God's plan
She was the most beautiful woman in Galilee. Not just
because of those soulful brown eyes or the way her face lit up with joy every
time she saw me. No, what drew me to Mary was an inner beauty that glowed like
the stars at night. I loved this gentle, humble, godly woman with all my being.
When she revealed to me she was pregnant, my heart was
shattered to pieces. How could she give herself to someone else when we’d vowed
faithfulness to one another? How could she look at me with such love, then
speak words that would sear my soul? But when she told me some far-fetched story
about the child being conceived by the Holy Spirit, I just couldn’t wrap my
mind around the apparent lie. What had happened to the woman I’d loved? I’d
pledged to wed her, yet our plans lay in ruins. I resolved to divorce her,
quietly, so she wouldn’t suffer the full consequences of her unfaithfulness.
But God had a different plan.
In the midst of the darkest night of my soul, an angel
appeared and confirmed Mary’s implausible story. The child she carried was, indeed
conceived of the Holy Spirit, the promised Messiah our nation had long been
awaiting. Like a condemned man who is suddenly pardoned, I bounded from my bed
and dashed through the cold, dark streets to find my beloved and beg her
forgiveness. We quickly wed so the condemning looks would fall on my shoulders
rather than hers, then settled into our small home in Nazareth to await the
birth of this miracle child.
But God had a different plan
On a whim, the Roman Emperor Caesar Augustus decided to
take a census. By now, Mary was quite far along in her pregnancy. Reluctant to
take her on such an arduous journey, I planned to leave her in the care of
neighbors. But Mary, shunned and alone, refused to stay behind. With heavy
hearts, we packed up our few belongings and set off for Bethlehem. My intention
was to find a nice, quiet inn where she could give birth with the assistance of
a midwife.
But God had a different plan.
No room? Anywhere? How could this be? With growing
frustration, I knocked on the door of a small inn, near the town well. Behind
me, Mary was breathing hard, in the pangs of childbirth. We were running out of
time. “Have you a room?” I begged the inn keeper. Nothing. As Mary cried out in
pain, astride our donkey, the man realized our dilemma and offered us his stable.
Hardly the place to bring a child into the world, let alone the promised
Messiah.
But
God had a different plan.
I felt
so helpless, so incompetent as a husband and provider. “We’ll take it,” I said,
pressing a few denarii into his hand. The small space was crowded with mules
and donkeys because of the many travelers. The reek of animals and manure was
overwhelming. Through it all, Mary never complained.
So it
came to be that our baby, our first-born son, was born in a stable. For a long
time, Mary gazed tenderly at our baby as he nursed at her breast. When he eventually
fell asleep, I took the baby from her arms and laid him in a manger filled with
hay and whispered “Sleep, sweet Mary. I’ll keep watch.”
But
God had a different plan.
No
sooner had Mary and baby Jesus closed their eyes, than a troupe of rugged
shepherds charged into the stable, like a group of excited children on their
way to a celebration. They were laughing and shoving each other in their mad rush
to find the promised Messiah. As soon as they saw our son, they fell to their knees
and cried out “This is the child the angel told us about, Christ our Lord.” Startled
by their words and actions, Mary and I questioned them, then listened in awe as
they recounted their wondrous story.
So here
I sit, pondering as I gaze at this little boy who sleeps so peacefully, and
wonder what will become of him. Will he be as skilled at carpentry as me or
prefer to sit at the feet of some great scholar and become well-versed in
Jewish law? Will our nation accept him as the promised Messiah? Will the salvation
he brings include political deliverance?
Or does
God have a different plan?
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