Nissa's Dream

Nissa crept into her room, closing the door quietly to keep the little ones from knowing where she’d gone before collapsing to the floor next to her bed. Perhaps if she curled up tight enough her body might not shatter into a million pieces, only to be scattered by the wind.


A human heart can only take so much, she thought. And I don‘t think I can take any more. How, Father? How can you ask so much of just one person? How is it so many things can go wrong all at the same time, and I’m supposed to be able to handle it all?


Everything within her bubbled to the surface and she began to moan aloud, unable to keep everything bottled inside any more. The more she moaned she more she hurt, until the tears began to stream down her cheeks.


I can’t do this any more, Father. I just can’t. Why does all this have to be placed on my shoulders? Isn’t there someone else out there who can take any of this on?


Her chest tightened with the intensity of the emotions running through her, making it hard to breathe. She began to rock forward and back, forward and back, hitting her head against the soft mattress of her bed.


Too much, she whispered, wiping her nose and tears on her sleeve before clutching her hair in her hands. Back and forth, back and forth, as though she wished to be sitting in someone’s lap. It’s just too much. This wasn’t supposed to happen to him.


Her father was a big, burly man. No way could he now be lying in a hospital bed. Not possible for one tiny little clot to have caused him to lose the use of the left side of his body. Not her dad.


But it did, and he had, and the man she knew to be invincible may not make it out of the hospital alive.


Why! she demanded. Why him? Why me? After everything I’ve been through lately, with everything I’m dealing with, did you have to do this too? Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong? I’ve dedicated my life to you, to this church. Am I not doing a good enough job? Why do I feel so alone? Where are you?


She continued to cry for some time, until her aching body climbed into her bed, pulling the sheets up so she might hide from the world. Eventually Nissa fell asleep, and as she slept, she dreamed.


A man dressed all in white approached from a distance. Nissa wasn’t afraid. In fact, she had the distinct feeling this was someone very familiar. The closer he got the more she recognized little things about him: the way his white hair fell across his high forehead, those long legs carrying him purposefully forward. Even the way he would occasionally clench his right hand hinted at his identity. It wasn’t until she could see his lopsided smile and brilliant, laughing eyes that Nissa finally allowed herself to believe she was, in fact, seeing someone who had died many years before.


He stopped, arms open wide, inviting her to come to him. In a moment she felt the strength of his hug, smelled his familiar scent, and heard laughter rumble through his large chest.


“Grandpa Joe,” she whispered, hoping she would not wake too soon from this dream.


“Hi there, Kitten,” he said, using the old nickname he’d given her when she was very little. He pulled back to hold her out at arms length, looking her over from head to toe. “You look good.”


Her smile faltered. “I don’t feel so good.”


He drew her close once more, squeezing the breath out of her lungs. “I know, Kitten. I know. That’s why I’m here. Let’s take a walk.”


Even though she was all grown up his hand still engulfed hers. They let their arms swing between them, delighting in one another’s presence. She found it peculiar they were walking, as the only thing she could see for miles around was white mists.


“Where are we going?” she asked.


“Wherever you decide to take us,” he said.


“I don’t understand.”


“You will,” he said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Now, tell me what’s been going on lately.”


At first she hesitated, not wanting to sound as though she were whining or complaining, but once she got started it was hard for Nissa to come to a stop.


“I just feel so alone now,” she said, wiping away a tear. “I feel as though the world is on my shoulders and I have no way of getting it off. I feel…”


But she could not continue, partly due to emotion, mostly because she did not want to sound disrespectful to a Heavenly Father and Savior whom she loved with all her heart.


“You feel as if God has turned His back on you.” He did not pose this as a question, and Nissa could only nod her head as fresh tears camw. Grandpa Joe took a clean, white handkerchief and gently dabbed her cheeks before pressing it into her hand. “It’s not true, you know.”


She took a shuddering breath before nodding once more. “I know. But it doesn’t make the feelings go away.”


“I know, Kitten.” They stopped walking, allowing Nissa to calm down enough to keep the tears at bay. She blew her nose, knowing her face must be splotchy red now, something that always happened when she cried. Normally it embarrassed her, but not with Grandpa Joe.


He stood before her, arms crossed, a puzzled expression on his face. Deep in thought, she mused, recognizing the furrowed brow that told her he was figuring something out. Suddenly the brow straightened and a smile lit up his face. “How about I show you a few things,” he said. “Look.”


She looked where he pointed. There in the mist a picture began to form, one she immediately recognized as the day she found out her daughter was failing English. The interview in the counselor’s office, the awkward drive home, and the silence as both of them disappeared into their rooms played as though in fast forward. She watched as they both went directly to their beds, knelt down, and began to pray, and the picture slowed.


Nissa remembered kneeling down in prayer. She had no idea her daughter had as well. “Now watch,” whispered her grandpa, and it was as though a veil was swept away from her eyes. In both of their rooms stood women in white. These women looked lovingly down at the mortals in need, whispering in their ears, patting them on their backs, and emanating great love.
The moment Nissa and her daughter came together to talk the women in the room gathered around them, lending support to both.


“I had no idea,” said Nissa.


“People rarely do,” said Grandpa, taking her hand and directing her to another picture forming a little ways off. “Look.”


