The church was dark and quiet; only the red sanctuary lamp burned, announcing to everyone the Presence of the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. The strong smell of incense still pervaded the interior and the old lady who stood in the shadows by the very back pews sniffed deeply, savoring the comforting and familiar smell.

Midnight Mass was over, and the triumphant procession, with the Infant Jesus carried in the loving arms of a small altar boy, then tenderly placed in the crib, Mary and Joseph kneeling by in homage.

'Venite adoremus,' the choir had sung, and the entire congregation had thrilled and cried tears of joy, to see the humble birth of a Savior, and promises fulfilled.
The old lady struck a match and lit the tall white candle she carried. She had been saving the candle for years; she knew that it held some special purpose, but until this night had not known what that purpose would be.
Quickly, she walked to the front, her footsteps echoing, knelt down at the Communion rail to gaze in awe at the Nativity scene before her. There was the Baby Jesus, peacefully lying in the hard manger, with only a cushion of rough straw under His tender Body. Mary, Joseph, and even the animals bent down in complete adoration.

For a long time, the woman knelt there thinking of that long-ago night. The very air tingled with the holiness of Christmas Eve, mixing with the joy of Christmas Day to build a special sense that only few could feel, and the woman was privileged enough to be one of those.

The woman finally reached into the large bag she always carried, pulling out a small glass object and a well-worn blanket. The glass turned out to be a candle-holder; she firmly stuck the candle in and placed it in the stable, close to the manger. Then she took the blanket--a large, faded green quilt that was beginning to look quite worn--and held it up to her face, as memories washed over her.
Every single on of her babies--there were nine--had been wrapped in this blanket the first minute of life. Her precious, beautiful children; two had been Christmas babies and she remembered holding them in this very quilt, the whole of Christmas night, all the time thinking of another mother who had also held a baby on this same night.

Oh, how she longed to hold a baby again !She buried her face in the blanket. Hours had been spent just holding her children, and when they grew up and married she had had many grandchildren to hold. Those grandbabies had been her solace during the early days of her widowhood. Now, those babies were getting big, and there were no especially little children that needed her for comfort and security.

Kneeling there, she unconsciously turned these thoughts into the greatest prayer of her life. There was a soft sigh and the whimper of a new-born baby and the old woman slowly lifted her head. No one else was in the church, she knew; it was the middle of the night and she was the only soul awake. Nevertheless, she looked around, thinking to see something that had made the noise. Nothing. Sighing herself, she turned back toward the Nativity and looking closely at the scene gave a little cry.

There before her very eyes was the small statue of the Infant Jesus, but a change was coming over Him. The stone was slowly taking on the rosy glow of a healthy baby. The small hands moved, and the mouth opened to give another little cry.

She breathlessly watched, not quite believing what was before her, but yearning to stretch out her arms and gather the little bundle to her heart.

The Divine Infant opened His eyes and looked right at the woman, smiling and stretching out His tiny arms, begging for love. Eagerly, she reached over the altar rail, gently picking the Baby up, lovingly wrapping Him in her blanket, which suddenly looked brand new.
The small body felt so warm and delightful; she ran her hands through the soft baby curls, kissing the adorable Face over and over. The Word Incarnate lay in the humble woman's arms, a mere baby, but stroking her cheek with a caring hand and looking at her with love.

All night, the old woman knelt there holding the Savior of the world, Mary and Josephh looking on, and she was young and happy again. All night she gazed in rapture, until she could no longer keep her weary eyes open.
In the morning when the priest came for the first Mass of Christmas Day, he found one of his faithful parishioners curled up on the Communion rail, sound asleep, with the statue of the Infant Jesus, carefully wrapped in an old blanket, resting in her arms.