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Unwanted

A Christmas Story, 2024

I was gathering herbs when a messenger came for me. I was needed at Zacharias’s house.

I put the last picked herb in my basket and hurried. 
I’d never been called to Zacharias’s home. Ever.


Zacharias and Elizabeth were a god-fearing couple, mostly keeping to themselves.
Not that I could blame them. For some, mostly women, had been cruel to Elizabeth, fore she, as they said, “Did not fulfil her wifely duties.” And had never given Zacharias a child.

I had noticed her at the well one morning. 
She went when others wouldn’t be present. I did too.
When I saw her, I almost dropped my water pot!
She had that glow. You know, like…she couldn’t be! She was old, well past child-bearing years.
Maybe all those rumors were true—about Zacharias seeing a vision while serving at the temple.
I approached her, smiling. “You feeling well?”
She had instinctively touched her bosom and blushed while she nodded.
My smile widened. She had given herself away. “You be sure to call me when you need me.” 
I didn’t want to intrude, she obviously didn’t want to make a scene at the well.
But she hadn’t called me.
And that had been…what? Four months ago?
Rumors told of a niece who had visited her. A young girl who I’m sure was a help to her.

My house was on the way. I dropped the herb basket and grabbed my bag of pain relievers, labor eases and tonics. I was nervous about what I would find, for she was older than any mother I had helped in my 15 years.
Zacharias opened the door and motioned me inside. 
When I stepped into their house, the coolness struck me, as well as the darkness. For the sun had been bright. I paused a moment for my eyes to adjust.
Zacharias vanished.
I turned to stop him, he would be needed to give details of Elizabeth’s condition. But then I remembered the rumors said he could not speak. I shook my head and tsk-tsked.
I shut my eyes, then opened them,  finally adjusted to the darkness to find Elizabeth.

A midwife sees many strange things in her service. This was most miraculous.  Often those things I must keep to myself, for midwives were single women, who helped the entire village with their families. What happened in their homes must not be told to everyone. 
Not that others did not try to extract the events, for each village had one of those, who excelled at making everyone else’s business her own. Then shared it with the entire village. 
In our village it was Galia. It means “wave from God.” Well, she made waves, that led to storms. But I’m not sure I could say they were from God.
I had learned early to hold my tongue around her and test whatever information she gave me. 
Vipers, they were, seeking their next prey. And dividing families with their “knowledge.”

But Elizabeth. 
I stepped to her side where she paced by the fire. I placed my hand on her bosom, for she was indeed with child. And judging by her intense expression, he would soon come.
Her face glistened with sweat. She gasped. I felt the contraction ripple across her bosom.
Once it finished, I went to the door.
Zacharias paced outside. At my step, he paused.
“I need water.”


He nodded and took a pitcher and ran to the well. Women’s work, but in this case, he would suffice.
When he returned, he knocked on the door, so as not to enter. I took the pitcher from him and poured some into the basin by the door and washed my hands and arms well, drying them on the linen towel by the basin. The cool water felt refreshing after the hot sun.
I wet the towel and dabbed Elizabeth’s face.
She smiled and squeezed my hand.
Her age concerned me. Would she have enough stamina to last labor?
I rummaged through my basket for my jar of stinging nettle infusion. I removed the lid and put it to her lips.
She drank, winced, for it was bitter, but sipped again. This would provide energy and focus for the next few hours. 
In spite of our age difference, I chided her, “You didn’t think you needed me until now?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t want others to know.”

I snorted. As if this news was kept hidden. Galia had been talking about nothing else since Zacharias had returned from his temple duty.
She winced, bracing for another contraction.
I soothed. “Let your body do the work. Don’t fight them. Relax through them. There.” 

The contractions were coming faster. “Don’t hold your breath, but b-r-e-a-t-h-e. There now. Good. Don’t squeeze. Focus on your baby moving.”
She moved from pacing to squatting.
I braced her with pillows and hides, lubricating her with my comfrey oil to avoid ripping. 
Her progress was farther than I thought.
The baby crowned.
We would soon be hearing him squawk or be weeping because the birth brought death.