Nissa looked and saw her son’s pediatrician walking through the office door to meet her, her husband and their son. She watched as he broke the news of her son’s condition, tried to explain the form of autism he had, and their options. She distinctly remembered the despair she bit back so as not to frighten her son. Her only emotion showed through the hand clenched in that of her husband‘s. “Now watch.”


Once more the veil was removed and there on each side of her son stood tall, burly looking men, also dressed in white. One she recognized as the man standing right next to her. “You were there?”


“I was. I’m with you more than you may know,” he said. “Many others are there with you. Can you see?”


Sure enough, as she looked harder she beheld angels at her side and that of her husband as well. Indeed they were not alone. These heavenly beings remained with the family as they began to work through this new challenge.


“Is it always like this?” she asked, looking back at her grandpa. “Are there always angels and family and friends around though we can’t see or feel them?”


Again he took her hand and led her a ways away. “So long as you’re living the way you should, and you are Kitten, you will always have the help of the Lord. Now, once more, look.”


She looked where he pointed and there she saw her own form, curled into a tight ball, hiding under the covers on the bed, crying as though her world were ending. Nissa knew she was seeing herself as she had been right before falling asleep. Right before having this dream. She remembered her words, harsh in some places, pleading in others.

“Don’t despair,” said Grandpa Joe. “So many others have felt exactly as you have, and with even less reason to do so. Now, one more time, watch and see.”


Again the veil was taken away, and in awe she beheld three different women, each sitting on the bed, surrounding her on all sides. They each placed a hand on her and prayed in her behalf. She could hear individual voices pleading for peace, for love, and for strength. As they prayed Nissa had calmed enough to fall asleep.


She turned to her grandpa, who stood watching the scene until it had disappeared entirely. “Is this real?” she asked. “Or am I dreaming?”


He brushed a strand of hair back from her face, cradling her cheek in his warm, strong hand. “Perhaps a little bit of both,” he said.


“So what happens now?”


“I have no idea,” he said, laughing as she looked at him in surprise. “We take things as they come, Kitten. Just like you. Only now, well, now you know you’re never alone. Our Savior has an entire army to help His brothers and sisters make it through this life. Just remember that, especially when you’re having a day as hard as today.”


“I’ll try,” she promised.


“Just in case you don’t, I have a scripture for you. I’ll help you find it when you wake up.”


“Do I have to wake up?” Even as she spoke the words and before Grandpa Joe nodded his head, Nissa knew she wouldn’t be staying.


“You still have many things to accomplish, Kitten. Time to go back.” He gripped her in huge bear hug. “Love you Kitten.”


Those words echoed in her mind as she felt someone sit on the bed next to her. She opened her eyes to find her husband looking on with concern. “You okay?” he asked. “We’re all pretty worried.”


Nissa sat up, trying hard to remember the dream she’d been having, though the details kept slipping through her fingers like water.


“I think so,” she said. “Sleeping helped. I was having a really good dream, but now I can’t remember it.”


“That’s too bad. Good dreams are always worth remembering. Any news on your dad?”


She shook her head. “Not yet.”


“Well listen. I was downstairs doing scripture reading with the kids when we came across a particular verse. For some reason all of us had a feeling you needed it. Would you like me to read it to you?”


She nodded, her heart beating faster. Something told her this was important.


“We were in D&C 84:88. ‘I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.’ Does that make sense to you?”


Angels round about me, she thought. Angels round about me. Look, said a familiar voice. She looked, and sitting around her on the bed were three women in white, each of them smiling.


She blinked, and they were gone, but as she reached forward to give her husband a grateful hug, she felt more than one set of arms go around her.

