As a young mother, one Christmas brought Brenda Nixon to despair. Amid all the holiday stress, her husband's job was shaky and the grim possibility of no income depressed her. She writes:
Among my numerous responsibilities was teaching my three-year-old's Sunday school class at church. When I looked at the teacher's book, I saw that the lesson was on Jesus, the Good Shepherd. What! The Good Shepherd? I complained. Surely something is wrong here. How does the Good Shepherd relate to the real meaning of Christmas? Besides, city kids can't relate to a shepherd. My low spirit was evident as I criticized everything about this lesson.
Then the time came for class. We survived the art portion of the lesson, gluing cotton balls to sheep pictures, and had our juice and animal crackers. Then it was circle time. Turning to each rosy-cheeked cherub, I began with, "What is a good shepherd?" To which came my reminder of truth as one tot positively replied, "He picks up his sheep when they fall down."
