It was a moment that remains in memory's treasure box.

I was teaching in a K-12 school, and each grade had a part in the Christmas pageant. The kindergarten was offering a pint-sized living Nativity, with minimal speaking parts. They had done reasonably well during dress rehearsal (I was a backstage curtain-puller; hence, my presence at these sometimes agonizing run-throughs.)

There were just a few hitches: Peter was a bit too vigorous as the donkey and his artificial head threatened to fly off during his energetic braying, and Mary wasn't too sure she needed to hold Joseph's arm since she was an independent 5-year-old. However, things looked promising as we neared the night of the SHOW.

The small auditorium was crowded with proud parents and relatives, and the enthusiastic applause for the acts that preceded the kindergarten's role had made its way backstage. Two miniature angels had had a spat, leaving their haloes awry. However, the show must go on.

There were final adjustments to the towels on the shepherds' heads, Mary's veil was looped up again (it had been made for a taller virgin), and Joseph grasped his staff firmly. They set off on the road to Bethlehem, up the middle aisle of the auditorium. They knocked on the curtain, I pulled it open and there stood Charlie, a sturdy blond innkeeper, with his self-important refusal to let them come in.

"I tell you, we have no room," he proclaimed firmly for the second time. Following practiced directions, Mary started to turn away, but Joseph, impelled by a glimpse of his family as he came down the aisle, decided for another try: "We're tired. We have come so far,” he improvised.

Innkeeper Charlie was now rattled. He hesitated, and then turned and, with a sweeping gesture of his little arm, proclaimed: "Of course, there's always room for one more. Come on in."

He then fled into his "inn", aghast at what he had done, and Mary and Joseph dutifully followed him. A rapid closing of the curtain, a bit of improvised music from the accompanist, and the curtain reopened on Mary, Joseph and Baby in an unexplained stable. Since the audience was familiar with the original story, no great damage had been done.

But Charlie's inability to say "No" comes back to me at Christmas time. He forgot he was playing a role, and he became the generous little boy he normally was. My prayer as we come ever closer to December 25 has to be Charlie's answer: "Of course, there's room. Come on in."