The kids leaned forward with excitement and curiosity as my husband set out various study skins, skulls and taxidermied animals for the class of fourth graders studying animals and their environment. As each specimen was placed on the table “oohs” and “aahs” and stories began to fill the room.

“My grandma has a fur coat,” one child commented.

“We were walking on the beach one day and found something dead and it really smelled,” another student called from the back of the room.

“Once, when we were camping, this lady took her cat out of her motor home and the dog in the next campsite bit its head and the lady….”

“OK, everyone,” my husband quickly interjected to save them all from the gory details, “Let’s phrase our comments in the form of questions you have about what you see on the table before you.”

So the morning progressed as this biologist, who welcomes the chance to occasionally step away from office paperwork, e-mails and phone calls — and who always enjoys classroom presentations began to demonstrate the secrets that skins and skulls reveal if you know what to look for.

But this was no ordinary presentation for one student, sitting quietly to the side of the group and taking in the excited voices, was extraordinary. Born without the benefit of sight, she sat with a look of concentration and interest written across her face.

It was a stuffed barn owl that caused this student to shoot up her hand and wiggle with excitement. “I hear them in my backyard at night!” she exclaimed.

Realizing she could not enjoy the owl’s beauty as her classmates were, Matt picked up the owl and crouched down in front of her. “Give it a good feel,” he encouraged, “I think you’ll like this owl and you can’t hurt it by touching it.”

Out stretched her little hands but it was his face and not the owl she reached for. Starting at his forehead and working down the bridge of his nose she moved. When she got to his big, bushy mustache she pulled her hands away in surprise and giggled.

“You can’t hurt that mustache either,” he playfully assured her. After the two were adequately introduced she moved on to the owl.

“I’ll never forget watching her feel every part of that owl,” Matt reminisced the other day, “but the best part was her reaction.” As her classmates intently looked on, a huge smile brightened her face.

“I see it!” she exclaimed.

Seeing is part of the Christmas story as well. Only this time the players are three men of great wealth, who lived far from one another but who possessed a great knowledge of ancient prophesy and a love of star-gazing. Seeing that star posed them all for action.

They did not just look and admire it. They consulted their ancient texts and charts and were inspired by it. They bid their families goodbye, loaded up their camels and took to the high road.

These wise men, as we traditionally call them, wanted to see the great king whose birth was being announced by the heavenly star.

Many of us are seeing it this Christmas. We will attend candlelight services, go caroling and read the account of Christ’s birth as it is dramatically recounted in the Bible’s book of Luke. Believing that God chose to enter our world as a baby and not as an orator, politician, scholar or warrior is a step in faith Christians are willing to take.

For each one of us who are comfortable admitting we believe, there was a moment when we did not. We each had to hear the story, contemplate the implications, ask questions about it, deny it for a time and test it. Only then could we embrace the promise of Christ’s birth.

Our choice to see the baby as God’s greatest gift is what makes Christmas new all over again this year. We may be a bit too busy and a little stressed for any number of reasons, but Christ can help us to prioritize and focus, giving legitimacy to this season, adding hope when things seem bleak, and providing a never-ending new outlook on life — each day! — that leads us like that great star all year long.As each specimen was placed on the table “oohs” and “aahs” and stories began to fill the room.

“My grandma has a fur coat,” one child commented.

“We were walking on the beach one day and found something dead and it really smelled,” another student called from the back of the room.

“Once, when we were camping, this lady took her cat out of her motor home and the dog in the next campsite bit its head and the lady….”

“OK, everyone,” my husband quickly interjected to save them all from the gory details, “Let’s phrase our comments in the form of questions you have about what you see on the table before you.”

So the morning progressed as this biologist, who welcomes the chance to occasionally step away from office paperwork, e-mails and phone calls — and who always enjoys classroom presentations began to demonstrate the secrets that skins and skulls reveal if you know what to look for.

But this was no ordinary presentation for one student, sitting quietly to the side of the group and taking in the excited voices, was extraordinary. Born without the benefit of sight, she sat with a look of concentration and interest written across her face.

It was a stuffed barn owl that caused this student to shoot up her hand and wiggle with excitement. “I hear them in my backyard at night!” she exclaimed.

Realizing she could not enjoy the owl’s beauty as her classmates were, Matt picked up the owl and crouched down in front of her. “Give it a good feel,” he encouraged, “I think you’ll like this owl and you can’t hurt it by touching it.”

Out stretched her little hands but it was his face and not the owl she reached for. Starting at his forehead and working down the bridge of his nose she moved. When she got to his big, bushy mustache she pulled her hands away in surprise and giggled.

“You can’t hurt that mustache either,” he playfully assured her. After the two were adequately introduced she moved on to the owl.

“I’ll never forget watching her feel every part of that owl,” Matt reminisced the other day, “but the best part was her reaction.” As her classmates intently looked on, a huge smile brightened her face.

“I see it!” she exclaimed.

Seeing is part of the Christmas story as well. Only this time the players are three men of great wealth, who lived far from one another but who possessed a great knowledge of ancient prophesy and a love of star-gazing. Seeing that star posed them all for action.

They did not just look and admire it. They consulted their ancient texts and charts and were inspired by it. They bid their families goodbye, loaded up their camels and took to the high road.

These wise men, as we traditionally call them, wanted to see the great king whose birth was being announced by the heavenly star.

Many of us are seeing it this Christmas. We will attend candlelight services, go caroling and read the account of Christ’s birth as it is dramatically recounted in the Bible’s book of Luke. Believing that God chose to enter our world as a baby and not as an orator, politician, scholar or warrior is a step in faith Christians are willing to take.

For each one of us who are comfortable admitting we believe, there was a moment when we did not. We each had to hear the story, contemplate the implications, ask questions about it, deny it for a time and test it. Only then could we embrace the promise of Christ’s birth.

Our choice to see the baby as God’s greatest gift is what makes Christmas new all over again this year. We may be a bit too busy and a little stressed for any number of reasons, but Christ can help us to prioritize and focus, giving legitimacy to this season, adding hope when things seem bleak, and providing a never-ending new outlook on life — each day! — that leads us like that great star all year long.