Hope for the Future

This month I took advantage of a break in the cold weather and put my backyard “to bed” for the winter. This involved bringing in the lawn chairs and the hose, placing collars around the rose bushes, dumping the pots of expired tomato plants into the compost bin, and hanging the wind chime in the garage. Everything looks pretty quiet and dormant now.

Except for the forsythia bush I planted last spring! I looked at the brown, leafless twigs and saw a bazillion little buds that will be next spring’s earliest blossoms. I felt a rush of gladness. Real winter is just ahead, but can spring be far behind? It will certainly come, for those little buds are the promise of renewed life.

We usually think of spring as the time of fresh beginning, of renewal and resurrected life. We associate fall with harvest at the end of the growing season, and winter with nature in a slow, sleepy state or even death. Unfortunately, we liken our lives to these seasons too, thinking that youth is full of life and promise and hope, while the mature years are simply for winding up things and waiting for the end.

It is not the springtime that speaks to me of hope, as lovely as that season is. Hope is not in the bursting forth of new green leaves and blossoms. That is not hope but sight! Hope is in the little gray buds on a bare branch when there is nothing to be seen of what will one day be.

Go into this New Year with hope! The Apostle Paul prayed with assurance, “I pray that God, the source of hope, will fill you completely with joy and peace because you trust in him. Then you will overflow with confident hope through the power of the Holy Spirit.” (Romans 15:13) If you are discouraged by what you see or distressed by what you think might come in the days ahead, remember that the God of hope will not fail you! Don’t say, “Well, 2008 was a bust; 2009 probably won’t be any different.” Don’t worry about the months in the past that perhaps were not well spent. In other words, don’t spend your time looking at the “bare branches” in your life. Look at the little buds of new life that promise there will be fruitfulness in your future!

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Scripture quotation is taken from The Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. United States of America. All rights reserved.

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

Caterpillars to Butterflies

“Let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect.” (Romans 12:2) The Greek word rendered here as “transform” is transliterated as “metamorphose.” We are familiar with the sluggish, and perhaps ugly, caterpillar changing into a beautiful butterfly. That is metamorphosis, and that’s what God wants to do for us spiritually.

♦ Being transformed is mostly a hidden process. Although it isn’t visible to us, metamorphosis turns the brains and bodies of caterpillars to “soup” which is totally reorganized in order to become the creature capable of flight. When the Apostle Paul urges us to let God transform us, he is inviting us to a process that means deep inner change. Many people around us will not even be aware of what is transpiring in secret. Even we ourselves may not understand what we are becoming; we only know that we are preparing to be different than we once were!

♦ Being transformed is often a difficult process. Many of us don’t really like change all that much. Changing jobs or moving the household is hard work, but changing the way we think may be even harder. It is not as simple as just altering an opinion, deciding to do something differently, or changing our mind about some issue. Unlike the caterpillar, we cannot just wait for the change to happen and then emerge as a new creature. Changing the way we think is a major process executed in us and by us and through us. We will read carefully, pray earnestly, perhaps seek counsel, wait patiently—and certainly think hard!

♦ Being transformed is a continual process. The word “process” itself implies that transformation is ongoing; we build on what we have learned. Amazingly, this is true in nature as well. Back to the butterflies—a study done earlier this year at Georgetown University finds that moths can remember the avoidance tactics they learned when they were caterpillars. Becoming a new person doesn’t mean trashing everything up to this point. In transformation, we don’t kill that earlier, less-experienced self; we simply outgrow him/her.

Perhaps this is what the Paul meant when he said, “Let God transform you.” He was writing to a group who were, in his words, “called to be saints.” He was not speaking of salvation, but of growth as Christian believers. In order for us to be spiritually mature, we have to yield ourselves to God’s Spirit who moves us toward holiness and wholeness. We do need to forget those things behind us which prevent us from pressing onward to what is ahead, but a healthy memory of who we once were actually helps us stay on the task of thinking in a new way.

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Scripture quotations are taken from The Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. United States of America. All rights reserved.

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

"To Thine Own Self Be True"

This entry is now posted at
http://claiming-our-selves.blogspot.com/2009/10/to-thine-own-self-be-true.html

MaryMartha

I Will Rescue You

A friend was telling me about the circumstances in her life which had been pressing her to feel frantic. She had pleaded desperately with God, “Please help me or I won’t make it.” And in her heart He answered quietly, “I rescued Ruth [a woman in a dreadful situation] and I love you just as much. I can rescue you too—and I will.”

Much of the Bible is about rescue. God rescued Noah from the flood and Lot from the firestorm of Sodom. He rescued baby Moses hidden in a basket-boat, and Daniel when he was thrown to the hungry lions. The Christmas message itself is about rescue; “And she [Mary] will have a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” (Matthew 1:21 NLT)

Rescue does not always come in just the way we are expecting it. Several versions of the following story make this point. A fellow was trapped in his house by the rapid floodwaters that swirled through what had been his front yard. A Red Cross rowboat came by, and the workers urged him to get into their boat, but he refused, saying, “The Lord will rescue me.” Before long the water was up to the window sills, and a motor boat came by. The worried occupants called, “Sir, you’ve got to leave; the water is still rising rapidly. “No, no,” he answered, “The Lord will save me.”

The rain continued to pour down and the water continued to rise. After awhile, it pushed the fellow up and outside onto the roof where he perched precariously. A helicopter hovered overhead and the team lowered a rope. “Grab the rope and we’ll pull you to safety,” the loud speaker squawked. “No,” he shouted back, “The Lord will save me.”

Soon the rising water swept over the roof, and the fellow was carried away and drowned. He arrived at Heaven’s throne perplexed and angry—and very wet. "Why," he shouted at God, "didn’t you save me?"

"Give me a break," sighed the Lord God Almighty. "I sent two boats and a helicopter. What were you waiting for?"

Rescue does not always come in dramatic ways. As a matter of fact, it is most likely to arrive through unspectacular means. God will probably not provide miraculous transport if there are boats and helicopters handy. He will probably not commission a team of rescue workers to come to your aid while there is something you can do yourself. Rather than throw up your hands and declare your situation hopeless, you can look around for what He has already given or is sending your way. He is, after all, in the rescue business.

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Scripture quotation is taken from The Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. United States of America. All rights reserved.

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

My Favorite Christmas Word

There are many words to choose from:

Love: “This is real love—not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as a sacrifice to take away our sins.” (I John 4:10 NLT)

Joy: “I have told you this [about abiding in God’s love] so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete.” (John 15:11 NIV)

Peace: “I am leaving you with a gift—peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don’t be troubled or afraid.” (John 14:27 NLT)

Came: “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” (John 10:10 NASB)

Gave: “For God loved the world so much that he gave his one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal life. God sent his Son into the world not to judge the world, but to save the world through him. (John 3:16, 17 NLT)

Save: She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins." (Matthew 1:21 NIV)

I love each of these words, but my favorite is “with.” The Divine intention was not merely to provide the redemptive offering of Christ’s life, but also to take up permanent residence with us. Jesus said, “All who love me will do what I say. My Father will love them, and we will come and make our home with each of them.” John 14:23 NLT

This part of God’s plan was expressed by the prophet Isaiah many years before Jesus ever came. “All right then, the Lord himself will give you the sign. Look! The virgin will conceive a child! She will give birth to a son and will call him Immanuel (which means ‘God is with us’).” (Isaiah 7:14 NLT)

For me, it is not enough to have the Baby in a manger, confined to a few celebratory days at the end of the year. I need God with me every day! I remember well an old hymn, the words of which were written in 1890 by the blind Fanny Crosby. My mother would sing this and other gospel songs as she worked around the house or washed milk cans in the dairy barn.

I must have the Savior with me, for I dare not go alone,
I must feel His presence near me, and His arm around me thrown.

Refrain:
Then my soul shall fear no ill, let Him lead me where He will,
I will go without a murmur, and His footsteps follow still.

I must have the Savior with me, for my faith, at best, is weak;
He can whisper words of comfort, that no other voice can speak.

I must have the Savior with me, in the onward march of life,
Thro’ the tempest and the sunshine, thro’ the battle and the strife.

I must have the Savior with me, and His eye the way must guide,
Till I reach the vale of Jordan, till I cross the rolling tide."

To the modern ear, these words may sound quaint, but if one knows times of weakness and tempest and battle—as Fanny and my mother did—having their Savior-Friend with them was a great source of help and comfort. It was not weakness for them to anticipate “crossing over Jordan” (dying and entering heaven). When life is circumscribed by hardship, it is natural to look toward the time when fellowship Him will be unhindered by any human limitation.

God is with me! What a Christmas gift! What an everyday gift!

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Scripture quotations marked NLT are taken from The Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. United States of America. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright©1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved. Scripture quotation marked NASB is taken from the New American Standard Bible; used by permission of the Lockman Foundation.

