Holy Child Parish had seen better days in the century recently closed. The passage of time and societal change had emptied out each wooden row. The caretaker moved, a little bit slow; The empty church echoed each step. There! From the manger; a weak little cry: A sound he would not soon forget. A babe in the manager, a live baby boy; A towel was his swaddling clothes. His mother had left him, believing him safe. Safe as anyplace else she supposed. The school nurse was sent for, to care for the child who was otherwise healthy, just cold. Parishioners called him a miracle baby; found asleep in the crib of the Lord. The Press soon descended, the media Magi, to give homage like Pilgrims of old. On tape and in print the good news went out. The story was told and retold
It made people smile, for the times now are grim and good news has been in short supply. Theyβve named the boy John, for the prophet of old; In the wilderness hear one voice cry.
This is a true story about a young mother who left her newborn in the creche at Holy Child Jesus church in Richmond Hill, NY