The choir for the Tableaux had its first practice. The energy in the room tingled with eagerness. It was my great luck to be there with my youngest daughter, though we were not the only family set. There were husbands and wives, mothers and daughters, and even a couple of three generation singers.

The director shepherded us through the music with attention to breathing, and diction. He is the same man who conducted an orchestra of brass players on Thanksgiving, while a baby was trapped to his chest. I like that he knows where we are going, and it is my job simply to follow. Admittedly, there were times when my following wavered, and I leaned into the airspace of the woman next to me for a note. 

It is my task to help the angels find robes. There is a bright supply of gowns, and gilded capes to climb into, and for the past week I have been sorting and mending them. Hopefully each singer will find a garment that fits, and helps them feel celestial. 

I do not yet know who will stand in as Mary, Joseph, Zachariah, Elizabeth, and the wise men. But I am confident that the roles will be filled. There are even babies who will lay in the manger, sharing their inexhaustible supply of innocence.