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

The Christmas Story: 19 - MARY Finds the Incense and an Altar

An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife

Installments are in reverse order; the latest to be posted is first on this page. To read earlier portions of the story, scroll down and also click on “Older posts” at the bottom of the page. To read a specific section, click on its title in the column at the right. To read all sections, enter the words Christmas story in the search box at the upper left and click on Search Blog.

MARY Finds the Incense and an Altar

It was so hard, living in Egypt. The customs, the language, the people themselves were all so different from what I was used to. When I marketed, I thought the women were all looking at me. I was sure that their low murmurs were a discussion of me. At the well, they did not even bother to hide their laughter. Were they laughing at something about me? All the everyday tasks that brought me into contact with other people became more and more difficult. I wanted to go into our little house, shut the door, and never go out again.

Joseph found odd jobs to do, bringing home a few coins to go with the dwindling supply in the gold coffer. He was able to make friends too, in spite of the language barrier. One day he brought home some distressing news he had heard about the districts surrounding Bethlehem.

Herod routinely disposed of anyone who got in the way of his ambitious reach for power, even those of his own family. The threat of a little boy who might one day grow up to depose him could be handled by simple extermination, he decided. Not being one to waste time, he had ordered, soon after our departure, the slaughter of all the male children from two years old and under. The very toddlers Jesus had played with in our little yard in Bethlehem were now dead. Our boy had been spared! The mothers I had marketed with, shared smart-baby stories with, were weeping inconsolably because their babies were gone. I had been spared! I was horrified by the gruesome tragedy, and a little ashamed of my spirit of complaining. I would try harder, I decided, to make the best of our enforced stay in Egypt.

Usually, it was Joseph who opened the box of coins, taking out a gold piece to pay for our rented house or to exchange for smaller coins I would use at the market. But one afternoon while he was away and the child was napping, I began to wonder just how many coins were left. How long will we be compelled to stay in this land? What will we do when the money is gone? How on earth can we manage then?

I reached as far back as I could on the shelf where the coins were kept, but I could only just touch the box with my fingertips. I dragged a stool to a spot directly in front of the shelf, and standing on the stool I could easily reach the little golden box. I put out my hand to open it, but stopped when I noticed the dusty jar beside it. The frankincense! One of the gifts brought by the Easterners who came to worship Jesus in Bethlehem! I had forgotten all about it.

I lifted the little vessel carefully and, cradling it in both hands took it to the table. I did not open it at first but just looked at it, my mind carrying me back to that day that seemed so very long ago. “Don’t sell this incense,” the giver had instructed me. “Use it.” What else had he said? I tried hard to remember.

“You understand what it means to be away from home.” Oh yes, I do understand! First in Bethlehem, far from my own home, far away from my mother when I brought forth my child. Then in this land of Egypt, so full of strange sights and sounds and smells.

“Your son too will know what it’s like to be a foreigner, a minority.” I pondered that. He’s just a little boy. He doesn’t know or care, does he, where he lives?

But wait! My little son lying there, sweet and soft, is the Son of the Highest. The angel Gabriel said he was the promised Holy One, the Son of God, and Cousin Elizabeth loudly proclaimed him “my Lord.” Then how can he be at home here or anywhere? How can he ever feel that he belongs to the world around him? Dear little boy, my heart aches for the loneliness, the rejection, the displacement you will surely one day feel. This must be what the traveler from the East meant when he gave us this gift.

I opened the jar carefully, so as not to spill any of the precious contents. A fresh, sweet fragrance filled the room. Incense. Other thoughts came rushing in. The altar of God. Prayer offered up to the Most High. With startling clarity, I remembered something else the visitor had said. “Wherever you are, you must be sure to make an altar.”

I covered my face with my hands, awed in the sudden presence of the Holy One. How long since I had truly humbled myself before the Lord God, how long since I had sung the praise He gave me, “My soul rejoices in You, O Lord! I am small and weak, but you are mighty and strong, and you have chosen to do wonderful things for me!” How long since I had repeated the commitment I whispered when Gabriel visited me, “Behold, I am the maidservant of the Lord! Let Him do in me whatever He will.” I had made no altar in Egypt.

I had lamented being a stranger in the land. I had felt displaced and homeless. But now, bowing in that sacred space, I knew I was not forsaken. God had entrusted to me a part of Himself; He was lying there in the crib. While my mind could hardly fathom such a thought, my heart felt, at last, safe and secure.

Not many days after, Joseph awoke me during the night. “An angel has come to me in a dream again,” he told me. “We can go back now to the land of Israel. Those who sought to take the life of our Child are dead.”

So once more we packed everything we could on the back of our donkey, and we trudged the many miles back to the land of our fathers. Had we chosen to settle in any of the little villages along the way, I could have declared it “home.” Wasn’t I carrying with me the incense to make a kitchen table into an altar? We could have returned to Bethlehem where we lived for the first few years of our life as a family, but God warned my husband in yet another dream to move beyond the territory where King Herod’s successor ruled. We came at long last back to our own region of Galilee. “Nazareth is a good place to raise a boy,” Joseph said with a smile. He looked relieved and happy.

Making a home in Nazareth was not easy for me, however. When I left, I was but a girl, albeit an expectant one and I’d never lived anywhere but in my parents’ home. Now I was a few years older, I was a wife, the mother of a growing boy, and responsible for my own home and family. It all seemed a bit strange, almost like being in a different Nazareth! I often took out the little jar of incense and looked at it, clinging to the truth I’d learned when we lived in Egypt. No place is “home” if there is not an altar of worship and commitment there.

And any place you do make that altar, I know now, your heart can find its home.

(The end)

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

The Christmas Story: 18 - MARY Keeps the Last Gift for Her Son; JOSEPH Takes His Family to Egypt

An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife

Installments are in reverse order; the latest to be posted is first on this page. To read earlier portions of the story, scroll down and also click on “Older posts” at the bottom of the page. To read a specific section, click on its title in the column at the right. To read all sections, enter the words Christmas story in the search box at the upper left and click on Search Blog.

MARY Keeps the Last Gift for Her Son

I took the gift for Jesus, trying to be composed, trying not to cry, knowing for certain then that my days of displacement were not, as I had hoped, almost over.

“Come here, child,” the third visitor said. He was the quiet one, a beardless youth of perhaps twenty. “I have something for you to hold for a minute,” he said to the little boy, “and then you may give it to your mother to keep for you.” He took a gold-mounted horn from his traveling bag. “This is myrrh,” he explained. “Do you know what that is?”

Jesus looked at him with dark, solemn eyes and said nothing. Of course he was too young to know—but we did. A precious perfume in its own right, myrrh is also valued for medicinal purposes and for embalming the dead. What a strange gift for a child!

“Mama, here,” the little boy said, offering me the cup in its intricate holder. I took it from him, then turned to see if the young man would give some explanation of his choice of gifts. “Keep this for the days ahead,” was all he offered. “When the need arises, you will understand.”

The men bid us farewell. “We will be here a few days,” they told us, “to let our animals rest and to replenish our supplies. And then we must begin our return trip.” With last smiles and waves at our little boy, they left quietly.

JOSEPH Takes His Family to Egypt

I’m not one given to dreams, because working hard as I do throughout the day, I usually just fall into bed and sleep soundly. If I do dream, I don’t try to attach any great significance to those elusive visions.

There was, though, that one dream long ago when God told me it was right to take Mary as my wife. So when I dreamed again what seemed like a God-speaking dream, I took it seriously. “Arise!” an angel told me. “Take the young child and his mother and flee to Egypt. Stay there until I bring you word to leave, for Herod will try to destroy the child.”

Mary had made a comfortable home for us in the little house in Bethlehem. She and the baby were establishing a satisfying routine that I was hesitant to disrupt. I went to her with some reluctance.

“Mary, we must leave Bethlehem now . . .”

She turned to me eagerly. “Are we going back to Nazareth then?”

“No, my dear. Even Nazareth is not safe for us. We must go far away from the rule of the wicked king Herod. We must flee immediately—tonight—to Egypt.”

“Egypt? Tonight? Oh, Joseph—“

Once again, in a move that reminded me of that difficult trip to Bethlehem in the first place, we were on the road. Much of what we had accumulated in household goods had to be left behind. We took only what our small donkey could carry in the bundles that swung from his sides. It was hardly enough to start a new life.

(To be continued)

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

The Christmas Story: 17 - JOSEPH Meets the Visitors from the East

An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife

Installments are in reverse order; the latest to be posted is first on this page. To read earlier portions of the story, scroll down and also click on “Older posts” at the bottom of the page. To read a specific section, click on its title in the column at the right. To read all sections, enter the words Christmas story in the search box at the upper left and click on Search Blog.

JOSEPH Meets the Visitors from the East

Of all those who met us on the street or came to visit us, the most unusual were the wise men from the East. Speaking through the interpreter who was part of their company, they told us their story. They were students of the heavens and had seen in the skies a star that signaled the birth of the world’s awaited Messiah—our child, God’s son. For many long months, they had traveled with the brilliant new star guiding them, until at last they reached Jerusalem, only a few miles from where we lived. Stopping in the City, they inquired of the citizens where they could find the one who had been born “king of the Jews,” and were quite surprised at the stir this created among the people.