I hated to be cynical but Elizabeth was old. And baby mortality was high even with a young mother. Angel message or no. After all, when had we last heard even a prophet’s message? 
Nor should I be distracted by angels when a baby is coming! Maybe I should have some of that stinging nettle tonic. I had been out in the sun for too long this morning. 
Elizabeth didn’t bellow like the young, maybe it took too much energy for her, but maybe her age gave submission that the young mothers struggled to have. She gave in to the pain, not fought against it. 
Many women fail in this act of allowing the pain to do its work; they tense, resist, and fight the pain—making the labor longer and harder for the baby to come.
Elizabeth, by submitting to the pain, lessened it.
Perhaps that came from years of submitting to the Lord’s will about not having a child. Submitting is hard. Submitting in pain is nigh impossible without God’s grace.
Her experience helped her this time. 
Praise God!
Her final push brought the child out. 
I caught him, and quickly asserted it was a boy before I gave the child back to her to nurse. That would bring the after-birth without too many more contractions.
I looked for cloths to wrap the baby. 
Elizabeth was prepared, a neat little pile sat beside the fireplace, warmed and ready.
I tucked it around his little legs and arms, covering his back. I gave him another rub. That paste covering him would protect and warm his skin. There’d be no need to wash that off.
He was already latched and sucking. 
I had to glance at Elizabeth to remind myself she wasn’t an experienced mother for how smoothly it came.
She caught my eye and smiled. Almost like she sensed my thoughts, “I’ve helped many other mothers.”
I smiled. “That you have. And God was gracious with you with this one.”

Elizabeth’s face glowed with pride and sweat.
I took a dampened towel and wiped her brow.
“I think the father is anxious to see you, let’s finish this up.”
She expelled the afterbirth. 
I cut the limp cord, dabbing chamomile ointment on the opening. Next I cleaned and covered her.
When I went to the door to call Zacharias, he was looking heavenward; his lips silently moving.
His face had such intensity, I hated to interrupt.
I whispered, “Zaccharias.” 
His eyes flew open. His face pale.
“She’s all right. And so’s the wee one.” It was common not to name the child until they circumcised him at the Temple, too many did not make it until then.
He flew past me and embraced Elizabeth tightly. Still he hadn’t spoken.


Perhaps the rumors I had heard were true—he had not been able to speak. I hadn’t given much credence to it, just Galia’s gossip. But it seemed verified.
I allowed them their privacy, as I bundled up the cloths and blankets to be washed. 
It was always a precious time for a family to welcome a birth.
So many did not end well. There was no comfort then.

Such extreme happiness—radiated from their faces.
They laughed. And cried. And cooed over him. And just looked into his face.
This couple was blessed.
This child was special.
I slipped away with the laundry and left them to enjoy their new arrival alone.

Later when I returned the cleaned bedding, Elizabeth gave more details.
She told of the vision at the Temple where Zacharias had seen an angel who told of a child, his child, who would foretell of another.

And when she spoke of her niece’s visit, her face radiated joy just by retelling it.
“My child leaped with joy, truly leaped with joy when Mary entered our house.
We both had a praise session, with the Spirit as He told us of his coming ministry.”
I nodded, remembering seeing Mary at the well. She, too, kept to herself, not trying to arouse notice. 

Why is it, that those with nothing to say are found talking the most, and those with the greatest of news are quiet? 
Though I didn’t say my question out loud, Elizabeth answered, “We had so much to process. Not that we needed to do anything, just accept what God willed, and to give Him praise…but that seemed hardly enough, yet was all we could do.”
The baby interrupted our conversation with a piercing wail. 
I laughed. “He doesn’t give any warning, just a screaming wail of urgency!”
Elizabeth laughed and settled to nurse him.
He instantly settled down.
I returned home, with praise on my own lips at the part God allowed me to play. 

I would never experience what these women had. I could hold their babies. But never know them as mine. I’d console myself that I could leave and sleep. No baby would awaken me to their night hunger pangs. I’d tell myself “I should be thankful” but….SIGH.
Some nights with tears on my lashes, I would long for someone who would care for me. Not for what I could do for them, not watching their children, or fixing their meals, or doing their laundry, or helping with their births. 
Couldn’t someone care for just me, without doing anything?