Shades of Paradise Lost

First, just a note: this was a paper I wrote my senior year of high school for a Humanities class. I've kept it all these years because my teacher asked to keep a copy of it - something she rarely did. It was a retelling of one particular section of Milton's Paradise Lost. I hope you enjoy it.

~~~~~~~~

An aura of death emanated from the motionless form. His body, trim and lithe, seemed to soar over the watery surface of the River Styks, barely creating a ripple. Though he faced downward his dark, handsome head looked up, cold eyes blazing as though ignited by the fires of his surroundings.

His thoughts remained focused on the plan, unwilling to accept defeat, unable to repress the dream of a dawn that will end his hell. Heaven had left him alone, and in this solitude he first conceived his dark plans. Plans that only added to his damnation by causing others to choose wickedness. Plans that mocked him for he knows infinite goodness, grace, and mercy to man will triumph in the end.

Yet now he stands upon the blackened river, renewed with anger and malice, doing that which some would call impossible. He spreads his monstrous wings and leans into the air, soaring majestically until he reaches dry land, a land which burns just as everything there smolders.

It is there he joins his legion of fallen angels.

Like sleeping guards on duty who’d been caught by the one they feared most, the fallen angels awaken and hastily arise at the unexpected arrival of their chief. He calls out to the pathetic creatures that come, eyes downcast and glimmering with a hint of joy at his arrival. Courage is raised and fears are quelled as their leader’s words caress their downtrodden countenance.

He barks orders as though readying for battle, and they must not disappoint. War is upon them. Resonant metal echoes the cry for action. An answering shout from the ranks tears at Hell’s vault.

Banners are raised, joined by spears and thronging helms and heavy rows of shields. Their leader glances over his army with an experienced eye, his heart swelling with pride. Never, since the creation of man, was there an army such as this. He looks upon his followers, the partners in his crime, all condemned forever. Faithful they stand in their withered glory.

Three times he tries to speak, his army pressing closer in anticipation of his words. Despite adamant resolve tears slip from his eyes. Only those who know him best, only those who looked closely enough, would know those tears were not shed because he loved them. It is only love for his purpose, his own being, his revenge that causes a crack in such unyielding demeanor.

Winged Heralds come forth to call forth the most worthy from each regiment. It is time for the great assembly. They swarm the gates and porches, hovering over the ground and in the air. In close recess and secret meeting sit a thousand demi-gods on golden seats with others of their kind. After a short silence and the summons read, the great council begins.

Satan relaxes for a moment on his golden throne, barely listening to the plotting and planning of those under his control. The slightest trace of a smile pulls at the corners of his beautiful mouth. If he can’t have the glory, he can at least take as many souls as possible.

On today’s agenda: the destruction of mankind.

From a Dream

I'm an avid dreamer, always have been. Every once in a while I'll have a dream that captures my imagination and won't let go until I get it down in print. This was one of those dreams.

The story is incomplete, and there are parts missing and needing to be fleshed out, but I wanted to share a story in it's beginning stages. I hope you enjoy it. Anything in capital letters or parantheses are in the works.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was known to be a womanizer by the public, though she knew him as her employer and friend. She knew he went through women fast, but he wasn’t one to waste time on something he knew wasn’t going to last. He’d always had an instinct about things like that, which is what made him such a good businessman.

Something was changing, however. He was literally getting rid of everything in his rooms downstairs. She could hear the chatter of a woman, and tried not to acknowledge the pang of jealousy that automatically accompanied the thought of him with any other woman. When she heard what the woman was saying, and saw that every word was heard by him with no concern about his feelings, her jealousy turned to anger.

(Things about how he was getting rid of everything. “There must be something wrong. She was right there in his house. His stuff was so expensive.”)

The woman was just a mover, after all. She was surprised to see he was even getting rid of the pool table. He loved that pool table – had taught her the game at it’s side. She watched the look on his face as it was taken out, then saw him react to the moving lady’s words.

“I am not retiring!” he yelled, but without conviction. The thought of him retiring really was ridiculous. He was only 32 after all. He turned his brown eyes to her, shrugged and gave her that “What are ya gonna do?” half smile before turning back to the empty rooms.

As he looked around the practically empty rooms, she could see dismay and resignation fighting for place on his handsome features, and her heart ached for him. She walked into the connecting room to the left, which held a few sparse pieces of furniture. He plopped into the upright, dark brown chair, and watched as the movers took another piece of furniture away, the other woman still chattering on her cell phone.

She knew what he’d do even before he did it, and was there to push him back down into the chair, knowing he needed to chill. Though he wouldn’t show it, this was killing him. She walked around to the back and began to massage his shoulders. The muscles were so tight, though a part of it might have been from her abrupt and uncharacteristic move.

She learned early on touching him was a bad idea, as it usually led to butterflies in her stomach and tremors in her hands. Though he was normally a very touchy feely guy, he seemed to sense her reluctance and had always maintained a respectful distance. So her initiating such intimate contact might have created another level of tension to pile on top of his previous strain.

Her fingers gradually worked their magic, however, and he began to relax into the back of the chair. Not until the movers came back in and the other woman’s chattering stopped did she wonder how this might be misinterpreted. Looking up she saw the woman’s eyes popping out of her head at the sight they presented. Instead of allowing it to shame her, she rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to helping him handle this.

A few more minutes and the movers were finally done. As she pulled her fingers from his neck he didn’t make a move, his head hanging down toward his chest. She wondered if he’d fallen asleep when he took a deep breath, held it for several seconds, and slowly let it out. He looked up at her.

“Thank you,” he said, rolling his shoulders.

She stretched her fingers and rubbed each palm. “You’re welcome.”

He stood up and slowly walked around the chair. “Let’s see, you’ve been working for me for the last eighteen months and only now I discover your latest talent. What have I been paying a masseuse for if you had such skills?”

She grinned up at him. “You don’t pay me to be your masseuse. You pay me to be your assistant.”

His laughter, deep and rumbling in his chest, made her heart skip a beat. She took a few steps back and faced the now empty adjoining room to put a little distance between them. Before she could get herself back under control he stepped up right next to her and draped an arm across her shoulders, pulling her tight to his side. Perhaps her unexpected move invited his own.

“It’s an odd sight, you know?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. He didn’t seem in any hurry to let her go, and if she didn’t get away from him, well, she didn’t know what might happen. She’d worked hard to rid herself of her impetuous nature, having dealt with too many consequences because of it. One touch from this man caused the careful wall she’d built to crumble.

“Well,” she croaked. Dumb voice. She cleared her throat and tried again. “It’s time I get back to work.”

~~~~~~~

“What am I going to do?” she cried. “People are on their way in here and I have no pants on!”

“Where are they?” he whispered. She could hear the laughter in his voice, and wanted to hit him for it, but didn’t dare let go of the blanket.

“In the drier. They should be done, but I don’t want to run out of here wrapped in a blanket, especially not when they all saw you walk in here.”