Herod, proclaimed by the Roman government as reigning king over the Jews, seemed troubled when he learned of the travelers’ quest. He asked discreetly of the eastern visitors when they had first seen the beacon star. They calculated their preparation time and the months they had been traveling across the desert, and answered him, “Nearly two years ago.”

“Go and search carefully,” Herod told them. “When you have found the young child, bring back word to me. I want to come and worship him also.”

Again the star guided the men from the East, this time in a miraculous southerly direction, until it stopped—although we didn’t know it—directly over our house! That is when we heard a loud calling outside, and then a knock at the door. I answered and led three men into our home. We often had visitors—that was not a surprise—but we were not prepared for the reaction of these guests to Jesus.

Their weariness was evident, but they gazed for a long time at the little boy sitting on Mary’s lap. Tears began to course down their cheeks, making pale tracks in the travel stains there. And then, one by one, they fell to their knees, bending their foreheads to the ground, worshipping the child!

We were speechless. This was unlike any other response we had seen. The shepherds who came to the cave the night Jesus was born were beside themselves with joy. What their welcome lacked in refinement was more than compensated for by their noisy exuberance! They were just so very glad to welcome the Savior, so pleased to have been chosen to receive the angels’ announcement.

Simon at the Temple had held the baby and said softly, “Now I am ready to depart from this life in peace. God told me I would first see Israel’s consolation, her light of revelation. You are worthy, Lord God, of praise. You have kept your Word!”

Mary had pondered these responses of glad acceptance and quiet surrender. She had a lot to think about, she told me, deep inside her heart. I too had to marvel at the reaction of those who met the infant. But now we were truly awed by these men who bowed before him in acknowledgment, not only of what He would become but also of who he already was.

I think we remembered to thank the men for their gifts—I’m not sure. We were struck dumb by their offerings. Opening up the baggage, the oldest of the men, the one who seemed to be spokesman for the group, explained, “We have brought some things in remembrance of this occasion and to honor your son. Here, sir,” he said to me as he lifted out a coffer made of gold. Raising the lid, he gave me a glimpse of the pile of gold coins held within. “I want you to take this for the child,” he said.

“Of course,” I answered. “I’ll gladly keep it for him. One day, he’ll understand the value of a gold coin and then it will be his own.” And I, who never in my life had had more than two gold coins to rub together, held out my hand to receive one for my son.

The aging man shook his head. “No, you are to take the whole box,” he insisted, pressing it into both of my hands.

I was astonished at the weight of all this wealth suddenly thrust upon me, and I opened my mouth to protest. But the man continued, “Yes, you’re right. It is indeed worth a great deal. And by the time your son knows the value of a gold coin, he won’t really need it.” He smiled at my confusion. “I brought it mostly as a reminder to myself that there are some things far more valuable than gold.”

The man with dark skin brought from his belongings a small censer that I immediately recognized as an incense container although it was more beautiful—and probably far more costly—than any I had ever seen. The visitor opened the jar, and the fresh, sweet fragrance of the little “tears” wept from the bark of a resinous tree filled the room.

“You must take this,” he said, turning to Mary. “You understand what it means to be away from home. Your son too will know what it’s like to be a foreigner, a minority. Wherever you are, then, you must be sure to make an altar. Don’t sell this incense. Use it—for the altar is where your heart will find its home.”

(To be continued)

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)
Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

The Christmas Story: 16 - MARY Makes a Home in Bethlehem

An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife

Installments are in reverse order; the latest to be posted is first on this page. To read earlier portions of the story, scroll down and also click on “Older posts” at the bottom of the page. To read a specific section, click on its title in the column at the right. To read all sections, enter the words Christmas story in the search box at the upper left and click on Search Blog.

MARY Makes a Home in Bethlehem

Sometimes, while we lived in Bethlehem, I wept for my broken dreams. When Joseph asked my father for permission to marry me, I was so happy that I thought I would never have reason to cry again! I was full of hopeful dreams as I began preparing trunks full of beautiful woven cloth and fine wools. I braided ropes and made pots. All my thoughts were happy, hopeful ones of our future together—a future in which there was not a single dark cloud!

The announcement of the baby’s coming changed all of that, or at least put it out of my thinking temporarily. I began to plan for his arrival, but that was difficult because no one was glad with me. At least Joseph believed me, although it did take the visitation of an angel from the Lord.

I knew that after the baby was born, Joseph and I could make a good home together. I could just see it. He would work in his shop, and as the evening sun was setting, he would come down the street toward the house where our little son and I waited at the door with open arms. I would have prepared something delicious for our evening meal, and we would sit down to share it together in the circle of lamplight. Joseph would tell us about his day in the shop. Our son—and perhaps later other sons and daughters—would tell about playing games in the street, and about helping me bake the bread, and about the bird building a nest just outside the window. I would listen to them and smile, loving my little family with all of my heart. Oh, it was a beautiful dream!

And it was hard for me to give up that dream when Joseph said we must stay for awhile in Bethlehem. The first seven weeks, we stayed because we were so close to Jerusalem and Joseph thought it would simplify matters if we waited until my days of purification were over before we went back home. It would have been difficult to travel anyway, so soon after giving birth and with the baby himself so tiny and new.

While I longed to be in our own home in Nazareth, I trusted Joseph that it was best this way. I knew it had to be hard for him too, to work as a hired carpenter with borrowed tools when back home he had his own shop and was known for his craftsmanship. I kept my spirits up by reminding myself that soon we would be able to live a normal life.

By all standards, I guess, we were poor. When we prepared to go to the City to make the sacrifices required by the Law for a first-born son, I wept that we had no lamb to offer. Had we been living in our own home in Nazareth, I was sure we could have found some way to present the most desirable sacrifice—a lamb without blemish—as the ransom for the first-born who belongs wholly to the Lord. Two pigeons can be offered, the Law says, when a family cannot afford a lamb. Joseph assured me that the two birds he bought were, in the sight of God, an equally acceptable price for the buying back of our son.

But I grieved. Two fluttery gray birds was all this perfect child was worth? I would have redeemed him with a thousand perfect lambs! Joseph had to remind me again: the sacrifice is given to please God. That it doesn’t please us is of little consequence. If God is satisfied by what is offered, that is enough. I wiped my eyes and fashioned a little cage of slender willow branches for the birds.

I had fully expected to return to Nazareth as soon as our religious duties in Jerusalem were performed. “I don’t know exactly how to tell you this, Mary,” Joseph said when we were again in our little rented home. “I don’t think we should go back to Nazareth just yet.”

Not go back to Nazareth? I tried to conceal my disappointment, but Joseph touched my shoulder gently and added, “I’m sorry.” He sent word to a relative back home to close down the little carpenter shop or try to keep it open by hiring help, whichever seemed best. He himself worked when he could as an extra hand in the local shops. I settled down, as much as possible, in a house that was not my own in a city that I knew could never be home. I tried to be content, but I could not help always feeling just a little out of place.

The baby did not mind any of this a bit! He grew, alert and happy, into a delightful toddler who attracted people to our side wherever we went. However much I might feel like a stranger, Jesus did not, but smiled at everyone without discrimination and charmed one and all!

(To be continued)

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

The Christmas Story: 15 - THE INNKEEPER'S WIFE Meets the Baby

An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife

Installments are in reverse order; the latest to be posted is first on this page. To read earlier portions of the story, scroll down and also click on “Older posts” at the bottom of the page. To read a specific section, click on its title in the column at the right. To read all sections, enter the words Christmas story in the search box at the upper left and click on Search Blog.

THE INNKEEPER’S WIFE Meets the Baby

It seems as though I had been asleep for only a few moments, when we were both awakened by noisy clatter in the street below. Someone—several people—were singing, laughing, talking loudly.

Jacob went to the window where the first streaks of dawn were just peeping through. “What on earth?“ he mumbled. “They appear to be shepherds. Looks like they’re headed out to the fields, though for the life of me I can’t figure why they’d be in town at this time of day. Oh, well, go back to sleep, Anna. I’ll heat the water for breakfast.”

“I’m getting up,” I answered. “I want to check on the couple in the hay room.”

Mary was awake, lying on her husband’s cloak, a little blanket-wrapped bundle at her breast.

“The baby?” I breathed.

Mary nodded. “A little boy.” She turned the blanket back for me to see him. Carefully I touched the fuzzy little head.

“Why didn’t you call me? I would have come.”

“I know. There wasn’t time. Joseph helped me.”

I turned to the bearded man in astonishment. Midwives or other experienced mothers always attended births, or women simply brought forth their own children. “How did you know what to do?” I asked.

“I’ve helped with the birthing in the sheep pens before,” he explained. “It was only right to help this little Lamb come into the world.”

“Yes, of course,” I said, still puzzled.