Being too much alone makes for some dark thoughts. I must curb them, or I’ll soon be like the prophet Jeremiah, known for my weeping. He, for just cause, as it was for our people; I, for just pity for me, which is not acceptable.


It sounds like I live by myself, and I do—and don’t. It wouldn’t be safe for me to really live by myself. My brother, Benjamin, added a separate building to their land where I could stay by myself. (I think, because there were too many interruptions to their nights with mothers who needed me.) I’m grateful for the separation. With so many of his little ones underfoot always….it was a constant reminder of what I didn’t have. SIGH. I must think of something else.

Now Elizabeth—she understood a little of that—how long she had waited for this child. She understood the pain of empty arms and quiet nights. 
Yet God blessed. 
What a blessing—I laughed, that brings no sleep or energy.

Now she would make up for those quiet nights, I shook my head, for that wee-one already had a message to be told to the world. But Elizabeth will do well. I wished many of my new mothers had her attendance to their wee-one’s needs. She sensed before he even asked at times. But young mothers are distracted with other things and forget that raising their young is the most important task of women. 
Which leaves me again begging for contentment.

After helping this birth, I could feel proud of my part. But the Lord gave women the tools to birth. They would do so, with or without me. I was thankful He allowed me to be there.

Eight days later, Elizabeth honored me by requesting my presence at the Temple to circumcise and name the child. The journey would be a hard one for her, but she would do what was right. Of course I’d attend her. I checked my herbs to make sure I had what would help her, and what may be needed for the stress of the journey.


When Zacharias presented the babe. The priest asked for the name.
Elizabeth responded, “His name is John.”
The priest reprimanded Elizabeth, “There would be no other to carry on Zacharias’s name.”
I saw Elizabeth swallow. How could he be so insensitive! 
Zacharias motioned emphatically for a writing tablet. 
One was brought. He wrote with finality. “His name is John.”
I looked at Elizabeth, she tried not to appear smug.
The priest nodded, accepting their choice, though not approving of it.
I smiled. That was what the angel had told Zacharias to name him. 
Obedience shows such trust, even when others don’t approve it, and makes it all right.
So, John—it was.
No other John was in their lineage or family, but John would be special.
As Zacharias finished declaring in writing his name, the Spirit, who had tied his tongue to silence, loosened it. Zacharias prophesied.

Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for He has visited us and accomplished redemption for His people, and has raised up a horn of salvation for us in the house of David His servant—as He spoke by the mouth of His holy prophets from of old—Salvation from our enemies…. And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go on before the Lord to prepare His ways; to give to His people the knowledge of salvation by the forgiveness of their sins, because of the tender mercy of our God, with which the Sunrise from on high will visit us, to shine upon those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.

A miracle—opening heaven’s gates for Yahweh to speak to us after so many years of silence! And to send His prophet to tell us how!
I was ready to be free from the burdens of our enemies and to have peace.
I couldn’t wait to see this little child grow up.
But not too fast. Elizabeth must enjoy her blessed motherhood.

It’s hard for a single woman to earn enough to live comfortably. Midwives remained single. A lonely life. Great to witness the miracle of births. I could rejoice, and certainly weep when things did not end so special. But when I returned to my home with no one to share my day— Sometimes the loneliness could consume me, if I let it.
For my services, most families gave what they could—eggs, goat’s milk, sometimes even cheese. I would savor that for a long time.
Yet what did I need? I did not support a family. There were no children to feed at my house. Yet sometimes it was hard to be content. 
Zacharias and Elizabeth paid me well, in actual currency. Not many families had access to the temple currency. He was a priest and paid by the people for his service.

This birth had made me more contemplative.
So much to think about. God had not spoken through His prophets for 400 years. 
Had he forgotten us?
But no! I remembered Zacharias’ prophecy. 
He hadn’t forgotten. He was making a way for His people.

But in the meantime, Rome was casting a darker shadow, reaching their long tentacles into our little village. Rome demanded another tax that required every person to journey to the town where we were born and pay a tax.


Almost like the Egyptians did a long time ago to our people. Egypt’s Pharaoh put us under heavy bondage and still we prospered. 
Then Pharaoh issued a decree: all males born from our people were to be killed!
But Shiphrah and Puah, the Hebrew midwives, refused to obey the decree. 
Out of their faith and obedience, our great leader Moses was born, then raised in Pharaoh’s own palace!
I could not hope to help deliver a Moses, but I am humbled God allowed me to be a part of little John’s life.


