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