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