“We had visitors a little while ago,” Mary said eagerly. “You just missed them. Shepherds who came to see the baby, the very first ones to welcome him!”

“Shepherds? I guess we must have heard them as they returned to their fields. But how did they know?”

“They told us the most amazing story,” Joseph explained. “An angel appearing in a blaze of glory to announce the good news of a Savior’s birth! A whole host of angels singing praise to God and pronouncing peace! A sign given so that they would know which child was the One—a swaddled baby, lying in a manger!”

“A Savior?” I protested. “But he’s so—he’s just a little baby!”

“Yes,” Mary said simply. “Isn’t it wonderful?” Clearly, she had no doubt in her mind that the story the shepherds told was exactly right. What could it all mean? I thought about it a lot as I busied myself preparing breakfast for the guests at our inn.

As the town came awake, several inns suddenly found that they had a place available for them, Mary told me. The shepherds had told everyone they met about the angels and the birth of a Savior and about finding the three of them in the cave. No respectable innkeeper could let a new baby stay in a stable, so they insisted he come inside.

“They must stay here with us,” I implored my husband. “We have the one room, you know. Remember Abraham and Sarah . . .”

“Ah, yes,” my husband said, “entertaining angels unawares. Well, have it your way. You and your soft heart . . . “

So before the end of the day, the little family moved into our vacant room. Until they could find a little house to rent reasonably, we would make them comfortable for an extended stay.

Just in case they were somebody important.

(To be continued)

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

The Christmas Story: 14 - GABRIEL Readies the Heavenly Host; JOSEPH Greets the Shepherds

An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife

Installments are in reverse order; the latest to be posted is first on this page. To read earlier portions of the story, scroll down and also click on “Older posts” at the bottom of the page. To read a specific section, click on its title in the column at the right. To read all sections, enter the words Christmas story in the search box at the upper left and click on Search Blog.

GABRIEL Readies the Heavenly Host

I answered the summons to the Throne eagerly. Perhaps there was news about the Son!

“Gather the hosts,” the Holy One told me. “It’s time to announce the birth!”

The Birth. I still had not been able to get my understanding around the miracle that was happening. But now that the Son was going to be born, perhaps the dreadful absence would be ended. “We miss him so. When will He know that we are waiting?”

“Later. Mary and Joseph will teach Him well. Then when He is twelve or so, He will be old enough to understand on his own. Be patient. And your task for the present is to let the world know that He has come to them. Go to the shepherds in the Judean hills.”

“Shepherds, Sir?”

“Yes. Of the many people on earth, I will make these shepherds the first who are able to see the Plan.”

JOSEPH Greets the Shepherds

Mary slept for a little while then, and I stayed awake to watch over my family. Just before dawn, I woke her, speaking softly. “Someone is here, Mary. They want to see the Baby. Is it all right?”

“Of course, let them come in. But how did they know?” They came in, shepherds from the neighboring pasturelands, eager to tell us the most amazing story:

While the men were on night watch, they had been terrified by the sudden appearance of an angel surrounded in blinding light. “Don’t be afraid!” the messenger had called out to them. “I am here to announce a great, joyful event! Just across the hills in Bethlehem, the Savior has come, the promised Messiah! When you look for Him, you will know Him because He is like you—not clothed in the regal garments of a king, but in the wrappings of a child of humble birth. He is not on a throne, but lying in a manager.” And just as the angel finished speaking, a huge angelic choir appeared, singing high praise to God and declaring that peace was now available to all who would seek it. When the angels had gone away, the sheepherders came as fast as they could to see for themselves what God had revealed to them.

The shepherds were quiet and humble when they came in, but when they left, I could hear them laughing, singing, shouting excitedly to their friends as they made their way back to the field. Clearly, they believed the coming of this baby was truly good news. What all could that mean? I thought about it a lot.

(To be continued)

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

The Christmas Story: 13 - MARY Delivers the Baby

An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife

Installments are in reverse order; the latest to be posted is first on this page. To read earlier portions of the story, scroll down and also click on “Older posts” at the bottom of the page. To read a specific section, click on its title in the column at the right. To read all sections, enter the words Christmas story in the search box at the upper left and click on Search Blog.

MARY Delivers the Baby

Well, so much for my hopes of a basin of water in which to wash, and the warm meal prepared for me by someone else, and the comfortable bed to lie on and sleep and sleep and sleep. I would just have to settle for a damp cloth to wipe off a little of the grime, a few bites of the same dark bread and cheese, and a pile of hay.

Joseph brought in the pail of water and lit our lamp. He pulled a feedbox across the doorway, to help me feel safe, I think. This place was indeed a bit rough, but he was trying so hard! I couldn’t help but feel a little grateful for this place.

“Will you be all right, Mary, if I sleep?” he asked when it grew late.

“Of course, I’ll be all right. You need to rest. Go on, I’ll be fine.”

He stretched out on a pile of hay near me, and soon gentle snores told me he was fast asleep.

I did not sleep. I was tired, so tired, but the pains that had merely warned me earlier were now beginning in earnest. At first they were not too great—I still felt in control—and I told myself over and over again, “I can do this. I can birth this baby myself if it comes to that. God is with me. I can do this.”

Still determined not to waken Joseph, I lay quietly as long as I could, until the pains began to come with terrifying intensity and so frequently that there was hardly any rest between. I wept. I prayed. I cried out to my mother silently: “Oh Mother, where are you? Why are you not here when I need you? I’m dying, I know I am. Oh, I wish I could die! I’m afraid, so afraid . . .”

“Oh Joseph! Joseph, help me!” The cry finally burst from my lips without my willing it.

He was up and at my side instantly. “Mary, are you all right?”

“No, I’m not all right!” I screamed at him. “Oh, help me!” I panted. “The baby is coming.”

Joseph drew back, pale at the sight of the blood. “I’ll go for someone,” he said. “Maybe an innkeeper's wife nearby—“

“No! No! Don’t leave me!” I pleaded wildly. “It’s too late. Here, put your hands on the baby’s head . . .”

“Mary, I can’t—the Law, you know—I shouldn’t touch the blood—“

Through the haze of pain, I glared at him. So I was, after all, going to be quite alone in this wilderness of anguish. I wanted my parents, but they were far away, made distant by the miles and the misunderstandings between us. I wanted Joseph. He was here, so close I could hear him breathing—but still not here at all, caught up in a world of holy “rightness.” Fear and pain had swept control out of my hands. O God, I didn’t know it would be this hard! Help me!

One more time I told myself, “I will do this,” and with clenched teeth bore down hard.

And suddenly, Joseph was helping. He turned the baby’s head, told me to push again. Again. And then again. There was a cry of life, and he was lifting the tiny, red infant and smiling broadly at him. Solemn Joseph, absolutely grinning with love and wonder!

He laid his own coat on a fresh place in the hay, and when he had helped me move there, he gently laid the baby at my breast. Carefully I touched the little crown of dark fuzz on top of the baby’s head. “Oh Joseph, he’s perfect! I’m so proud of him!”

“Yes,” Joseph said, his voice taking on a tone of puzzlement. “But he’s just so—he’s just a little baby!”

I had to laugh, even though it made me hurt. “Of course, he’s a little baby. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Someone, I guess, more—kingly.”

“With a crown and robes, I suppose!” I laughed again at the idea, and Joseph chuckled too before becoming serious again.

“I’m proud too, Mary,” he said. “Proud of the Baby. And proud of you,” and he tenderly stroked the sweat and tears from my face with his fingers.

I caught his hand and held it. “Thank you, Joseph. And thank you for helping. Even though the Law says . . . you know. . .“

“It was right to help the little one. And you.” He shrugged. “I can wash and be clean again, afterwards,” he said simply.

(To be continued)

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

The Christmas Story: 12 - THE INNKEEPER'S WIFE Finds a Place

An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife

Installments are in reverse order; the latest to be posted is first on this page. To read earlier portions of the story, scroll down and also click on “Older posts” at the bottom of the page. To read a specific section, click on its title in the column at the right. To read all sections, enter the words Christmas story in the search box at the upper left and click on Search Blog.

THE INNKEEPER’S WIFE Finds a Place

The inn-keeping business is not a lucrative one during ordinary times, at least not in a village the size of ours. Bethlehem lies just a few miles south of Jerusalem, so once in awhile we got travelers who were going to or coming from that city, and who wished for a quiet place to stay away from the bustling activity of the larger city.

It was with great excitement, then, that my husband announced to me one day that at last our fortune was turning. “Anna,” he cried delightedly, “the emperor has issued a decree that a census is to be taken, and everyone must go to their ancestral hometown to be registered. Think what that means! Hundreds of people, David’s descendants, will be coming to Bethlehem. Of course, they must have a place to stay. The inn will be full every night, God be praised!”

Such a flurry of washing and cleaning and baking followed! I was near exhaustion, but it was worth it to anticipate the income that would be generated when the rooms were all taken by travelers. We were only barely ready when they came—at first just a few, then more and more until we had a houseful of visitors day and night.