He scrunched his face at her, told her to stay put, and walked out the door. She crouched in the corner sending up fervent prayers that no one would want to come in, and hoped he knew she was kidding about the last comment. They’d joked for so many months now about needing to be careful. He hadn’t been dating anyone and people, well, were people.
“Here go you,” he said, handing over the warm jeans. “Hand me the blanket and I’ll hold it up just in case someone walks in.”

Knowing he wouldn’t look she handed the blanket over, making sure to keep herself covered, then frantically pulled on her jeans. Just as she buttoned the top the group came bustling in. Embarrassed to be caught in a dark room with him she dropped to the floor behind the chair, pulling the blanket out of his hands and over the top of her, becoming utterly still.

She heard the whump of him sitting down in the chair, and simply prayed it wouldn’t draw everyone’s attention her way.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“Shush, they’ll hear you,” she whispered back.

She waited in that painful position until the group left and he told her it was safe. She pulled the smothering blanket off, only to be confronted by his face perched on the back of the chair. He was so close she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only marvel at how utterly gorgeous his eyes were even in semi-darkness. When he gave her his, “What’s up with you” raise of the corners of his lips she remembered moving slowly towards his face but didn’t realize what was happening until well into the kiss.

It was a nice kiss, she sensed that right away. Simple, sweet. It lasted longer than she thought it would. Only when she realized he wasn’t kissing her back did she figure out he was graciously waiting for her to pull away. So many thoughts ran through her head at that moment. He was just being nice. He didn’t want to embarrass her. And he obviously wasn’t enjoying this kiss as much as she was. All of this in a millisecond. She also understood this was it. Her time with him was done.

Knowing it would be her one and only chance, she lingered, memorizing the feel of his lips against hers.

Bracing her hands against the back of the chair she stood up. Without a glance, without a word, she walked around the chair and into the hallway, grateful the group had moved on. She ran up the stairway to her office, pulled out her purse and headed straight for the front door.

What had she hoped? That one kiss would bring him running to stop her, showing him in a single moment all he needed was right here? Stifling a laugh that could very well have been a sob, she walked out to her car, got in, and started it up. Only then did she dare look at the house. He wasn’t even at a window to watch her leave.

“Idiot,” she said under her breath.

