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