The sun rose quietly over the tiny town while bells chimed softly the morning call to prayer.
Some grumbled at being wakened. Some had been long stirring.
And some had not slept at all.
A small group of men could be seen leaving the cluster of houses;
a sheep or two and a lamb following close.
they spoke quietly among themselves.
“What did it mean?”
“Could it really be Him?”
“I’ll never forget the music!”
“Why would angels speak to shepherds?”
~*~
In the town a tender young maiden looked with wonder upon the face of her newborn child.
“Who are you, my sweet son? What glories dwell within those wide and wondering eyes?
Oh, Miracle, born within the miracle of birth?
I will not think of the future! Today is ours.”
~*~
Far away to the East, the discussion continues.
“There can be no doubt.”
“This is a new and wondrous light!”
“And it seems to be moving!”
“What can it mean?”
“We must study this strange body in the heavens.”
“Does anyone know a prophecy concerning such an occurrence?”
“There is a Word spoken in the holy writings of an obscure people.
once powerful, they are now subject to Rome.
Israel, I think they were called….”
~*~
A young man pauses in his preparations for the day
to study his rough and work-hardened hands.
Could these hands have held that tiny form?
Would he ever understand the wonder of that birth so strangely foretold?
“A fine strong son! I will teach him the wonder of wood;
how to lay a firm foundation for a strong house.
How to select the finest timbers. A carpenter!…
Oh, God, I listened to those scriptures with Mary!
Surely the people will accept him.
When they know he is your son!”
c.2000/ Donna Swanson
