On the Way to Someplace Better

I am fascinated by the ways people find meaning and comfort in the Christmas story. For some, it’s the journey to Bethlehem, for others it’s the newborn child lying in a manger surrounded by animals. My mother, for instance, is deeply moved by an angel’s edict to the shepherds, “Do not be afraid.” I connect to the story through an aspect that is only implied: the innkeeper who turns away the travel-weary soon-to-be parents. My innkeeper experience taught me a valuable lesson about rejection and belonging.

There’s never a good time to lose a job, but the days leading up to Christmas may be the worst. Fifteen months prior I had donated most of my belongings, packed up what was left, and set off to satisfy my dream of living in New York City, more than 500 miles from my Southern home. Relocation was an attempt to free myself from the ennui and loneliness that I had known for most of my life. My inner voice demanded that something change, and I was sure this move would quiet that voice.

Unexpected News

I had headed north, determined to have a richer experience of life. Moving to New York was an attempt to satisfy both my teenage dream and to surrender to the call of Spirit. Now that dream was about to be demolished. I was finishing up the final few things on my to-do list before leaving for a planned Christmas vacation when I was paged to the business office, unprepared for what I was about to hear.

“There’s no easy way to say this—especially because everyone really enjoys working with you—but last night the board was reviewing our expenses, and your position was eliminated.”

The operations manager apologetically added, “Today’s your last day.”

I steeled myself, willing my voice and eyes to not add to the betrayal already gripping my lungs so tightly I could barely breathe. Every false idea of unworthiness roared in my mind, wrapping me in shame.

The next day, I continued with my plans to leave on Christmas vacation, but what was intended as a joyful, relaxing trip to Maine with friends was now tainted with embarrassment. My last conversation with my hosts had ended minutes before my firing. Sharing this news would needlessly overshadow holiday cheer, so I decided to keep it quiet.

I saw myself in the Christmas story. There was no room for me at my job, just as there had been no room for Mary and Joseph at the inn. But the job I had lost and the circumstances of my termination were not central to my life’s story.

Alone in my host’s house, draping the stair railing with garland, I finally felt the fullness of my reaction. I felt angry with myself for believing my life in New York had been a better fit for me than it had been. I blamed myself for being complacent in my discomfort. I even felt anger toward the people who had fired me, even though they told me the reason for my termination was budgetary.

As I tied the last ribbon on the garland, my friend and her kids returned home. In an instant, sounds of excitement and holiday music filled my ears and softened my mood. I saw young, innocent eyes taking in the bright red bows. Their smiles reminded me of the Christmas decoration that had always made me smile as a child—the wooden Nativity my mother placed in our living room every year.

My present circumstance gave me a new perspective on that holy scene. In the Gospel of Luke, Mary “gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.” Tellingly, there’s no mention of an innkeeper, nor is one represented in the Nativity. I imagined the purpose of the innkeeper in the story was to set the scene that led to the humble manger.

Seeing Myself in the Christmas Story

I saw myself in the Christmas story. There was no room for me at my job, just as there had been no room for Mary and Joseph at the inn. But the job I had lost and the circumstances of my termination were not central to my life’s story. They served the purpose of prompting me to move on, to take my place in a new story, one where I truly belonged.

Of the Christmas story’s many gifts, I especially value this one: We must be in the right place for the Christ to be born, and sometimes that means being told there’s no room for us where we are. What we do with that news is up to us.