But back to that Roman tax. They were taxing people for being born!
Even if you were 80! Now that’s some interest they would add to that life.
That created quite a stir in the village. 

A caravan gathered to travel from Judah to Bethlehem. Since I had no head of family, no husband, nor father alive, I’d travel with my brother’s family.  Such a wasted trip to me, but all must go and pay. I had little to pay for the tax. My brother, Benjamin, again would care for me—a hardship. 

I had wrapped my belongings in a hide, keeping them protected from the weather, with ends that would go over my shoulders and waist. It would be heavy, especially my tonics.
I arrived on the day they were to leave with my small bundle of clothes and my basket of herbal tonics and oils. I would not leave those behind, perhaps I could make myself useful with them. 


When I arrived, Benjamin looked at my belongings and sighed, glancing at the already overloaded donkey.
Not willing to be a burden, I hastily said, “No need. I’ll carry these.”
He sighed in relief and smiled. “Thanks, Gabriella.”
Abigail, his wife, carrying their newest one, came out of their house, frazzled and pulled by a toddler. I would not be the only one tired tonight.


Sitting around the campfire that night, after serving the men their meal, we women ate. making flatbread and scrapping a bit of goat cheese from the almost empty jar. It seemed hardly enough for such a trip.

The men spoke of more taxes from Rome. This tax would be for those born. But there were taxes for every livelihood—every fish the men caught, every pitcher they molded, every lamb that was born. I wondered what they would do to me! I had nothing to give. 
But nor did these families.
Benjamin caught my eye across the fire and smiled. It was forced. He would not let me be cast out.
I could see around his eyes more fine lines than I had noticed before.
Rome was squeezing the life out of us.

As we approached Bethlehem, the crowds increased. Everyone was on the move.
The second night was harder to find wood for the fire. The children gathered animal dung. Though my back ached, I carried their toddler. All were tired at the end of the day. No one lingered around the campfire that night. 

Tomorrow we would arrive. Judging by the other campfires we saw across the hills, we would not be the only ones.
We had counted on our relatives, Zayden—from our father’s side, to host us once we arrived, but as we came closer, I wonder if they would have room for all the relatives who must come. 
Where would we stay then? And how long would our own food last?

The final day of travel started with the sun rising over the hillside. The coolness of the morning stolen by the sun’s early quest for heat. We broke fast with cold flatbread, our cheese long gone now and no time to cook lentils. 

The children had lost the excitement of the travel and the weariness had fallen. I shouldn’t say just the children, for I, too, was weary. My bundle seemed heavier with each hill we topped especially when I would see another one to walk. 
I wondered at my perspective. If we were coming to the Temple to sacrifice, I would have been excited, but this trip to Bethlehem, of all places, to pay more taxes—caused any travel to be wearisome.
I observed stinging nettle, raspberry vines, and chamomile off the trail. I couldn’t stop to gather any. There was no time, nor space to put it. I sighed. Such a loss was hard to pass without at least promising myself on the home bound trip there would be more time and effort for such endeavors. 

The afternoon brought us rounding the last hill and gazing at the town of Bethlehem. The sun reflected off the stone walls, but what took my breath away were all the people outside the walls. Some were in lines trying to enter its gates. Others had camped outside, perhaps because of their animals or their caravan size. 

How would we find Zayden in all of this? It had been years since we’d last saw him. Would he have room for us?
I looked for Benjamin. He was pulling the donkey’s halter. It had been stubborn the entire trip. He had his hands full. As he had the entire journey. 
Abigail exchanged glances with me. She gave a weary smile, then stepped forward. 
We had no other choice.

People made me nervous. Lots of people made me very nervous.
I did better with women who didn’t talk to me—though sometimes they yelled at me, but I didn’t take it personally. And babies who couldn’t talk.
I could hear the noise of the city from the top of this hilltop!
I took a deep breath. Lord have mercy, for that is the only way I would make it through this ordeal.
As we came down the hillside, the smells of animals, and travelers hit my nose. I missed my small room, where the only sounds were from birds and insects. And the smells from my cooking or drying herbs.