She wasn’t referring to him.

~~~~~~~~

It took longer to get her things together than she thought it would. Unfortunately every little item came tangled in memories of him, of them, memories she wallowed in. It was a good punishment for the mess she’d made.

He called. Of course he called. He even sent flowers and left messages and had once stopped by her apartment. She’d been home at the time, but knew he’d never make a scene when she wouldn’t answer. After he left she opened the door and saw a dozen white tulips on her doorstep. If this were a movie, she would have gone running after him for bestowing such a sweet and intimate gift. But this wasn’t a movie, and he knew they were her favorites. It was one of the first things he asked when she’d been hired.

“What are your favorite flowers?”

“White tulips, why?”

“If you’re going to get flowers from someone, they might as well be your favorites. And I love to send flowers.”

He sure did. She was on a first name basis with every employee at every flower shop in the county. And a few out of state as well.

“At least he never made you order your own flowers,” she said out loud. There was that.

She hadn’t dared go back to the house to pick up her things until she knew he’d be out of town. That way even if someone did let him know she was there, he couldn’t hurry back. Today he was out of town. She’d made all the arrangements, so there was no need to hurry. He wouldn’t be back until later that night.

(Employees come to say goodbye, ask where she’s going to work, she doesn’t know yet, but promises she has enough money to live on for a few months.)

She’d never had to worry about money working for him. He was beyond generous, and would have given her anything if she’d even hinted about needing something. But she never took advantage, not like the other women in his life. She never wanted to be lumped in that group. He deserved to have someone who treated him fair.

With a sigh she began pulling open drawers, trying to remember what was truly hers and what really belonged to him. Silly things like paper clips, a stapler, and pens shouldn’t have raised a lump in her throat, but he insisted on getting the paper clips in fun colors just because she liked them, buying her absolute favorite pens, and had even personally painted her name on the stapler when she complained one day someone kept stealing it. The stapler hadn’t disappeared since.

She closed the drawer without picking up a thing, and hurried through all the others before she became maudlin. In almost no time at all she’d filled her box, amazed at how little of her life she’d kept here for someone who spent most of her day in this one room. Although, if she’d had her way the entire room would have been boxed up and sent to her home.

With the box stored safely in the trunk of her car she reached for the door handle of when a voice called from the house.

“You forgot something.”

It was tempting, the idea of jumping into the car and driving away. It was so tempting the door was open when something appeared over her shoulder. With a reluctant hand she reached up and took the stapler.

“Somehow I don’t see anyone else wanting to use it.”

He sounded tired, his voice strained, but she couldn’t turn around. Couldn’t face him.

“You’re supposed to be in Denver,” she said, fingering the letters of her name.

“I cancelled,” he said.

“Why?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t move. His lack of spirit unnerved her more than she wanted to admit. Never one to stick around and wallow in awkward situations, she muttered a quick thanks over her shoulder and got into her car. He didn’t stop her. He would simply let her go, because it’s what he thought she wanted.

Ashamed at her cowardice, she rolled down the window. “Thank you,” she said, not quite looking at him, “for everything. I appreciate the opportunity you gave me. It was an honor working for you.”

As she turned the key to start the car he finally spoke. “You’re my best friend.” The anguish in his voice stopped her like nothing else could possibly have done, paralyzing her hand mid turn. His hands suddenly gripped the side of her car. Out of the corner of her eye she could see his knuckles turn white with tension, but still could not make herself look at him.

“You’re my best friend,” he said again, gentler this time. “I thought – I thought…”

Frustration built up so high she couldn’t maintain this silence any longer. If she was going to leave, she would do so having laid all the cards on the table. “You thought what? That I’d be willing to stand idly by watching you pick woman after woman who wanted you only because of your position, your money, or your reputation? You thought I’d be here for years and years trying my best to keep you from knowing how I can’t even bear to have you touch me because it makes me feel things, think things….

“You thought I’d be okay eventually watching you get married and having children with someone that wasn’t me? I know we’re friends, NAME, but I can’t stand being friends any longer.” She thumped both fists on the steering wheel. “I’m tired of not being seen as anything but your sidekick. How can you not understand I’m in love with you!”

She flicked the key and started the car, putting it in reverse to back down the driveway, not caring if she dragged him along the way. Maybe then he’d understand her own pain. Only when she got to the road did she finally look his way. Never in their time together had she seen him look so ragged: unkempt hair, clothes so wrinkled he might have slept in them, and dark circles under his eyes. It was enough to make any woman forgive and forget if it would simply make him smile again.

He reached a hand out toward her, beckoning. He would immediately take her back, no questions, no reprimands. He was that sort of man. He was absolutely perfect.

With a sob she put the car in drive and left him behind.

Their Minds Touched

The Father watched for several minutes, careful not to make a sound so as not to disturb this most precious of sons. Jesus’ brow furrowed, and the Father wondered what weighed so heavily on His son’s shoulders. On silent feet he moved forward, the gently swishing of his white robes the only thing to betray His presence, yet His son did not hear.

He reached out to place a hand on Jesus’ shoulder. Though startled, the crease between his brow quickly disappeared with the love that transplanted the worry. “Father,” he breathed, and stood quickly to embrace Him.

I will never tire of this, the Father thought. The joy a simple hug could bring to His heart continued to surprise Him. Even after eons.

“Please, Father, sit with me if you have a moment.”

The Father smiled upon this beloved spirit child of His. “For you, there is always a moment.”

The two sat down, one facing the other, and once again the Father saw the crease burrowing into His son’s brow. “What troubles you, my son?”

“Hmm? Oh, it’s just…I don’t know. It’s almost time.”

The Father nodded. He had searched for His son, ready and yet aching to offer one last goodbye. “Yes. The first Christmas Advent is about to take place.”

The corner of Jesus mouth turned up. “Christmas? Is that what they’ll call it?” The Father watched as His son rolled the word around a few times in his mind. “I like it. Christmas.”

They sat in silence for several minutes. “You know,” the Father said, a slight smile overtaking His lips, “they won’t even celebrate your birthday on the official day. For a large part of the world it’ll be in a season of cold and snow.”

A soft laugh escaped them both at the thought. Jesus breathed deeply, his mighty shoulders lifting a little. He would need such strength, to do all that was being asked. The Father leaned forward to catch Jesus’ attention. “Even now your earthly mother is preparing. She and Joseph are married, and have made the trip to Bethlehem. Are you ready?”

He watched as Jesus searched His face. What did he hope to find there?

“I want to be,” he whispered. “But-”

“Tell me. I can’t help you understand unless you ask.”

Still His son didn’t voice his concerns.

“Is it Mary? Or Joseph? They’ll be good parents, you know.”

At last He got a smile out of His son. “I know. I think they’re more worried about raising me than I am about going to them.”

“What is it then?” the Father entreated. “What has you so concerned?”

He was patient, allowing His son to at last put his thoughts together. When Jesus finally spoke, his voice was barely more than a whisper. “Will I forget you? I don’t want to forget you.”

So much emotion in so few words.

“Oh my son.” He clasped Jesus to him, holding this remarkable spirit close. “You will never forget me. Not really. It is true a veil will be placed over your mind, but trust that knowledge of me will be made known to you through your parents.”

He pulled back, intent to look into His son’s eyes. “They will teach you, as every good parent teaches their child, and a testimony of me will grow deep within you. When the time is right, my son, I will make myself known unto you. This I promise.”

As Jesus nodded a flurry of activity erupted around them. The angels were preparing to sing. The time had come.

One last embrace, one more statement of, “I love you,” and he was gone. The Father sat back down, intent to take it all in. He heard the cry of the newborn babe. He heard the angel announce to a few shepherds of the birth. The joy and exultation of a mighty chorus of angels swept through Him. The first Christmas advent was complete.

So many things to absorb in such a short time. Through it all He listened to the cries of His son, knowing the shock of coming into the world. Mary’s voice, soft and gentle and pure, sang to their son a lullaby: one that echoed the music in His own heart. The baby’s cries quieted, and with peace came awareness.

For a moment, with an understanding no mortal could possibly grasp, He felt their minds touch and heard the word, “Father.”

It was enough.

Thundering Silence

It was the time of day he loved best, before the rush of commuters, shortly after the rising of the sun. He picked a new spot in the center of town, where he hoped just one person might hear his message, share in his joy, and be touched by his gift.

He settled the beat up case on the crackled cement, carefully, as though it held something precious. Careless of onlookers, the young man flipped open the metal latches and lifted the lid. Even now his breath caught a little at the sight of his worn and well-known instrument. He lovingly pulled the violin from its’ tomb, settling it into place at his neck. The other hand quickly pulled out the bow, his masterful fingers delicately balancing the object against strings. A few quick flicks of the wrist, a few gentle turns to tune, and he was ready.

For a moment he stood poised, allowing the harsh noise of the streets rake over his musicians mind, mentally flipping through his files of compositions, allowing the first piece to choose itself. At last one pushes to the front of the line. A gentle lift at the corners of his supple lips is the only sign of pleasure before he dips in.

Like an artist with a brush our performer begins to paint a picture. His body moves with the melody, feeling every note as though they were each a part of him. Fingers fly at the tip of the violin, racing so fast at times if someone were looking on they might not be able to see each movement, only a blur. It is not only the song he wishes to impart. It is the heart and soul of what he feels, of what he imagines the composer must have felt, that he attempts to portray in his limited, mortal way.

Minutes pass by and he is barely aware of anything around him. The noise, so achingly severe mere moments before, is no longer present. They do not exist in his world. Now the sweet, playful notes drown out every other sound. His tall, trim form sways and moves to the whims of the music, which controls him much as a conductor controls the wand. At times he is not sure if he is playing the violin, or if the music is playing him.

All too soon the song comes to an end, but it is easily replaced by another. This time he chooses something soft, slow. It echoes the sometimes piercing hollowness he feels when solitude crashes over him, overwhelming. Unbidden tears course down his cheeks as the essence of the music overtakes his rational self. He cannot stop them from coming, just as he cannot stop the insatiable need to plunge into this world where nothing exists but these musical messages from masters long gone.

The composition barely resolves when another takes over, anxious to push it’s mournful predecessor into the past, bringing with it a surge of hope. The bow dances over four pieces of tightly wound steel, pulling from them wondrous sounds, almost like the tinkling of laughter. Our performer’s lips pull up yet again as the soul of the song resonates from his mind, through his arm, down to his instrument, then back again. A cycle of pleasure only few in this world can possibly understand.

Has he been there for hours, lost in a world of his making; or has it been mere minutes, a lifetime lived as his bow finally halts the last, lingering note? He dares not open his eyes, unwilling to let the feeling go.

But the repertoire of his mind has been completed to thunderous silence. No other songs come to mind. And the coarse sounds of the world his mortal self lives in begins to intrude. At last he releases the moment, allowing himself to unwind, and kneels to place the cherished prize back in it’s tomb. The latches are secured once more and at last he stands, only then wondering if anyone along these busy streets bothered to stop and share.

As his eyes look round he sees barely a head had turned, hardly a body stopped. So much beauty, in such a tiny portion of this world, and scarcely a heart had heard.

"Behold the Handmaid"

The following narrative was a blessing given to me by my Heavenly Father as inspiration for a youth lesson I was asked to give several years ago. The historical aspects have been taken largely from Luke 1-2, as well as "Jesus the Christ" by James E. Talmage. Many of you may have read this before, and I invite you to share it with anyone you feel might benefit from it's message.

