The crash was deafening.

In a fit of flurry and a moment of carelessness, I knocked Joseph and one of the Wise Men to the ground.

Pieces of the tiny figurines were everywhere. Only about 6 inches tall each, they shattered into too many pieces to glue back together.

I felt like one of the tiny pieces had pierced my heart.

I carefully wrapped the other two Wise Men, a shepherd, two sheep and a cow in tissue paper and carried them back to the basement. For the first time in my life my home was without a manger scene, and I was sad.

It wasn't an expensive set by any means, and this would have been the 11th year for it to be with us so it wasn't a treasured antique.

But without it, there was a definite void.

It even brought a new tradition to our family four years ago when Jim spent his first Christmas with us. The Baby Jesus disappeared from the manger scene and magically re-appeared on Christmas morning, just like it did in his home when he was a little boy.

I don't really need a manger scene to remind me of the real reason we celebrate Christmas. Thanks to Christian parents, the story of the night Jesus was born was first told to me at an early age and every Christmas after that for as long as they lived.

So why did I care so much about a couple of broken statues?

It sure wasn't the manger scene my parents had.

Now that was a manger scene.

I can't remember what happened to it after my sister, brother and I went through the painful process of cleaning out their home after they were gone. But I'm sure someone in the family has it.

It was too important to go into the piles that went to charity.

The characters in that manger scene were even smaller and were safely attached to the frame of the manger. I'll never know if it came that way or if my mother patiently glued each piece to the make-believe straw floor to keep an accident like mine from happening.

It sure wasn't the manger scene my parents took me to see in downtown Maysville numerous times during the Christmas season when I was a child.

Now that was a manger scene.

With life-sized figures and even a couple of sheep some years, it was magical.

Even as a young child I knew Mary wasn't real, even though she looked at that baby with such a look of love in her eyes.

In those days we lived in Valley View, and with only half a dozen other houses there at that time, it seemed like a journey every time we got in the car to "go to town."

After church on Sunday night, after shopping at G.C. Murphy's or even after riding around looking at the Christmas lights, we always stopped to see the manger scene.

No matter how cold it was or how far it was past my bedtime, my Dad always stopped the car and we all got out so we could get as close as possible.

Last year I had the privilege to see that manger scene again, thanks to the generosity and hard work of Tom and Barb Clarke.

It hadn't lost its magic either.

My little manger scene sure wasn't the one we used to visit once a year in Cincinnati.

Now that was a manger scene.

We used to visit it once a year after visiting my grandparents and uncles and aunts in Newport and Bellevue.

I loved to visit my grandpa and my Uncle Amos and Aunt Hazel, and Uncle Howard and Aunt Jennie. But I could hardly wait for dark to go visit the manger scene.

I could see the huge stable in Eden Park long before I saw the Wise Men. I could smell the sheep brought in for the event long before I saw the shepherds. But after standing in line on a cold winter's night, and sometimes with a boost from my Dad, I could finally see Joseph and Mary and the Baby Jesus.

Close by were a donkey and a couple of cows. Sometimes they were the only sound you could hear in the few moments you were in their presence.

Because thousands of people each year visited the manger scene which started in the 1930s, you had to keep moving.

Sometime in the late 1960s the manger scene was moved to the nearby Krohn Conservatory. I read somewhere recently that 75,000 people visit this manger scene each year, which includes my family.

A few days ago I bought a new manger scene for my home because Christmas without one is just not an option.

So what if it was on sale?

Who cares that it's all ivory-colored and gold and unlike any I've ever had?

What's the difference if it doesn't hold any memories for me yet?

It is the manger scene of my future.

If I'm careful, it will be viewed in the future by newlyweds spending their first Christmas together as husband and wife.

If I'm lucky, it will be looked at by wide-open eyes and gently touched by tiny little hands as I tell them about the Baby whose birth we celebrate.

And always it will be a visual reminder of the miracle of Jesus' birth over two thousand years ago.

But what if something happens to it, will another one replace it? Most likely.

After all, it's what the manger scene represents that's important.

I'm sure there are many people in New Orleans missing their manger scenes this Christmas.

I'm sure there are those serving their country in Iraq and Afghanistan who are missing their manger scene, or nativity or crèche this Christmas.

I'm sure there are missionaries in parts of the world who are afraid to have a manger scene because it could mean their death if discovered by non-believers.

In a few quiet moments tonight, recall the manger scenes of your life even if you can no longer see them.

Amidst the Christmas cookies and colorful packages ready to be opened, remember the real reason for this season, and find joy in the miracle that quietly took place so long ago in Bethlehem.

Contact Laura Rains at Laura.Rains@lee.net or by phone at 606-564-9091, ext. 275.