The Lord did have mercy, for my brother left us clustered together while he checked on things. He returned breathless but excited. “I found Zebedee over there.” He gestured to a far off gathering. 
I looked with anticipation. They were our cousins from Galilee. Can’t remember when we last saw them. Movement drew my eye to someone waving. I waved back. 
We began weaving between the groups of people to meet them. At least someone was familiar in this mass of people. There would be more safety in numbers.
Benjamin and Zebedee conversed,“We’ll go in the city to see if Zayden can accommodate us.” 
I looked at the gate. It was open, but the throngs waited entrance. I glanced around our group, larger now, but still small surrounded by this mass of people. I shivered.
The two left.
I followed them with my eyes for as long as I could see them before they were swallowed up in the mass. I wondered if we’d see them again.

The women wasted no time in catching up on the news from Galilee. And finding our news.
As we talked, we prepared a fire and started our flatbread for the meal. Children must eat even if the men were not here.
“And you, Gabriela, what news do you have to share?”
I stuttered, for I hadn’t been really listening, with the commotion of the animals around me and the children playing tag, I shook my head. “News?”
Abigail chided. “Tell them about John.”
I smiled. Of John I could share.
All were excited of what this might mean to our people.

We cleaned our makeshift camp, with only embers to let them see where we were.
At dusk, the men returned.
Benjamin said breathless. “We found Zayden. He will make room.”
Praise God!
He looked around, “We must hurry. Normally they would have already shut the gate, but with this tax, there is so many people—”. His voice trailed off.
He shouldn’t say, “hurry” for there were people everywhere and hurry we could not.
But we moved with great urgency.
The gate remained open, even after the sun set.

I thought it was crowded outside the city walls, upon entering, we were smashed. No one could move. Benjamin fought with the donkey, pulling him forward.
Once past the main courtyard and in a smaller street, we found ourselves able to breathe a little.
Benjamin led us down a side street keeping us out of the center, where the human waste and slop wasn’t so slippery. We followed in his wake, clinging to the children and holding onto the person in front of us. I wondered if staying with Zayden was worth it. Maybe waiting outside the city would have been better. Would we ever be able to breathe? Or see the sun? Or stars?
Now all I could smell was human waste at my feet and my sweat, from climbing up those hills in the heat for three days. 

Couldn’t Rome come to our village to get our money? 
Did I want that? No, this was better than them coming and destroying our village with their horses and army. I must suffer through another Roman encroachment.
“Gabriela!” I heard Benjamin call me.
In my musings, I almost got left behind. 
We had arrived at Zayden’s house. The donkey would be stabled under their house. Zayden and his wife, Naomi, greeted us warmly, hugging and kissing each one of us, in spite of our travel smells and sweat. 
I was so pleased to leave the crowded street behind, take off my sandals and shed my load. 


They had fresh water available in basins to dip our feet. I swallowed the urge to linger, for others were waiting their turn. But aww the delight of  having my feet cleansed of all the traveling dirt!
And the feast—wow! The men ate in the main room, but they had a corner designated for the women and children. They were wonderful hosts—serving us as if we were royalty. They had goat, lentils, cheese on flatbread, washed down with wine. Naomi apologizing, “Wine was safer than the water. The water would upset our systems.” 
The wine was refreshing, gliding down my parched throat, soothing the scratches of not drinking much while traveling.
I thought I wouldn’t be able to rise from the floor after eating!
It was a perfect ending to a long, hard day.

Though the men may talk late into the night, I was tired.
We each had our own bedding from traveling. Mine was just my cloak with my hide. Men stayed on one side of the room; women on the other, with the children close to their mothers. 
The chatter and busy-ness settled down. The men’s low, deep voices created a backdrop for calming my thoughts. Even they did not linger long. 
The room became quiet, except for the heavy breathing of those already asleep. 
The city sounds were loud and constant. Did they not know it was night? With much commotion on the streets, and the shuffling from the animals beneath us—How did anyone sleep? I must be more grateful for my quiet, restful sleep at home.
How could I take it for granted after this?
I listened for a long time, though tired, before I finally slept.