Late one evening after the guests had gone off to their rooms and we ourselves would soon retire for the night, a hesitant knock sounded at the door. “Who can that be?” Jacob wondered. “I took the light from the window hours ago. Anyone should know we can’t handle another soul tonight.”

He shuffled to the door and unlatched it. “We’re full,” he said almost before he had swung the door open. “We have no more rooms.”

I could hear a man’s low voice. “Please, sir, we have to have a place. Mary must lie down very soon.”

“Well, we have no room here,” Jacob repeated. “No room at all.”

“I know you must be very crowded,” the man said apologetically. “The whole city is swarming with people who are registering their families. But have you no place, not even a corner, where Mary can rest?”

“Sorry, you’ll have to look elsewhere.” The door began to creak shut.

“We have already asked everywhere. Every inn is full. Please, sir . . . “ A note of desperation crept into the man’s voice.

“Sorry,” Jacob said again. I could hear him lifting the latch to secure the door once he had closed it.

“Wait!” I called, hurrying to my husband’s side. I lowered my voice to an urgent whisper. “We do have a room, just one room—you know we do.”

“Well, of course. We always have the one room left in case someone of real importance should come at the last moment. But we can’t give that room to some ordinary traveler! You know that, Anna.”

“Who knows but that these might not be ordinary, Jacob,” I argued. “Think of Sarah, our foremother. She extended hospitality to angels without ever realizing it.”

“No, Anna.”

I looked at the young woman sitting on a tired donkey just outside the inn’s door. “Jacob, please.” Now I was the one begging. In hushed tones, I pleaded with him, “The poor girl is ready to give birth any minute. The labor pains have started; I can see it in her eyes.”

Jacob shrugged his shoulders. “What am I supposed to do?” he whispered back.

“I’ll think of something,” I promised blindly. “What about our own bed? We can sleep on the floor.”

“No, Anna.”

“We’ve got to help,” I insisted. “These are our people, David’s son and daughter. We can’t just turn them away when they’re in need.” I hesitated, a preposterous idea forming in my mind. “Jacob,” I said slowly, “what about the cave?”

“The cave?” Jacob asked, his eyes wide in surprise. “What are you thinking of? It’s a storage room for hay!”

“But it’s better than nothing!” I replied bravely. “Let me talk to the girl.”

Jacob stepped aside and I approached the young woman, offering my hand. “I understand,” I told her softly. “I would give you a room, but . . .”

The girl called Mary smiled wanly. “It’s all right,” she said.

“There is a cave over there,” I said, nodding toward a door-like opening among the rocks a few yards away from where I stood. “It would be warm and dry, at least. It’s a bit rough,” I added apologetically. “Part of it is being used as a stable. Do you think you could . . .”

“A stable?” I saw her swallow hard and then wince as a sudden sharp pang apparently helped her to make up her mind. “Yes, please. I’ll stay anywhere.”

“I will bring some blankets,” I told her, “and a pail of water.”

“Anna?” Jacob called impatiently from the doorway.

“I’m so sorry I cannot offer you more,” l said hurriedly. I took a long, close look at her again. That baby will come tonight, I thought, what with the long, rough trip the mother has just taken. “You’ll call if you need me,” I stated matter-of-factly.

Mary nodded and squeezed my hand.

In my bed, lying beside Jacob, I was awake for a long time, thinking about the young woman, wondering if she was all right, praying that the baby would arrive safely.

(To be continued)

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

The Christmas Story: 11 - JOSEPH Takes Mary with Him to Bethlehem

An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife

Installments are in reverse order; the latest to be posted is first on this page. To read earlier portions of the story, scroll down and also click on “Older posts” at the bottom of the page. To read a specific section, click on its title in the column at the right. To read all sections, enter the words Christmas story in the search box at the upper left and click on Search Blog.

JOSEPH Takes Mary with Him to Bethlehem

When the decree was issued from Caesar Augustus that everyone had to be counted in a census and pay taxes in the city of their ancestry, I went to Mary. “I have to make the trip to Bethlehem, as does your father,” I told her. “But I would like for you to be registered under my name rather than your father’s. I think it’s time for us to acknowledge our marriage and declare ourselves a family. Do you think you could make the trip?”

“Oh Joseph, it’s so far!” she protested. “Well, it’s not really that far, but I know I’d never be able to walk. I can barely waddle around the house!”

“I’ll get a donkey. Could you ride, if we didn’t hurry? We would take as long as you needed to.”

“It makes me nervous to think about being away, with the baby coming so soon,” she objected. “What if we didn’t get back in time? It would be sad for him to be born among strangers. And who would help me with the birth?”

“I don’t know the answers to your questions, Mary. But it just seems right to me that we should do it this way. Don’t be afraid. I believe everything will happen just as it should.”

She looked at me carefully. She had been practicing trust for many months, ever since Gabriel had appeared to her on the day that now seemed so long ago. It couldn’t really be all that remarkable that once more she was being asked to trust a plan that did not make much sense to her. “I will go with you,” she said at last.

It was a difficult journey. I did all I could to make it easier for Mary, seeking out the smoothest parts of the road, steadying her with an arm when the going got rough. We paused to rest whenever I saw she was becoming too weary, but with Bethlehem just ahead of us, we moved faster and stopped less often, anxious to be in the city by nightfall. How wonderful it was going to be to wash off the dust, to eat a warm meal, to lie down and not move again until we were good and ready!

Mary winced. “What is it?” I asked quickly, sensing her distress.

“It’s nothing. I’m all right. But I think I should lie down soon.”

“We’re almost there,” I assured her. “Only a little while longer, and you can rest.”

But there was no place for her to rest. The city was crowded with people, more than I had ever seen anywhere at any time before. We tied the donkey, and made our way through the streets on foot. To our dismay, it was impossible to find a room. At inn after inn, the keepers waved us away. “Sorry. We were filled up hours ago,” they said, or “No room here. Move on.”

Mary was near tears. “Joseph, what are we going to do? I have to lie down. I have to. I have to! If we don’t find a place soon, I’m going to lie down right here in the street!”

“Oh, don’t be silly!” I said lightheartedly, but I knew my words did not cover the real anxiety I felt. “We will surely find some kind of shelter.”

(To be continued)

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

The Christmas Story: 10 - JOSEPH Shares a Dream; GABRIEL Asks a Question

An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife

Installments are in reverse order; the latest to be posted is first on this page. To read earlier portions of the story, scroll down and also click on “Older posts” at the bottom of the page. To read a specific section, click on its title in the column at the right. To read all sections, enter the words Christmas story in the search box at the upper left and click on Search Blog.

JOSEPH Shares a Dream

“Come, sit out here in the arbor,” I urged when she met me at the doorway. I sat beside her on the bench, taking her hands in mine. “I’m so sorry for the grief I’ve caused you,” I began. “Wait now, don’t cry. Let me tell you something. I had a dream last night. An angel of the Lord came to me—yes, to me too, Mary—and he told me, ‘Don’t be afraid to take Mary as your wife. The child who is conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit. She will bring forth a son, and you are to call him Jesus because He will be the Savior who redeems your people from their sins.’ “

She stared at me. “You should call him Jesus? The angel told you that? Oh Joseph, that’s what the angel told me too! I never told you. Oh, it’s true! It’s true! You believe now, don’t you! And we will be married after all?” I could see in her face the joy that was welling up in the place that sorrow had carved out.

“Yes, we will be married,” I assured her. “But we do face an awkward dilemma, Mary. If we hope to convince others of what we know to be the truth, that this child is indeed the Son of God, we must wait for the right time.”

“I already know what you are going to say, Joseph. You are not the father, and we cannot pretend that you are. If we rush into our marriage just now, it will seem to acknowledge that we are hurrying to give the baby a legitimate heritage, will it not?”

“Can you stand it, Mary? It’s asking a great deal of you to bear the stigma of what folks here will view as an illegitimate birth.”

She hesitated only a heartbeat before she turned shining eyes to me again. “I can do it, Joseph. It is hard, but if you alone believe in me, I can do it.”

In the months that followed, we both had many occasions to remember those words. Few besides me did believe in Mary. Seldom anyone went out of their way to be considerate of a teenage girl, heavy with a child that was not easily accounted for. Mary was self-conscious, and often tired and uncomfortable. Finally, she was spending most of her time in seclusion. I was self-conscious too, the object of many angry looks. The baby was due within the month.

GABRIEL Asks a Question

How can I explain there being sorrow in the presence of God? Something was missing . . . no, Someone was gone.

“Where is He?” I asked the Holy One. “Where is the wonderful light He gave? Where is the comfort we knew when He was here with us?”

“He’s waiting,” God replied. “He’s going to born, remember?”

“But He’s not saying anything,” I protested. “He’s not been in touch with any of us for months. It almost looks like He’s forgotten us.”

“Yes,” the Father said slowly. “Yes, He has indeed forgotten us. For awhile now, He has no memory of the glories of heaven, no awareness of your readiness to bring Him aid, no consciousness at all that I await His return to My side. That’s part of what I meant when I told you that He would empty Himself.”

