Once there was a man who believed in God. . . but not that this God would become a man. . .and each Christmas eve he would stay home while his family went to Church.

One Christmas eve it began to snow. Soon heavy, wet flakes covered the trees and ground. Then a strange new sound broke the quiet of the night. . . caught in the wet and clinging snow, floundering and flapping upon the ground were many tiny birds. . .

They would need shelter against such a night, or surely die! So he put down his book and opened the garage door. . . but they would not go inside.

"Perhaps if I turned on the light. . . " but they only stayed outside, freezing in the snow. . .

"Maybe if I scattered bread crumbs up to the door and inside, they will follow the crumbs and take shelter."

But they remained on the outside.

"I will drive them inside," he decided. So as if they were cattle and not birds he stomped and hollered, but only made them more frightened as he blundered about.

"Perhaps if I made like a bird, I can lure them inside."

So bending his elbows and tucking his hands to his sides and flapping his arms, he hopped around and then up to the door and inside the garage~but he stood there alone, with the birds still outside.

He had tried everything he knew to communicate with the birds. How very ridiculous he must have looked to them. How big and powerful he must have seemed. How frustrated he himself felt.

All he wanted to do was to help them, protect them, and provide a safe haven. To what length would he have gone to show them that he cared?

"If I could only become a bird for just a few minutes--perhaps then they would see and accept me. . . let me save them. . ."

That's when the church bells rang out in the stillness of that Christmas night, and he heard the singing of the worshippers around the stable crib, and suddenly he understood--he knew--perhaps God felt that way, so long ago, and did become one with man.