The Christmas Journey (6 page)

A
s Joseph tries
to keep the oil lamp lit, Mary grabs his hand. “Joseph, hurry! Find what you can.” Grabbing the lamp, he leaves Mary alone in the darkness. He stumbles through the stable and spots a trough that could serve as a bed, and the hay that the sheep are sleeping on could do as bedding—but there are no blankets!

H
e whirls around,
searching the pens and walls. What can he use for blankets? His robe would have to work for now. He pulls it off as a contraction seizes Mary. Her scream pierces the night. “Joseph, I need you! Please, Joseph! Hurry!” She tries to pull herself upright in a squatting position, but her legs tremble beneath her, forcing her on her back.

A
nother scream brings Joseph
running from the watering trough, cold water spilling over the bucket rim. The Light of the World pushes his way into the darkness as Joseph rushes to help. As he sets the lamp down, Joseph’s heart pounds with uncertainty and his hands tremble. He has seen the birth of many animals but never that of a child. Mary cries and pushes her elbows into the ground. She grabs at dirt, straw, anything she can clutch in her hands. Joseph coaches as best he knows how: wiping sweat from her brow and guiding the baby out, but Mary is tired; her strength is nearly gone. “Can you push again?” Joseph asks, holding the baby’s head in his hands.

S
he shakes her
head. “I cannot,” she screams. Her hair sticks to the perspiration on her face, and streams of sweat pour over her neck and chest.

“
Y
ou must,”
he pleads. “You must try!”

S
he pushes with
what seems to be little result, her cries rising above those of the animals. Joseph urges her to keep pushing, keep pushing. And with one final cry of anguish and a push, her labor is over.

I
mmanuel is here.

H
is skin is
light. The olive color would appear slowly in the weeks to come. His head is misshapen from being pushed through the birth canal. His body is red, blotchy, covered with mucus. Is this truly the Son of the Almighty God, screaming now as his earthly father smacks his bottom? Joseph uses some of the animals’ rags and wipes off the slippery fluid, then swaddles the baby in dry ones. Mary lies on the stable floor, trying to catch her breath. The Messiah’s cries are louder now.

M
ary reaches for
her newborn, and Joseph clumsily hands him to her. “Shh, shh, shh,” she says, laying him on her chest and guiding his tiny head to find what he is looking for. Is this the same voice that had spoken the world into existence…whimpering now at the breast of a maidservant? Mary caresses his face and counts each finger on his tiny hand. And hands that once placed the stars in the sky and sculpted magnificent landscapes grasp her finger. Mary secrets away each movement and sound and scent in her heart. He looks up, and eyes that saw her before she was born strain to see his mother. She laughs as his tiny mouth turns up into a slight crescent. The face of God smiling. Mary kisses his forehead and holds him closer. Deity swaddled in the arms of humanity.

J
oseph sits in
the silence and watches. His face is weathered and flushed. There was a time, at the beginning of the pregnancy that he wanted to walk away. But after the angel spoke with him, he knew he should stay, and now, looking at his wife and son, the depths of his heart swell to the surface and his eyes blur. This is
he
of whom the prophets spoke, seeking nourishment from his mother. Stretching before them is a new life, together as a family, filled with first words, first laughs, and first steps. He would teach his son how to plane a piece of wood and hold a hammer, just as his father had taught him. God’s Son would grow up with the smell of sawdust in his nostrils. Joseph’s chest pounds with the wonder and mystery of it all. He comes closer, holding Mary in his arms, and together they look at this baby…Jesus, who opens his mouth in a yawn.

T
he Savior is
sleepy.