~~~~~

In the small village of Nazareth there resided two very special young people. One was a handsome young man in his early twenties, a carpenter, named Joseph. Joseph considered himself to be a very fortunate man, for he had been betrothed to his cousin’s beautiful daughter, Mary.

One particular night Mary had been sleeping when a most remarkable thing happened - an angel appeared. He spoke unto her, saying,

“Hail, thou that art highly favored, The Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women. Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favor with God. And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name Jesus. He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest: and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David: and he shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end.” (Luke 1:28-33)

Mary, who was only in her late teens, readily accepted the words of the angel, and had only this to ask: “How shall this be, seeing I know not a man?” (Luke 1:34)

“And the angel answered and said unto her, ‘The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power of the Highest shall overshadow thee; therefore also that holy thing which shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God.’” (Luke 1:35)

Before Mary could take all this in the angel also spoke of her cousin Elizabeth, who had been barren and was well past child bearing years, but was now blessed with a baby.

“For with God nothing shall be impossible.” (Luke 1:36)

Mary answered this, saying, “Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy Word.” (Luke 1:38)

The angel Gabriel departed, leaving Mary alone in her tiny room to ponder the incredible news. Can you imagine her thoughts at this time? All her life she’d been told of the coming of the Messiah and knew of the circumstances by which He would come. She knew herself to be of the proper lineage. Perhaps she had dreamed, not once, but many times that it could be a blessing bestowed upon her, all the while never truly believing it would actually happen.

Yet it was happening, and she had a heavy responsibility laid on her shoulders. How long did she live with the secret before taking leave of Joseph and her family, departing for another city where her cousin, Elizabeth, lived? What hopes lay in her heart, that this woman, who she may not have known very well at all, would understand, could comprehend what had happened to her? The angel Gabriel had told Mary Elizabeth was also pregnant after having been barren. Could they find comfort with each other, a comfort that only womanhood could provide?