It was still dark when I felt a nudge. Opening my eyes, I saw Naomi kneeling beside me. She whispered, “Gabriela, one of our own needs you. Zayden will take you there.”
Even in my muddled, unawake mind, I asked, “How would they know I was here?”
Naomi smiled, “Benjamin saw one of your own, very close to needing your services. He told them about you.”
I nodded, as I hurried to put my sandals and grab my bag of tonics and oils. 

Zayden waited outside the door, a torch in his hand to light our way. 
The night air was cool, but not like the freshness of the country, but of last nights’ leftovers gone bad. 


I was unable to discern the time without seeing the stars. It was the last time I looked up, for I must watch where I put my feet. I felt like a rat slinking along close to the buildings where the darkness was stronger. When my foot brushed against something large, hairy that moved, I bit my lip not to scream and hurried to stay closer to Zayden and his light. Running my hand along the buildings for balance, I came by a window, where a hand reached out and grabbed mine. Then I screamed and yanked my hand back. 
Zayden turned. 
I moved closer to him, shaking my head at his unspoken question.

But the sides of the street was the best place to avoid the kitchen scraps and waste thrown in the streets. When did our people forget the rules of hygiene commanded in the Torah?
But this was not the time to question, but to prepare my heart for what lay ahead.
I knew nothing of the mother, only that she was a Jew. Couldn’t imagine traveling being so late in the term. But Rome demands.
I clenched my jaw as I anticipated the labor of this traveling Jew.
Zayden paused before a stable before stepping inside.

The smell of hay and horses met my nose, refreshing after what had been there.
A small candle illuminated a young couple. The man was bent over the woman. 
Zayden coughed. 
The man lifted his head and his eyes brightened, his face lifted.
I almost laughed at his relief. I stepped forward and the men left.

The girl, for that was the mother, not more than fourteen was left with me.
I knelt in the hay and placed my hand on her bosom. A ripple coursed across it. “There now,” I soothed.
“Relax with each contraction. Let your body work for you. And the baby will come.”

The girl breathed deeply, with a sharp intact of breath. 
“Breathe with me.” I demonstrated, filling my lungs with air and letting it out slowly.
She tried, but the next contraction came and she sucked in her breath. Her face showed signs of trying to concentrate.
She didn’t whimper, but sucked up another deep breath.
I propped up the hay mounds around her. “Get on your knees and squat.” I instructed between contractions.
“I’m so thirsty.” She whispered during a pause.

I rummaged through my bag for the stinging nettle infusion and gave her a drink. 
She sipped, winced, and drank again.
“Good, good. This will help you focus and give you strength.”
I knelt before her and felt in my bag for my comfrey oil; it would prevent tearing.
“I want to check how far along you are.”

But at that moment, another contraction came. I felt for the baby, head down, way down. She should almost be pushing.
When I looked, something wasn’t right. 
There was a flap of skin in the way. 
I puzzled over that through the next contraction, before realizing what it was.
I applied comfrey oil generously around the edges and center of that flap.
It still bothered me.

She was pushing now.
“Hold onto me and push when your body tells you to.”
She nodded, and licked her lips.
I gave her another sip to drink.
Would the baby be able to pass through the flap? 
It would have to tear it open.
Would that bring extra bleeding?
None of my 15 years of training had prepared me for this circumstance.
I oiled it again, not knowing what else to do.
The baby was coming, without my knowing what to do.
And the baby came. 

I immediately placed him, for it was a boy, on the girl’s chest to nurse.
I looked for something to wrap him in to keep him warm. The inn keeper’s wife had stepped in and handed me some wrap for a horse’s leg. That would suffice. I covered the baby in the wrapping. 
The mother had gotten him to latch and he was eating.
I took a deep breath.

I was relieved it had ended well. Wasn’t sure if she could bleed too much from that ripping.
The afterbirth came readily. 
There was nothing to really clean up, no laundry, for they had none. Only the scrap hay that the horses and cows had not wanted.
I wanted to ask, but the moment seemed too precious to ruin.
She looked up and asked, “Can Joseph come back?”
I smiled and nodded.

