When I was child and even through my teenage years, Christmas night and the following day were the saddest time of the year. The anticipation of presents, church pageants and holiday cheer were swooped away in such a short time.

“Christmas decorations look so ragged the day after Christmas,” Mama commented wisely one time.

Once when I was about 12, I was taking decorations off the trees and said sadly, “It’s such a long time until the next Christmas.”

“That’s how you feel when you’re a child but when you grow up, the year will fly by so fast that Christmas will come again too quickly,” Mama replied.

And, so, I have become that adult. The days, the months, the year have slipped away quickly. It seems like Christmas was only two months ago. This one has come around so fast that I haven’t been able to reflect on other Christmases.

But, recently, a sweet memory popped up. I was standing in the aisle after church, talking to someone when I felt a tug on my sleeve. I turned around to see a young man I hadn’t seen in 25 years.

Grinning, he asked, “Do you know who I am?”

I threw my arms around him and said, “I sure do. You’re baby Jesus.”

Brandon was only a couple of months old when I was starring as Mary in the church play. Instead of having a doll in the manger, I thought it would be wonderful to have a real baby. There aren’t many mothers who would agree to having a 14-year-old in charge of her baby in the midst of a play but she gamely agreed.

When the curtain — hung haphazardly on a wire strung across the stage of our small church — was pulled back and there I was in one of Mama’s bed sheets with a pillowcase pinned over my head, the audience was not impressed.

I was looking lovingly into the manger when the real star raised his little hands and gurgled happily. A gasp swept over the congregation. Everyone began smiling and laughing. Brandon had played his part perfectly.

He’s grown now with children of his own but he and I will always remember when we co-starred in a Christmas play together. Seeing him recently caused me to reflect on all those church Christmas programs. When I was eight, my Sunday School teacher handed me a copy of the play with my name beside a recitation. It was LONG.

I spent a week memorizing the lengthy passage, proud that I had been chosen for such an important part. At play practice the following week, we kids all trudged in, still in our school clothes. After wrangling us all together and getting us to settle down, she lined up four of us for this critical scene.

There was a redheaded, freckled face girl who lived with her grandmother and usually only came to church at Christmastime for the box of peppermint sticks all the kids got. The teacher asked, “Do you know your part?”

“Uh, uh, well, not really,” she replied.

At that moment, I discovered that the long passage was hers and I had only two lines. My heart broke. I almost started crying.

“But that’s my part,” I protested.

The teacher shook her head. “No, that’s Marie’s.”

I showed her my copy of the play and she realized that she had written my name too close to the big passage. I was suppose to have the two lines above it.

“I memorized all of it,” I said.

At that point, sheer relief melted over Marie’s face. She had only learned the first line and I, three years younger than she, was her way out.

“She can have my part,” Marie said quickly. “I don’t mind at all. We’ll just switch parts.”

Then, word perfect, I recited it.

And, that is how I, accidently, got my first starring role.

[Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of “St. Simons Island: A Stella Bankwell Mystery.” Please visit www.rondarich.com to sign up for her free weekly newsletter.]