know, spend time with, and the blessing of considering her my own grandmother, means so much more.

Our nativity has a story.  A story of family, a story of me and my overly particular seasonal home decor, and the story of Jesus.  All things I want to be a part of my story to future generations.

And in case that wasn't enough, though I do not have my own children in the home, I do have a little one around who I get to be a big part of his story as well.  

After setting up the nativity, I had the joy of explaining to my nephew what the nativity was as well as giving him his own little nativity to play with.  Seeing his little mind and heart process it was a very special moment for me.

He just rested his head on his hand and looked at it.  The awe of a child was just the reminder I needed to slow down and notice.

And even when my nephew has gone home, I still see little trails of evidence that he was there.  He has his own place to put his baby Jesus, mommy, and daddy but everyday somehow they end up right back with "Aunt Ashley's baby Jesus."  Somehow he understands that they belong together.