I had spent more than a few Christmas’s in prison by the time 1972 rolled around. This however, would be the first Christmas that would have a spiritual content to it. It was in May of that year that I decided to trust in God to change my life. That was the deal you might say. At least as I prayed it, it was. Mary Lipscomb, a 23 year old prison school teacher had claimed that God could change my life. I refuted that thought or at least refused to believe it for 3 days. We discussed the merits of her pronouncement endlessly over the course of that time with me denying God would want to have anything to do with me. If He knew everything about me, so did I, and any changing of me was going to take some doing. But I digress, I didn’t mean to tell you how I got there that night, only that I did. Christmas in prison is something of a take it or leave it proposition and individual as well. This night, Christmas Eve, was a time to worship God the child Saviour. It was about that time toward the end of the service that I distinctly heard the cry of a baby. It took a minute to let that sink in. This was a prison you know, and someone would even think about bringing in a baby totally blew my mind. I listened intently to hear again what I thought I heard the first time. Sure enough another cry, and if this Nativity Play wasn’t scheduled it was sure playing out. Facts would only spoil the mystery of the evening but as it turned out the baby was smuggled in. There are all sorts of contraband smuggled into prison but this had to be the first time it was a 3 month old baby. We’ll ponder the particulars of the event and pick the story up later.