I went to the stable door reluctantly. I just had to know.
I squeezed out the door, standing in the way.
Zayden had left, only the man Joseph remained waiting.
He looked at me expectantly. “Is she?”
I smiled. “She’s fine. The baby’s fine.”
He started to walk by me, but I stopped him with this question, “Who’s the father?” I expected him to get angry, to ask who I thought I was to demand that of him, but he didn’t.
He paused, looked down, when he raised his head to look me in the face, he said, “I am Mary’s husband.”

Not a lie. But not my answer. I continued to prevent him from entering. I wasn’t satisfied. “But who is the father?” I was out of place to ask a man. But I had to know.
He paused. I could see his muscles in his neck and brow working. When he raised his head again, he replied with calmness—more than I felt, for even I was shaking. 
“God.” With his answer, he brushed passed me and entered the stable.
I stood there contemplating his answer for a long time. 

“God.”

That would explain what I saw. 
For no man had entered her prior to this birth.
She was a virgin who had born a son.
It reminded me of something that always puzzled me at the synagogue when they read the prophet Isaiah. 

Therefore the Lord Himself will give you a sign: The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call Him Immanuel (God is with us).

And Zacharias’s prophesies— how John would foretell of the Coming One Who would bring healing and deliverance. 
This was the Child!

I did not have to figure it out. I had only to accept it. 
Just like Elizabeth and Mary had rejoiced in this knowledge.
My mind was too full to take it all in.
I followed Joseph back into the stable, knelt before this baby boy and worshipped.

On this night, in the city of Bethlehem my Savior was born.
The one who John would grow to proclaim as our Messiah and forgiver of our sins.

When God is involved, man cannot hope to understand.
When God is not involved, man has no hope at all.
On this night, God was very much involved, for shortly, shepherds arrived, being told by angels that God’s Son had come.

Joseph and I exchanged glances. He, perhaps wondering how much I believed, but me…
Me, just amazed that God used me, unaccepted by all men, to help bring His Son into the world.
It was an honor.
It was humbling.
It was beyond my comprehension.

But more than that, God came to earth for me!
Someone wanted me! 

Not for what I could do for them, but wanted just me. 
And not just any someone, but God.
He came to make it possible for me to know Him. 
That was even more beyond my comprehension. 
I had to wait for that. For this baby must grow up.
But I will wait. I will wait for my God and my salvation.
And it will be worth the wait.
But I will keep my ears open to hear what this baby will do when he grows up. 
I will not miss knowing this God-Man who came for me.  

I was not still there in Bethlehem, for I had returned home.

But I heard how Herod issued a decree to kill all babies two years old and younger in Bethlehem.
I cannot help but hurt for all those mothers.
But nor could I doubt that the One Whom Herod wished to kill had escaped.
Did He not have a Father Who know all and could protect?
I wonder how He arranged it.
Angeles had spoken to both parents before, they could do so again.
No mere man—even Herod, could hope to undo what God had started with His Son. 

I could tell you about the other stories about the God-Son, but aren’t they written in the Book that will stand forever?
That Book tells God’s story throughout the ages.
No story I could write would ever come close to telling how 
God became flesh and dwelt among us…yet we beheld His glory, the glory of His only begotten Son.

When God’s glory is present, what more can we do, but worship?

 

https://www.theologyofwork.org/old-testament/exodus-and-work/israel-in-egypt-exodus-111316/the-work-of-midwifery-and-mothering-exodus-115-210
https://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/461823/jewish/Midwives.htm
https://jwa.org/encyclopedia/article/shiphrah-midrash-and-aggadah
https://www.brilliantbirths.com/blog/the-power-of-plants-herbal-medicine-for-the-birthing-body
https://www.motherlove.com/blogs/all/herbs-to-ease-labor-birth-and-recovery
https://www.wildedible.com/wild-food-guide/stinging-nettle
https://www.ediblewildfood.com/common-yarrow.aspx

Author of Biblical fiction, married to my best friend, and challenged by eight sons’ growing pains as I write about what matters.

I write about what matters...to you---
women, wives and moms---
about your family, faith and future.
I write about what's hard, what helps and what heals.
I show you how it's done. And not done.
I hold your hand as you find what matters to the Savior.
And let go of those things that mattered to you, but not to Him.
I write about what matters...to Him.
               Sonya Contreras