FOR MANY FAMILIES joy at Christmas reaches far beyond the warmth and laughter shared by people who love being together.

Growing up with Christian Science, and inspired by our mom, my siblings and I felt a divine influence at Christmas, a vary tangible presence of Love, or God. More than celebrating the birth of Jesus, for us it was the promise of spiritual healing for everyone—the true Christ-mission—that made our times together significant.

However, soon after I'd gotten married and moved to a city away from home, I had to find a new love for Christmas. One morning when I felt very low, it occurred to me that going for a drive might help, even if it was in the city. As I drove, I asked God for an answer to fill my emptiness. I knew His love was constant, but I was so sad. So I pulled over to a curb and cried, "Father, what am I not understanding? I just want to be with my family."

Almost immediately, as if a voice had spoken, came this command—Prepare your manger. And I thought, "Are you kidding? Prepare my manger?!"

Generally I'm moved and delighted by God's messages, but I wondered how this idea could possibly be the answer I needed. So I dismissed it. But it came again, and again. Prepare your manger.

I'd grown up around barns and mangers—or feed stalls—so the idea of Jesus being born in a stable, with a manger for his cradle, was very vivid. It had always seemed amazing to me that the baby Jesus could have rested in something so familiar to me—simply a wooden box that holds food for animals. And in a cattle shed! So the concept of a manger had had special meaning for me from early on.

And Christian Science had taught me to think of the healing Christ as the divine idea of God available for all His children. I'd experienced healing through recognizing that God had already given each of us what we need. I'd seen, too, that no one is ever outside His care and provision.

Even so, as I got out of the car and walked into a cafe that morning in the city, I simply wanted the manger message to go away. But it didn't. As a matter of fact, it kept coming. The manger, I realized, was more than a feed box, more even than a place to hold the Christ child that night so long ago. Gradually, I began to see my own consciousness—my thinking—as a kind of manger to hold ideas from God. Right then, right there in that cafe, the most natural feeling of being comforted enveloped me. At that same moment, I realized I couldn't fill my manger with sadness, since God had already filled me with His peace and comfort.

The message seemed to say, "Be ready to be filled with all that God provides." As I reasoned in this way, contentment began to wash over me. Then I noticed a teenager sitting alone in a corner of the cafe. He looked so young, tired, cold, and hungry. I asked if he'd like something to eat. Soon he joined me. His name was Michael, and he told me about difficulties at home with his stepfather, the loss of a brother, trouble at school. He was sad and frightened. Occasionally he'd mention suicide as an answer, since he didn't feel he was living up to his family's expectations of manhood. At moments, his feelings appeared to overwhelm him.

It was apparent to me that God was embracing both of us. Our conversation was not about my trying to find human answers for this young man. That type of reasoning certainly hadn't lifted me out of my sadness, and I knew that it wouldn't bring him lasting comfort, either. It also wasn't up to me to provide comfort, since God, Love itself, was there for both of us.

As I released feelings of responsibility for Michael's happiness, I felt moved to tell him that we both could trust God with every detail of our lives. And just as I'd felt God's love nudging me when I first sat in the cafe, I began to see a change in Michael. It was as if he'd understood when I told him that his Father-Mother truly loved him. Clearly, that spiritual fact was touching both of us. I can still see Michael's face as it softened, and he relaxed and took a deep breath. We talked about how his spiritual identity and manhood as God's child provided him with strength and would never let him down.

Just as centuries ago, Jesus' manger experience represented the outpouring of divine Love to all people, so Michael and I felt its healing power right there in that cafe. My mental darkness had left. I was filled with joy and suddenly felt at home in the assurance of God's loving provision for us both. I was witnessing the answer to my prayers and feeling reassured that no one was ever outside God's love.

Michael and I talked for about two hours, though it felt like minutes. From his responses, he appeared to be receptive to hearing me talk about his spiritual sonship as God's child. It was a sweet and powerful time.

When I offered to drive him home, he asked that I call his mother first—just to be sure his parents wanted him to come back. When I reached her by phone, his mom cried as she said, "He's been missing for ten days. Please bring him home." Michael hadn't mentioned that he'd run away and been living on the streets.

When we drove up to the house, his mother, stepfather, and sister all ran out to greet him with open arms. His mother invited me into their home—and so much joy and genuine love were expressed. I told her about our conversation together, in the cafe, about God's love for each of us. Then Michael actually told his parents that he now understood more about his spiritual manhood, and that he wasn't so afraid anymore.

For several Christmases after that, my husband and I received cards from him, letting us know what he was doing and how happy he was.

That was many years ago, but it was a life-changing experience for me. It propelled me to enlarge my sense of family by volunteering in my community and watching the Divine influence all I do. And I cannot possibly count the blessing and healings that have come as I continue to prepare my manger for the Christ-idea on a daily basis.

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