An Imaginative Retelling of the Christmas Story
Narrated by Gabriel, Joseph and Mary, Elizabeth, and the Innkeeper’s Wife
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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
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Email: mrymrtha@gmail.com
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