I buried my face in His robes and wept.

(To be continued)

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

The Christmas Story: 9 - JOSEPH Learns of the Approaching Birth; MARY Sorrows

An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife

Installments are in reverse order; the latest to be posted is first on this page. To read earlier portions of the story, scroll down and also click on “Older posts” at the bottom of the page. To read a specific section, click on its title in the column at the right. To read all sections, enter the words Christmas story in the search box at the upper left and click on Search Blog.

JOSEPH Learns of the Approaching Birth

“Joseph, we must talk. I need to tell you something.” Only the most urgent matter would bring a woman to my shop in the middle of a workday. I laid aside my tools, looking at her intently. I motioned her to a bench and sat down on another one facing her. “What is it?” I asked gravely. “Are you all right?” I tried not to look at the flowing sash draped loosely to cover her midsection, but I had to wonder . . .

“Joseph, I wish I knew how to tell you this so that you would not be surprised or hurt or embarrassed.” Mary started to weep. “Most of all, I wish for you to believe me.”

“I will believe you, Mary,” I said quietly. “When have I ever proved myself anything but worthy of your trust?”

“But this is so—so utterly beyond anything you or I have ever imagined.”

“Try me,” I urged.

She took a deep breath. “Joseph, I’ve had a visitation from the Most High. An angel.” She looked searchingly into my face, trying to read any feeling that might be evidenced there, but I willed there to be nothing for her to see.

“And?” I prompted.

“He announced the coming of the Son of God—to be born of a virgin in David’s line, as the prophets have told us.” Dropping her eyes so that she was no longer looking into my face, she barely whispered, “And I am the one.”

I was silent for a long moment, demanding the turmoil in me to quiet. “And how long have you known you were pregnant?” I asked finally.

“Even before I went to Elizabeth’s home,” she replied. “I’m past three months now.”

“Yes, I suppose you would be,” I said carefully. I could scarcely breathe in the heavy atmosphere of her obvious anguish. And my own sorrow was suffocating me. “You have to realize, of course, that this changes things between us.”

Mary covered her face with her hands. “You don’t believe me, do you?” she sobbed.

“I don’t know what to say, Mary,” I told her. “I just don’t know what to say. I have to think. I care for you deeply, but I must do what is right.”

MARY Sorrrows

“I understand,” I managed to say with a sob, and fled from the shop. O great wings of God, overshadow me now! I cannot bear this grief . . .

When I could weep no more, I walked numbly about the house throughout the rest of the day. My eyes were red and swollen, but my mother, embarrassed by having a pregnant unwed teenager in her home, didn’t know what to say to me. She wisely left me alone.

The next morning her voice awakened me early. “Mary!” she called. “Mary, wake up. Joseph is here! He insists on seeing you. He says it’s a matter of great importance.”

I prepared as fast as I could, eagerness propelling me forward while dread hauled me back.

(To be continued)

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

The Christmas Story: 8 - ELIZABETH Counsels Mary; MARY Returns to Nazareth

An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife

Installments are in reverse order; the latest to be posted is first on this page. To read earlier portions of the story, scroll down and also click on “Older posts” at the bottom of the page. To read a specific section, click on its title in the column at the right. To read all sections, enter the words Christmas story in the search box at the upper left and click on Search Blog.

ELIZABETH Counsels Mary

I laughed and cried as Mary sang a song with words that neither of us had ever heard before. “My heart soars up to You, O Lord! You see that I am small and weak and poor, but you have chosen to bless me and to use me to bless all generations to come! You have shown me that you alone have mercy and strength and fullness. You are all I need! O thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

While Mary stayed with me, we prepared for the arrival of our own miracle—the baby that Zacharias and I had desired for so long. I didn’t pat Mary on the shoulder and feed her the sweet goodies I always had when she visited as a girl. I looked at her squarely in the eyes now, woman to woman, and told her what I knew she was already beginning to understand for herself.

“This is not going to be easy for you or for me, Mary. You are very young, perhaps too young. And Zacharias and I are really too old to be having a baby. But God has a plan for our boys.” I patted my swollen belly. “This is a boy, you know. God told Zacharias. And he already responds to the Spirit of God. He will turn the hearts of many to the Lord.” She smiled wisely then. “And he will be an older cousin to your own baby boy. He will lead the way.”

MARY Returns to Nazareth

By the time I returned to Nazareth, the truth was evident. I was pregnant with a Miracle! But a miracle does not necessarily make life simpler. You know that, don’t you? It may be inconvenient, unsettling, out of our control. It was all of that for me. I did not know it then, but the forming of the Holy One in my womb was but the beginning of a whole lifetime of yielding to the miracle-plan of God, a plan that cut across everything I would have chosen for myself, a plan that ended by piercing my heart.

Knowing that I carried a Miracle complicated all my relationships with folk in the village. What should I say to the old women, I wondered. They pretend to be busy, but they cluck their tongues and shake their heads when I go past them on my way to the market. They sit in their doorways, watching. Have they nothing better to do than speculate about my thickening waistline? They know I still live in my father’s house. They know that I’m promised to Joseph. They think perhaps my dear father hasn’t guarded closely enough the moral welfare of his daughter. They think Joseph—good, kind Joseph—may not be so honorable after all. And they probably think I’m no better than a woman of the street. Oh, I wish they would just stop their thinking and their eyebrow-raising! But even so, I always felt that sweet sense that I now knew was the overshadowing. I held my head high and walked past them with a smile, making them wonder, I’m sure, just what I had been up to!

It was time to tell Joseph. Now that all the busybodies knew, it was only fair that he should know the truth. What if, having that knowledge, he decided to send me away, keeping my pregnancy out of the public eye to spare both of us further embarrassment? Or worse, what if he decided not to marry me at all? My heart was heavy as I turned toward his shop, almost hoping I would not find him there or that the shop would be busy with customers. But he was there, and he was alone.

(To be continued)

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

The Christmas Story: 7 - MARY Visits Elizabeth

An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife

Installments are in reverse order; the latest to be posted is first on this page. To read earlier portions of the story, scroll down and also click on “Older posts” at the bottom of the page. To read a specific section, click on its title in the column at the right. To read all sections, enter the words Christmas story in the search box at the upper left and click on Search Blog.

MARY Visits Elizabeth

While I waited for Father to “think it through,” the tension in our household grew—Mother unwilling to believe, Father angry and disappointed. It came to me, now I have to see Elizabeth. Kind, godly Elizabeth. She will know what to do.

And so I quietly began to prepare for the journey that would take me to my cousin in the hill country of Judea. Seeing my determination, my father finally agreed reluctantly that it might be well for me to get away for a few months, and he made arrangements for me to travel part way with another family who were making a trip in that direction. He hired two young men to accompany me the rest of the way and to return home with the donkeys.

“This is not necessary, Father,” I protested. “I’ll be just fine. I can go that last little way by myself. I’ve gone many times with you and Mother.”

“That’s not the point!” he roared. “This is not a leisurely stroll you’re taking down some country road! It’s hard to say whom you might encounter along the way—rebels, fugitives, thugs. You simply cannot go by yourself! I wouldn’t allow it even under the best of circumstances! And most certainly, not now!”

Tears came quickly to my eyes and I bowed my head, trying to hide them. This was very definitely not the best of circumstances. I was the expectant one, but for the rest of the family, too, it was to become a difficult and highly embarrassing situation. I wanted to yell back, “Then don’t bother—just leave me alone! Send the hired men away. Keep your old donkeys! I don’t even want your help.” Oh, why does this have to be so hard for everyone?

Father saw the tears anyway. “Don’t cry now,” he said more gently. “I won’t be able to take care of my little girl very much longer. You know, that's very hard for me. I have to do, at the very least, this much for you.”

I understood then. My father loved me—I knew he did, in his own gruff way—and he had believed his love could protect me from hardship and hurt until I went into my own home where a husband would then care for me. He felt afraid for me, threatened, because now I had created a situation where he couldn’t help me.

But no—no, I hadn’t made this happen at all. It was all God’s doing. The only thing I had done was whisper, “Yes, let it be.” Mother, Father, Joseph, the baby to come—they were all in God’s hands. I would just have to entrust to God’s mercies the care and comfort of those I loved.

I learned a great deal during the three months I spent with Elizabeth and Zacharias. From the very first hour I arrived, my cousin affirmed my place in the Divine plan. She heard me calling a hello from the hill just beyond their home and she hurried out to meet me just as fast as her round, very-pregnant body would let her.

Elizabeth pulled me into her warm embrace, and then even before I could tell her why I had come, she burst out, “Oh Mary! God has chosen you! You are the woman through whom God is going to send the Promise. He’s chosen you, Mary! I know it. The Child you bear is the Lord! My own baby leaped for joy within me when you called from the hill just now! You are blessed because you have believed! There shall be a fulfillment of everything that was told you by the Lord!”

