Advent: A Season of Prayerful Preparation—Or Is It?

Advent is supposed to be a season of prayerful preparation. That’s what they say, right? But my reality as a very busy mom to ten kids? It’s far from serene. It’s a whirlwind.

I’m running from place to place for the kids, giving talks at the parish, working two days a week, helping my college kids prep for finals, organizing grades for my one homeschooler, and juggling the chaos that comes with five kids still in public school. Think concerts, plays, sports, field trips to The Nutcracker, special treats for classes, theme dress-up days—you name it, it’s on my plate.

In the midst of all this, I found myself taking a rare moment to scroll through Facebook Marketplace. I was searching for a piece of furniture for the parish social hall when my heart skipped a beat. There it was: my Nativity set.

Not literally mine, of course, but one exactly like it. I bought my set on clearance at Sam’s Club over 20 years ago, and it’s been a centerpiece of our Christmas ever since. The statues are stunning, with real fabric dresses and hats, a leather saddle for the camel—so much beautiful detail. Over the years, everyone who’s seen it has said it’s the most beautiful Nativity set they’ve ever seen in a home.

But here’s the thing about being the mom of ten kids: love leaves its mark.

A Well-Loved Nativity

For over two decades, my kids have adored this set. And by “adored,” I mean they’ve hugged it, kissed it, and—more than once—dragged pieces off to bed with them. One year, my older son surrounded the scene with toy soldiers on a “protective mission.” Another time, one of the boys decided the donkey belonged on his windowsill “because he needed him.” Baby Jesus? Oh, he’s been kidnapped by my daughters more times than I can count, for reasons known only to their little hearts.

This loving wear and tear has taken its toll. The delicate birdcage on the donkey’s back is now more glue than wood. That same donkey? Missing an ear since—well, forever. The wise men? Their robes conceal a patchwork of fractures and repairs. You get the picture.

So when I saw “my Nativity set” for sale, fully intact, I was thrilled. Replacement pieces! My beloved set could be whole again. The shepherd’s cane was even still standing tall. The problem? The seller wanted $300.

A Mom’s Dilemma

As much as I wanted it, there was no way I could justify spending $300 on a Nativity set during the most expensive season of the year. Still, I offered her what I could afford, along with a humble apology for the low bid. She graciously declined, saying she wanted to wait for a full-price buyer.

I moved on.

But today, to my surprise, the seller messaged me. She’d decided to accept my offer. My daughter happened to be nearby, so she picked it up for me. I was overjoyed. Tonight, I planned to set up my Nativity for the season, and the timing couldn’t have been better.

After settling the kids post-Rosary, I brought out the huge, well-worn box that holds our family’s Nativity set. But as I sat on the living room floor, I hesitated.

Two Boxes, One Heart

The old box, covered in years of my own markings to help pack the pieces safely, felt like an extension of my family. The new box sat beside it, pristine and unfamiliar. And suddenly, I couldn’t open it.

Here I am, typing this for you, with two boxes in front of me and a conflicted heart.

What’s the big deal? I don’t know. I mean, it’s just a collection of statues, right? The new set looks exactly like the old one. No one but me would notice the difference.

But as I sit here, I realize it’s not about the pieces themselves. It’s about the memories etched into every scratch, chip, and missing ear.

The Heart of the Family
Moms, we are the memory-makers. We shape what Christmas feels like for our families. It’s not about spending loads of money, buying the perfect gifts, or out-decorating the neighbors. It’s about the feel of our home.

We create memories our children will treasure by preparing the way with calm presence, delicate love, and holy peace. The newest, brightest, and busiest things aren’t always the best. Our children don’t need perfection. They need the pieces they’ve lived with, loved, and claimed as their own.

And they need us. They need their mother—the heart of the family—broken pieces and all.

So tonight, I think I’ll set up my old Nativity set. The new one can stay in its box for now. Because these well-worn pieces? They’re the ones that tell our story.

April Smith