Ick. Not only is Christmas in four days and I'm not even close to done with my Christmas shopping, I currently feel like crawling in my bed and sleeping until I'm 100% better. I'm super cold, my chest is pressurized, my head is all achy, and I, in general, feel gross. I took Ibuprofen and Sudafed, but it's only worked a little bit. No bueno.
So I haven't felt like writing anything creatively for a while, but I wrote this snapshot-thing for my dad and my seminary teacher for Christmas, and I kind of like it. (Yeah, it's safe here; my dad never reads my blog and I already gave it to my seminary teacher.) Everyone always focuses on Mary and the Wise Men and the shepherds in the Nativity, but how did Joseph feel?
A Father’s Love
I had been anxious for the arrival of this Child, not only for Mary’s sake, but also because He was not mine. The Eternal Father had entrusted this lowly carpenter with the task of raising His Only Begotten in the flesh. What mortal wouldn’t be nervous about such responsibility? I also worried that, because He was not mine, I would not be able to love Him as my own, and that He would not love me as His father. A fervent prayer had burned in my heart since the angel's visit that I would be able to give him the love of a father.
The Savior was born in humble circumstances, much humbler than I had expected. A stable was not the sort of place I would have chosen for my wife to bear any child, let alone my Lord and King. But there was no room to be had anywhere in the city.
Mary looks up at me with her beautiful, exhausted brown eyes. She wants to know if I would like to hold Yeshua now that He is cleansed of the blood. I hesitate and she grasps my hand.
Her sweet voice mingles with an inner voice I have felt often since the night of the angel’s visit. The compassion, the gentleness, the warmth cause my heart to swell. I tentatively ease the Child from her arms.
He warms my hands and chest as I hold Him close. Every line of His innocent, bruised face fills me with overwhelming joy and gratitude. His hair is dark and thick, like His mother’s. I see His clear blue eyes for a moment before He closes them, undoubtedly a gift from His Father.
As this Child, this Savior of all mankind, snuggles closer to my chest, all my doubts ebb away. The love I feel for Him is more wondrous than any other feeling I have experienced. The love and purity I feel radiating from His tiny body causes tears to slip down my cheeks.
Mary lays a hand on my arm, and her serene joy penetrates my soul. I kiss her forehead softly, then I kiss Yeshua’s brow. A faint smile lights His features. Mary looks into my eyes, glowing with maternal pride. She wants to hold Him again. I hand the Child to His beautiful mother.
He is not my son, but I have tasted how His true Father must feel.
(If you are going to re-post this, send it, whatever, please give credit where credit is due.)