Because I believed! Fulfillment of the promise because I believed! In that moment, I understood the turmoil of the first days after the angel Gabriel’s visit. That was a waiting time, a testing to see if I could receive through faith what God was promising. What if I had not believed? What if I had not chosen to believe?

My questions about what was going to happen to me, my uneasiness about how to explain things to Elizabeth, my fears about what to tell the village busybodies who would soon be making calculating observations, my sorrow at embarrassing Joseph and hurting my parents—all these fell away like a cloak one throws off in the warm sunshine. I lifted my hands, still clasping Elizabeth’s, and I danced and sang worship to the great Promise-Keeper.

(To be continued)

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

The Christmas Story: 6 - MARY Faces Her Father

An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife

Installments are in reverse order; the latest to be posted is first on this page. To read earlier portions of the story, scroll down and also click on “Older posts” at the bottom of the page. To read a specific section, click on its title in the column at the right. To read all sections, enter the words Christmas story in the search box at the upper left and click on Search Blog.

MARY Faces Her Father

“Father, I must talk to you.”

“What is it, daughter?” He searched my face carefully, alert to my uneasiness. “Is something wrong?”

“No, Father, nothing is wrong, although probably you will think so. You have taught me well, as a daughter in Israel, that one day the Messiah will come, born into this world as a baby,” I paused before adding, “to a virgin mother.”

He nodded. “True, true.”

“Father, an angel has come to me with a message from God. He told me that I—I am that mother.”

My father frowned and shook his head. “No,” he said slowly, “no, Mary, you are but a child with fanciful dreams—” He stopped abruptly and his face clouded. “Oh! Oh, now I see. What a convenient story! I would have thought you might just come to me with the truth!”

“Oh Father, Joseph and I have not—“

He could not hear me, he was so upset—far more than I had imagined he would be. He went on and on, and I could only listen, hoping he would after awhile run out of angry words to say. At last he quieted.

“Well,” he said with resignation, “I don’t approve, of course; I’m sure you know that. But what’s done is done. Joseph will marry you very soon then?”

“No, Father, that will have to wait.” Oh, how was I going to tell him this? “At least, we won’t be living together—as husband and wife—until it’s time for the baby to be born. Because the baby isn’t—Joseph isn’t—“

“Speak up, girl,” my father ordered impatiently. “What are you trying to say?”

“The angel told me the baby is a Holy Child,” I explained. “I am to bring forth the Son of the Highest. I cannot marry yet, just to give the baby Joseph’s name.”

My father’s earlier anger was nothing compared to what I saw now. Ignoring the explanation I had tried to give, he fairly exploded. “Are you telling me that Joseph is not the father of this child?”

I nodded, not daring to look up at his darkened countenance. O God, please let him understand.

My father roared on. “I can’t believe this! Do you realize what this means? Joseph will not want you! No man will want you! Joseph will put you away, and I don’t blame him. You’re going to be a divorced woman before you’re even out of your teens, before you were even really married. This is a disgraceful situation, Mary. I’m absolutely mortified!”

“Joseph will do what is right,” I said stubbornly, though I felt my heart was breaking. “You know that he is a just man.”

My father’s face was grim. “Mary, your marriage to one of the finest men in the village was already arranged. You were only days away from announcing your betrothal. It’s beyond my understanding how you could throw all of that away. I cannot say how disappointed I am.” He sighed deeply. “Of course, your mother and I will care for you, and we will do the best we can to protect you from the harshness of the community. But I must tell you, this is terribly humiliating. Please don’t make it worse by trying to excuse it with fanciful talk of a miracle conception or some such thing.”

I was stunned. “You don’t believe me, do you?” I cried. “You don’t believe that the angel spoke to me. You don’t believe this baby is the Promised One!” In my anguish, I was shrieking the words. “My own father thinks I’m nothing but—but a whore!”

“Now Mary, listen to me,” he began, trying to calm me. “You’re becoming overwrought and that’s not wise—well, in your condition—that is, just in case . . . We won’t talk about it any more right now. We’ll try to think this through, do what is best for everybody.”

(To be continued)

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

The Christmas Story: 5 - MARY Struggles with the Truth

An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife

Installments are in reverse order; the latest to be posted is first on this page. To read earlier portions of the story, scroll down and also click on “Older posts” at the bottom of the page. To read a specific section, click on its title in the column at the right. To read all sections, enter the words Christmas story in the search box at the upper left and click on Search Blog.

MARY Struggles with the Truth

Having come to the conclusion that I should just bide my time, I lived from day to day with uneasiness. I couldn’t help but wonder: Had I really seen and heard an angel? Maybe I had an undetected fever, and that had caused a hallucination. Perhaps I had a nightmare—or a daymare? —from something I ate, maybe too many onions. Perhaps some village practical joker had tried to pull the ultimate prank by telling me he was a messenger from God.

But what about the lovely consciousness, persistent and very real and sweet, which I held close to my heart hungrily: I am special to God. He has chosen me.

I tried to turn off the questions that kept going over and over in my troubled mind, but I found I couldn’t turn off my heart. Deep inside me there was a yearning reaching-out to the Lord God. “Yes, I do want to be your obedient maidservant. Let your will be done in me.”

I knew somehow that I had to choose. Will I believe God? Will I take Him at His word? Or will I believe only what can be seen and felt, only what makes sense? Oh, how did I come to be in this predicament, caught between faith that fashions its best evidence out of what is unseen, and being “practical” and “sensible” by putting my confidence in what I can perceive as fact? Why does believing have to be so hard?

Hidden in the struggle to know and do God’s will is, more often than not, the seed of understanding what His will is. It happens sometimes that we must tire of the mental battle first, in order to be quiet enough to sense that inner direction. So it was that, tired and nervous, I at last surrendered to simple believing. And when I did, there came a calming assurance of protection and strength around me. Was this what the angel had meant about the overshadowing? It filled me with awe and gratitude.

I went back to my mother. “Mother, I am neither anxious nor hysterical, as you imagine I am. I do not understand how or when all of this will happen, but I am ready for the plan of God to be accomplished in my life, even though that means a baby that I can’t explain.” Telling her this, I suddenly felt strong inside, and unafraid. That had to be the overshadowing!

Confidently I told my mother, “I want very much to see Elizabeth, but if you and Father will not permit me to go, I will believe anyway that the angel was real and God’s word to me was real. And the baby that God is going to send is real too!”

“Well,” my mother conceded, ”you may be right about needing to be with Elizabeth. She is a good woman and a wise one. You must talk with your father again. If you feel so strongly about seeing her, he may be persuaded to give his consent. Are you prepared to tell him what you have told me?”

I was, and through a restless night I tried to think of some subtle way to break the news to my father. I could think of none. My father was a loving man, but he could also be very stern.

(To be continued)

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

The Christmas Story: 4 - MARY Confides in Her Mother

An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife

Installments are in reverse order; the latest to be posted is first on this page. To read earlier portions of the story, scroll down and also click on “Older posts” at the bottom of the page. To read a specific section, click on its title in the column at the right. To read all sections, enter the words Christmas story in the search box at the upper left and click on Search Blog.

MARY Confides in Her Mother

The messenger of the Lord nodded and smiled at me with tenderness. And then, as quickly as he had come, he was gone.

You would think that an angel would leave an aura of light in the room or sprinkles of stardust where he had stood—something to assure me that he had really been there. But I was there with nothing except the broom, just as I was before Gabriel appeared. With no one there, I was not even sure that what I thought had happened had actually occurred.

I put my hands on my belly. It didn’t feel any different, certainly not like there was a baby in there. I looked in the glass. I didn’t look any different either, still just like an ordinary young girl, not especially beautiful or holy or wise. How could I possibly become the mother of God’s son? Well, I would visit Elizabeth, and then I would know for sure if any of this were true.

But later when I approached my parents about taking the trip to see my cousin in the hill country, they were strongly opposed.

I was too young.
It was too far.
It might not be convenient for Elizabeth.
I was needed at home to help with the work.
Joseph would not want me to be away.

It was clear to me that if I was going to be able to visit Elizabeth; I would have to give my parents the real reason I was anxious to go. Eventually, I was going to have to tell them anyway. And Joseph too. How I dreaded doing it! But inevitably—I just didn’t know when—the result of my consecration to God’s will would become obvious to everyone.

I waited as long as I thought I dared, then sought out my mother first. “Mother, I have something I want to tell you,” I began. “It has something to do with my wanting to visit Elizabeth. Please don’t be angry. Just hear my whole story, because it isn’t what you think.” And then I told her about the angel’s appearance to me, going into elaborate detail to put off the moment when I finally had to say, “And I’m going to have a baby.”

My mother’s eyes widened. “Oh, do you really think so, Mary? You’ve told me all along that Joseph and you have not been together. Perhaps you’re just having some anxious thoughts about your coming marriage and your new life as a wife and mother.”

