I was a chaperone for my daughter’s third-grade Christian school field trip to a local church. The church had constructed a Bethlehem marketplace to tell the Christmas story.

As we approached the gate, we had to register for Caesar’s census and were given shekels to pay our taxes. Roman soldiers were posted to ensure that we were orderly. Pharisees tried to outdo one another in the volume of their prayers. One of our boys pretended to take a huge bite out of a fish hanging in a booth. A merchant offered to let us smell some spices, another merchant offered fig samples, and yet another gave us a basket-weaving lesson. We watched carpenters and bread makers, sheep and camels.

We rounded a corner, and there it was. The main event. The reason we came. The stable with Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus, an angel, a star, shepherds, wise men, and animals. The children stopped in their tracks. No running. No playing. The adults stopped their talking and laughing. The world stood still as we looked in awe at the beautiful scene before us, remembering and picturing the story of our rescue. The shepherds, rough and dirty, knelt before the baby. The wise men brought gifts fit for a king.

Baby Jesus yawned and stretched, the animals began to “baa,” and “O Holy Night” played over the loudspeakers. And because of that Baby born two thousand years ago, my soul felt its worth.

Take a walk yourself through Bethlehem until you see King Jesus. Kneel before Him and revel in Immanuel—“God with us!”