“The Christmas Program That Almost Fell Apart”
No one really knew how hard it is to get through a Christmas program. To the audience, it looked polished, sweet, and angelic — children in robes, candles glowing, voices rising in harmony. But behind the curtain, it was chaos. Costumes tangled, lines forgotten, props misplaced. And yet, somehow, God stitched the whole mess into a tapestry of joy.
The candle was the first crisis. A little LED light, meant to flicker like holy fire, refused to shine. The children puffed their cheeks and blew with all their might, pretending it was magic. The audience chuckled at their flair, but backstage, hearts raced. The candle sat there. Silent. Stubborn. The children froze. The audience leaned forward…
Enter Mrs. Polly, the unsung hero. She rummaged through the storage cabinet like a soldier on a mission, pulling out ribbons, tape, and finally — batteries. With a triumphant grin, she smuggled them to the children. Suddenly, the stubborn candle flickered alive. The kids threw their arms wide: “Tadaaaaa!” The audience erupted in applause, never knowing the panic that had preceded the glow.
But the candle wasn’t the only mishap. One child, rushing to their mark, stepped squarely into a plate of cheesecake left from the fellowship hall. The creamy mess clung to their shoe like glue. Instead of hiding it, the child whispered loudly, “Cheesecake on my shoe — now I’m walking dessert!” The audience roared with laughter, thinking it was part of the script.
Another child forgot their line and improvised with flair: “And lo, the shepherds… um… saw sheep. Lots of sheep. Everywhere!” The audience smiled tenderly, because sometimes honesty is funnier than perfection. The forgotten line became a moment of pure charm, and parents leaned in with pride at the courage it took to keep going.
Then came the halo disaster. One angel’s halo slipped lower and lower until it rested on their nose. The child squinted, trying to keep singing while the crooked halo bobbed like a comedy prop. Another angel whispered, “Don’t move — you’ll break the holy antenna!” The audience giggled, but the children pressed on, halos tilted and hearts lifted.
Backstage, teachers whispered frantic cues, shepherds argued over who got the tallest staff, and Mrs. Polly nearly tripped over a box of costumes. Yet on stage, it looked seamless. The audience saw children bowing gracefully, voices blending, and candles glowing. They saw harmony. We saw chaos.
And isn’t that the way God works? He takes our tangled mess, our forgotten lines, our cheesecake shoes, and tilted halos, and turns them into something beautiful. To us, it feels like failure. To Him, it’s ministry. The audience doesn’t see the panic — they see the joy.
The tender moments were just as powerful. A shy child whispered their solo so softly that the microphone barely caught it. But the hush in the room was holy. Parents leaned forward, hearts swelling, because vulnerability is more moving than volume.
By the end, the children bowed together — candle glowing, cheesecake shoe shining, halos tilted, and voices ringing. The audience clapped with delight, never knowing how close the program had come to unraveling. And in that applause, we felt God’s smile. Ministry is never perfect. It’s messy, chaotic, and full of bloopers. But God helps us shine anyway. He turns dead bulbs into glowing candles, forgotten lines into laughter, and cheesecake shoes into unforgettable memories. The cutest things happen on stage at a Christmas program — not because we are flawless, but because He is faithful.
chaos = "kay-oss"
Susan Barker Nikitenko Nov, 2025© CoMBANNABENNMRMPMGEOPPAST545# 89
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