Some years ago my wife and I took our grandchildren to the Festival of the Trees, a local event in which businesses and organizations decorate Christmas trees, competing with one another in various categories. The display is magnificent.

We were enchanted by the grandeur of the trees as we moved from one to another, pointing and exclaiming. But one of our grandchildren, Melissa, soon lost interest—until she came to a small manger scene. There she paused, transfixed. Nothing else mattered. She was captivated by the baby.

We tried our best to urge her on because we wanted to see the rest of the trees. But she lingered, wanting to get closer in spite of the ribbon stretched around the cradle to keep people away.

Finally, she agreed to leave, though reluctantly, looking back over her shoulder to get a glimpse of the manger through the trees. And as we were leaving the building, she asked once more to "see the baby." We returned to the display and waited while she gazed at the Christ-child.

As Melissa adored the infant, I marveled at her simplicity. Unlike her, I often fail to see Christ for the trees. "Make me a child again," I prayed, "at least for tonight."  — David H. Roper