While in her sixth month Elizabeth received a surprise. Her young cousin, Mary had come to visit. At Mary’s salutation something amazing happened – Elizabeth felt the quickening of the spirit of the baby growing inside her belly as it moved in response to the voice of the Messiah’s mother. Did Elizabeth shout out her knowledge right away unable to repress the joy and wonder at this remarkable news? Or did she invite her weary cousin inside, giving her refreshment, before saying,

“Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb. And whence is this to me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?” (Luke 1:42-43)

The relief Mary must have felt at those words. She had traveled all this way at the angel’s bidding, not knowing what would wait for her there. The words must have poured out of her mouth as she said,

“My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Savior. For he hath regarded the low estate of his handmaiden: for, behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed. For he that is mighty hath done to me great things; and holy is his name. And his mercy is on them that fear him from generation to generation. He hath shewed strength with his arm; he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. He hath put down the mighty from their seats, and exalted them of low degree. He hath filled the hungry with good things; and the rich he hath sent empty away. He hath holpen his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy; as he spake to our fathers, to Abraham, and to his seed forever.” (Luke 1:46-55)

Mary stayed with Elizabeth and Zacharias for three months before heading back home. Try to imagine what the journey must have been like. Did her parents already know she was pregnant? If not, what would they do? And what could she possibly say to Joseph? Knowing how hurt he’d be – would he even give her a chance to explain? A betrothal was just as binding as the marriage covenant, and the betrayal of such severe.

Mary would have been about six months along by now, her condition obvious. Can you see Joseph, excited beyond words that Mary had returned after being gone for so many months? He must have missed her terribly. What do you think happened when he walked in to greet her? Did he welcome Mary immediately, not noticing her swollen belly? Or as she stood to greet him was he stunned, incapable of moving? Did they quarrel – Mary frantic to make him understand and Joseph so hurt he couldn’t hear what she was saying? Did Joseph turn and run away, unable to face what he thought to be unspeakable betrayal?

I would suppose neither of them slept very well that night, both unsure of what to do next. One can only hope Mary knew that as the mother of the Christ-child nothing could be done to hurt her. No, the truest wound was in knowing that at any time Joseph, the man she was counting on to provide both love and protection, would most likely put her aside.

Jewish law provided for the annulment of a betrothal in one of two ways – by a public trial and judgment, or by private agreement. Joseph was a good, kind man and truly loved Mary. He did not want her to face public humiliation and embarrassment. He had decided to annul the betrothal in as much privacy as possible, though the thought of doing it rested heavily on his heart.

That was when the angel of the Lord appeared to him, though to Joseph the visitation came in the form of a dream. The angel said,

“Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife: for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost. And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name Jesus; for he shall save his people from their sins. Now all this was done, that it might be fulfilled which was spoken of the Lord by the prophet saying, ‘Behold, a virgin shall be with child, and shall bring forth a son, and they shall call his name Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us.’” (Matthew 1:20-23)

The elation Joseph must have felt upon waking! The woman he loved was carrying the Messiah. Was he ashamed of his first reaction? Did he rush right over to her house, hoping she could forgive him? Did he sit there in awe of the woman in front of him, and wonder at the child and mother placed under his protection? Was he scared of not living up to his Lord’s expectations as the guardian of this most heavenly son?

As the angel had directed, Joseph quickly set about making the marriage happen as swiftly as possible in order to give Mary the protection of his name, for it was obvious to all she was soon to deliver her child.

The birth of Mary’s baby was fast approaching, and at this time a decree went out from Rome ordering a taxing of all the people. It was a way to take a census upon which the basis of the taxation would be determined among the different peoples. Had the census been taken by the usual Roman method each person would have been counted at the town in which they currently lived. The Jewish custom, for which the Roman law had respect, required registration at the cities or towns claimed as their families respective ancestral homes.

This is the reason Joseph had to leave for Bethlehem, with Mary choosing to go with him. Certainly the journey was long and hard, but no harder than the people of their day were used to.

Camping out was a familiar thing for travelers, a way of life for all. Because of this many shelters had been built along the way where weary travelers could lay out to rest. These buildings, known as 'khans,' offered the protection of walls and a roof, as well as water. Some of the larger ones even had an enclosed court for the beasts with enough water for all. These khans were very much a blessing for those who could get them.

Joseph and Mary found their way into Bethlehem and discovered the inns were all full. They were fortunate when one innkeeper told them of a khan nearby, one large enough to keep their animals in. On that night, in early springtime, Mary gave birth to her son, Jesus the Christ, and wrapped Him in swaddling clothes, and laid Him in a manger.

I can’t help but think of the thoughts of both Joseph and Mary as they beheld the tiny baby. Could they even comprehend the mission that lay before Him, of how they would have to watch their son surpass them in every respect, only to watch as His life was cut down far too soon? Or were their only thoughts of what a blessing this little one was to them, their hearts full of love and peace, grateful He was healthy and safe in their arms?

At this time of the year it was common to find shepherds watching over their flocks grazing in the hills just outside Bethlehem. Unto certain of these shepherds came the first proclamation that the Savior had been born.

“And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them; and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you: Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.” (Luke 2:10-12)

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of heavenly host praising God, and saying, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.” (Luke 2:14) How incredible a visitation for a few lowly shepherds. And even more of a blessing was the gift of a sign, which they had not asked for, but was given freely to guide them in their search.

These men didn’t wait, but went quickly, not just believing, but knowing what was told to them was true. “Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.” (Luke 2:15) And they found the baby, lying in a manger, just as the angel had said. Then they went out and testified of what they had seen.