When I shook my head vigorously, she resumed her questioning on practical matters. “Well, you can’t really be too sure about this yet, can you, Mary? You’re feeling well, aren’t you? Your monthly blood has not failed yet? No? Well, then I think we should just wait and see. There’s no need for you to be hysterical about it.”

Was I really sure? There was not one bit of evidence that what the angel had predicted had, or indeed ever would, come to pass. How could I believe something when every objective examination denied it? Maybe my mother was right. It would probably be better just to wait and see.

(To be continued)

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

The Christmas Story: 3 - GABRIEL Announces the Coming Messiah

An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife

Installments are in reverse order; the latest to be posted is first on this page. To read earlier portions of the story, scroll down on the page.

GABRIEL Announces the Coming Messiah

“Hello, Mary,” I said.

She motioned for me to come in, probably assuming that I was someone who knew her father. I did not take the seat she offered, however, nor did I wait for her to ask if I would like the customary refreshing drink.

“Congratulations, Mary! The Lord is with you, and you are a favored young woman! You are the most blessed of them all!”

She seemed confused—and perhaps just a little frightened. “I’m sorry, sir,” she faltered. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t be afraid,” I told her, “for God is pleased with you. I’m Gabriel, a messenger of the Lord, and He has sent me to tell you that soon you will become pregnant and have a baby boy. You are to name him Jesus—Savior. He is in line for the throne of your ancestor David, but He will be the greatest ruler of all. His reign will be forever and His kingdom will never end!”

“But what you say is not possible!” she protested. “I’ve kept myself pure for Joseph, and we haven’t married yet. Surely you’re not telling me I’m going to have a baby!”

I quickly replied, “Oh, this is not Joseph’s child. The Holy Spirit will come upon you to accomplish a miracle birth. This child is the Promised One! The power of the Most High will overshadow you continually so that the child, even as He grows within you, is completely God’s charge—the Holy One, the very Son of God.”

She buried her face in her hands, trying, I’m sure, to still the thoughts that would naturally come flooding in. Every devout family hoped to see the long-expected Messiah among their descendants. But surely it must be hard for this girl to believe that she was actually a part of that. She was young, and poor. And worst of all, she was unmarried! All young women tried to imagine how wonderful it would be to become mother of the promised Savior, but to her, this suddenly must not seem so wonderful. It had to be confusing, frightening, and unthinkable. I could hardly believe it myself.

Seeing her consternation, I spoke to her again. “You know your relative Elizabeth? She is well-advanced in age now, and though she has longed for a child all through the years of her marriage, she has not been able to bear one. Go visit her. She has not told anyone yet except her husband, but you will find that she who has been barren all these years is now in the sixth month of pregnancy! Seeing what the marvelous power of God has done in her, you will know that any miracle God wants to do in your own life is not an impossibility.”

I could see her weighing what I said. “Then there is going to be a way to test the truth?”

“Yes, but we cannot wait for your answer. Have you decided, Mary? Are you ready to be the servant of the Lord?”

I knew that she could not possibly know what her “yes” would mean. It made me tremble to think of it. But I had a sudden, sweeping sense of the loss that would be hers by saying “no.”

“All right,” she almost whispered. “Let it be so. I will be the obedient maidservant of the Lord, and He can accomplish whatever He wishes in me.”

(To be continued)

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

The Christmas Story: 2- MARY Is Promised to Joseph

An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife

Installments are in reverse order; the latest to be posted is first on this page. To read earlier portions of the story, scroll down on the page.

MARY Is Promised to Joseph

Joseph would be a wonderful husband, I was sure of that. I had seen him many times, when as a little girl I went with my father to the carpenter shop to have a bench repaired or an axe handle made. He was a tall man and always very serious, but I was never afraid of him for he had such a kind face.

When I grew several years older, I didn’t go to the shop any more. Even had I been allowed, there would not have been time for there were many chores to be done—spinning wool, baking bread, cooking and cleaning—and my mother was determined to train me well in these duties of homemaking. But even so, I did see Joseph sometimes. I passed his shop on my way to draw water—well, I could pass his shop if I went around the long way—and sometimes he was sweeping shavings off the front step or talking to a customer at the door. He would nod, and if he was alone he would speak. “Hello, Mary. I’m happy to see you again. Greet your parents for me.”

He began to wait for me to come by, I thought. Finally, when I was about fifteen, a friend of Joseph’s came to our house one evening. He and father talked for a very long time. My heart was thumping so loudly I was afraid they might hear in the next room. Could Joseph be arranging a marriage contract? Oh, I hoped it was so!

“Well, Mary,” my father said to me the next day. “Joseph and I have come to a very satisfactory agreement. Your mother and I are quite pleased. Next year, or perhaps the year after, we think you will find Joseph to be a very fine husband. He doesn't have much in the way of wealth, but he does have the shop and he’s a hard worker. He’s considerably older than you, but perhaps that is an asset. What do you think? We want what’s best for you. We do want you to be happy.”

“Oh, I would be happy, Father,” I managed to say. “I would be very, very happy!”

“Yes, I thought so,” he agreed with a smile. “It’s settled then. Before long you will take your betrothal oath, and I promise you a fine feast, worthy of the occasion!”

I began eagerly to plan for my marriage to Joseph even though it was many months away. I watched Mother carefully while she showed me how to mend the pots, knowing that soon I would have the responsibility for my own. I gave extra care to my weaving too, so as to have beautiful things to take to my new home. My father decided on the celebration day and with my mother began to arrange for the music and the food and wine. They talked endlessly about the party. My heart sang.

I was alone in our house one day, absorbed in my own happy thoughts while sweeping the floors, when I glimpsed a movement at the open door. Thinking my parents had returned, I hurried to meet them. I was greeted by someone I did not know.

(To be continued)

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

The Christmas Story: 1 - GABRIEL Learns of the Divine Plan

An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife

Installments are in reverse order; the latest to be posted is first on this page.

GABRIEL Learns of the Divine Plan

I am the archangel Gabriel, reporting to none other than God Himself as I carry out my duties. Because I am close to the seat of God, I know, usually before any of the other angels, what the Divine orders will be. But I must admit that the summons for all the ranks of angels to gather before the Throne came as a complete surprise. When we had come together, the Holy One spoke.

“I have something important to tell you,” He said. A great hush fell over the assembled angels, their wings folding in humble expectancy. The music of their murmured songs, normally accompanying them everywhere, was silent.

“We have decided,” He told us, “that the Son will go to earth.” He paused. “It will be different than sending you, Michael or Gabriel, to carry a message. He will bear a message, of course, but He will live among the people there. The Son of God will be born the Son of Man.”

Born? We could hardly grasp what the Holy One was saying. Our Lord would become a human child? Surely we did not understand correctly.

He knew our thoughts. “I have already promised His advent. Prophets have known for centuries that the Lord’s Anointed would someday arrive to deliver them. The time has come.”

I dared to speak for us all. “But sir, He is God! One with You since before the beginning of time! The King above all kings, the Lord of all lords! How could He possibly stoop to be one of them?”

“He will empty Himself,” God said. “Although He is completely God, He does not consider that something to hold onto and grasp tightly. He will make Himself nothing for their sakes, serving instead of being served. He will become completely man, subjecting Himself to human laws—even that of dying.”

We were stunned. It was impossible to think of the Son and death at the same time.

“That is not the whole story, of course,” God continued. “I will exalt Him again to the highest place. I will give Him a name that is above every other name—even those that He now has! He will be the Resurrection and the Life, the Firstfruit of all who have been overtaken by death. He will disarm the powers of evil, making a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross!”

We waited in numb silence. “That’s all I can tell you just now,” God said. “You may return to your places. A moment with you, Gabriel? I have something for you to do.”

(To be continued)

MaryMartha

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Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com

A Real Christmas Tree

Thanksgiving is past now, and in many homes it is time to put up the Christmas tree. Maybe it will be a fresh, green Scotch pine that you cut down yourself at the tree farm. What a wonderful smell! Or you may opt to buy a tree from the Boy Scouts or some other organization with a Christmas tree lot. Or you might just go to the basement or garage and retrieve the artificial tree that’s good for at least one more year.

I used to be very strict when it came to a Christmas tree; without question, it had to be “real.” With the passing of time, though, I have moved from the saw-it-down-myself tree which was recycled at the season’s end to the kind I recycle myself by reusing it. Without the danger of fire that accompanies the drying fir or pine, I can enjoy my Christmas tree from Thanksgiving (or even Halloween, when the stores put out their Christmas goods) through New Year’s Day—or through Epiphany or Martin Luther King, Jr. Day if I wish!

My grandchildren call the tree made of green plastic bristles a “fake” Christmas tree, but I know better. It may be artificial but it is still a real Christmas tree, because I am celebrating a real Christmas. Sometimes, in difficult years now past, I had a real tree but not a real Christmas. Now, whether the tree is natural or man-made, it is a real Christmas tree.

However you choose to celebrate this season—even if there is no tree at all—I hope and pray for you a real Christmas!

MaryMartha
(All rights reserved)

Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com