In a downtown hospital in Atlanta, Georgia, a blonde woman with a vicious scowl screamed at the helpless nurse beside her for a stronger dose of the epidural, while her husband hollered at the doctor to get away from that old woman in the wheelchair and help his wife.

In a snowy, Bavarian town, an overweight woman stuffed her third chocolate bar into her mouth, sending a glance towards the chubby newborn in the incubator beside her. He was sure to be a healthy eater, just like his parents—he was only two hours old, and had already been fed four times.

Buried within a feather bed in a jewel crusted mansion in England, a new mother carelessly thrust her baby daughter into the arms of the newly hired nanny, shooing her away while she dialed her masseuse to make an appointment for next week. Giving birth was far too much strain than it was worth, surely.

And hidden on the outskirts of a snow covered town in the middle of nowhere and everywhere, a beaming man in a tattered sweater sat on the cold, wooden floor, holding his tired wife in his arms. The exhausted woman cradled a tiny child to her, smiling in her fatigue at her precious bundle. Only a half hour before she had given birth on a thin, worn mattress spread on the floor. She had not had an epidural, a doctor, or a feather bed. The only help she had was her husband's hand gripping her own, and the encouraging words that came from four bedridden voices across the room. She did not scream and shout angrily at those around her, but instead stifled her pained cries in an attempt to calm her anxious family's nerves.

And now, after all the pain and struggle, her reward had arrived, sleeping peacefully in her arms. Her smile widened a bit as she felt her husband's lips press against her temple, tightening his hold on her and their new child. The new grandparents sat up alert in their bed, all staring with silent smiles at the newest addition to the Bucket family.

It had been less than a month since Christmas. That frozen night, the family had crammed together in the only bed in the broken down house while Grandma Josephine read the Christmas story out of her tattered leather Bible. As the six listened in pensive stillness, a creaky voice caught their attention.

"The Lord Jesus was born in a stable, on a mound of hay, with animals all around him," Grandpa Joe had said quietly. "He was born in the lowest place on earth, and look at how wonderful his life was." He glanced down at a threadbare mattress on the floor, contemplatively. Turning towards Mrs. Bucket, Grandpa Joe took her hand and smiled gently at her. "Perhaps our little one will be destined for great things as well."

Now, a month later, the child had arrived. As the starving, frozen family watched blissfully over the sleeping boy, Grandpa Joe's words echoed through their minds. The world did not know about the child born that night in the disintegrating shack, but perhaps someday, little Charlie Bucket would become someone great.