We talk about Mary's faith. Joseph's obedience. The shepherds' wonder. The wise men's journey.
Nobody talks about the donkey.
He carried a pregnant teenager across roughly 90 miles of rocky terrain. No GPS. No idea why. No applause when they arrived. No one painted him into the nativity scene until centuries later—and even then, he's in the background, half-hidden behind a cow.
He just... walked. One hoof in front of the other. Slow and steady.
The Unsung Follower
Every organization has a donkey. Not the racehorse chasing the next win. Not the show pony looking for the spotlight. The donkey.
You know the type:
They're not fast, but they're consistent. They don't need the applause—they need the purpose. They find genuine satisfaction in the doing, not the recognition for having done. While everyone else is chasing breakthroughs and big wins, they're showing up Tuesday after Tuesday, carrying what needs to be carried.
They're not grinding. That's the thing people miss. The donkey isn't burned out and bitter, trudging through misery for a paycheck. There's a quiet joy in the dailiness of it. A rhythm. They've made peace with the fact that their work isn't glamorous—and they've discovered something the rest of us overlook: faithfulness has its own rewards.
The racehorse needs the crowd. The donkey just needs the road.
The Pace That Gets You There
We celebrate speed. Agility. Disruption. The leader who moves fast and breaks things.
But Mary didn't need fast. She needed safe. She needed someone who wouldn't spook at shadows or chase after distractions. She needed four steady legs and a creature whose pride wouldn't get in the way of the mission.
Slow and steady doesn't just win the race. Sometimes, slow and steady is the only thing that gets the miracle to Bethlehem in one piece.
Find Your Donkey
Look around your organization. Your church. Your family.
Who's the donkey? The admin who keeps everything from imploding. The warehouse guy who's been there nineteen years and knows where everything is. The volunteer who shows up early to set up chairs and never stays for the standing ovation.
They're not waiting to be discovered. They're not secretly hoping you'll finally notice them and hand them a promotion. They just love the work—the quiet satisfaction of a job done well, done again, done faithfully.
This Christmas, find your donkey. Look them in the eye. Say the name out loud:
"I see you. What you carry matters. This whole thing doesn't work without you."
By the time the manger scene unfolds, the donkey's work is done. He's not catching his breath or waiting for applause. He's just there—standing quietly among the hay and the cattle, part of the scenery now. His job was the journey. The long, unglamorous miles that got Mary safely to Bethlehem.
And that's the thing about donkeys. They don't need to be at the center of the moment. They just need to know they helped it happen.
The angels announced. The shepherds came running. The star led the way. And all of it—every bit of it—pointed to the baby in the manger.
And the donkey? He got them there.
So tell me... who's YOUR donkey?
