These little figures of Mary and Joseph have been travelling around our house for a few days as they make their way to Bethlehem. As I placed their forms before a map and was hit afresh how isolated Mary became.

I’ve never really identified well with Mary. A slightly condescending lecturer once told me that I’d really connect to her once I’d experienced motherhood, a strange claim from a man and one that did not bear the predicted fruit. But here, in these twee little figures and their glazed smiles I met Mary.

As her journey framed my own I felt the deep tug of being displaced – a feeling I’m struggling with as I embark on my first Christmas without my parents.

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