As was required by Jewish law, when the baby of Mary was eight days old He was circumcised and given the earthly name of Jesus. Mary remained in retirement for forty days following the birth of her son, as directed by Mosaic Law. Only then did both Mary and Joseph present their child, as was custom for the first-born male of every family, preferably in the temple when possible. Jesus had been born within five or six miles from Jerusalem where he was taken to be redeemed before the Lord.

It is not known how long after the presentation of Jesus in the temple passed (a few days, weeks, or months?) when Herod, the appointed king of Judah, heard reports of a Child of Prophecy, one destined to be King of the Jews, had been born. Into Jerusalem came strange men from afar asking, “Where is he that is born King of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him.” (Matthew 2:2)

Herod cried for his chief priests and scribes, demanding to know where, according to the prophets, this Christ was to have been born. “In Bethlehem of Judea,” they told him. “For thus it is written by the prophet, and thou Bethlehem, in the land of Juda, art not the least among the princes of Juda: for out of thee shall come a Governor, that shall rule my people Israel.” (Matthew 2:5-6)

This news worried and angered Herod. He was not willing to give his control and power away, and certainly not to any Jewish baby. A plan formed in his devious mind and secretly he sent for the magi, the wise men, and asked them to go to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the young child; and when ye have found him, bring me word again, that I may come and worship him also.” (Matthew 2:8)

Not knowing Herod’s reputation they left Jerusalem, rejoicing when the new star was once again visible.

They found Mary, Joseph and the baby, whom they recognized as the Christ-child. They “fell down, and worshipped him: and when they had opened their treasures, they had presented unto him gifts; gold, and frankincense, and myrrh.” (Matthew 2:11)

The gifts were significant to the magi. In the oriental lands these men were high in rank. It was the custom of their people to offer gifts to those even higher in rank, whether of a spiritual or a worldly nature. Remember, they did not offer gifts to Herod. Yet now they willingly, humbly knelt at the feet of a baby, to acknowledge him as a superior being.

The magi left, with every intention of keeping their promise to Herod, when in a dream they were warned that they should not return to him, and so instead they left for their own country another way.

Herod was furious when he realized the magi were not returning. After estimating how old he thought the child could be, Herod ruthlessly, maliciously sent out the order to slaughter all the children, not only in Bethlehem but in all the coasts thereof, from the age of two years old and under.

Heavenly Father protected His Son and sent an angel to Joseph, saying,

“Arise, and take the young child and his mother, and flee into Egypt, and be thou there until I bring thee word: for Herod will seek the young child to destroy him.” (Matthew 2:20)
Herod never found the Christ-child, and when he died an angel went to Joseph to tell him it was safe to go home.

At the time of the Savior’s birth, Israel was ruled by alien monarchs. The rights of the royal Davidic family went unrecognized; and the ruler of the Jews was an appointee of Rome.
Had Judah been a free and independent nation, ruled by her rightful sovereign, Joseph the carpenter would have been her crowned king, with the virgin Mary his queen; and his lawful successor to the throne would have been Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.

A Merry Christmas?

Bit by bit the sounds of raucous laughter penetrated my exhausted mind as I lay in bed, face down into the pillow. I pulled up my covers in a desperate attempt to block the unwelcome merriment, aware that something was very wrong as the effort caused every muscle to ache.

Wait – merriment. Two things exploded into my brain, one so quickly following the other they could have been the same thought. First, it was Christmas Day! Second, I was sick.

I don’t recall just how long I’d stayed in bed lamenting my health when my younger brother came bursting into my room insisting I “hurry up” since our parents wouldn’t let him open presents unless I presented myself. Groaning, I dragged my sad, sluggish form out of bed, all the while trying to ignore its’ vast accusations that this was cruel and unusual punishment.

I crept into the kitchen where my fever soaked mind attempted to find some form of medicine to fight the onslaught of evil attacking my insides. It’s possible I stood at the sink for a good five hours just holding the bottle filled with little, white, fever-reducing pills, my desperate attempts to get the childproof cap off continually unsuccessful. At last my dear mother came in, undoubtedly wondering what was taking me so long.

I gave her my health update and mentioned the unwillingness of the mean medicine to come out of the bottle. She took the unruly item from my weakened hand and popped the lid right off.

I’m convinced I loosened it for her.

My body screamed to be put back to bed, but the living room really was so much closer. I lugged myself to the couch, missed, and ended up on the floor.

Of course I totally meant to do that.

Lucky for me I had placed myself (subconsciously?) right in front of my presents. It took a day or two but I managed to open them all. After conveying the proper thanks I curled into a ball on the floor and at last let loose the moan that had been trying to escape all morning long. I was blissfully forced back to bed where I slept a good portion of the day away.

Upon waking I discovered life might actually be worth living. It took a little effort, but I managed to emerge from my room feeling less like the zombie I no doubt resembled. I forced down a small glass of bitter water (why does everything taste funny when you have a fever?), returned to the living room and rediscovered my presents.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a fog. Mom wouldn’t let me help make Christmas dinner (shocking, I know). Dad wouldn’t let me play with his new ‘toys’ (can’t imagine why). My two brothers created chaos everywhere they went with Mother scurrying behind in an attempt to keep things relatively clean. I probably would have joined my siblings had my head not felt like someone had filled it with helium and tied it to my body with a string so it wouldn’t float away.

I dozed here and there, missing most of "It’s a Wonderful Life" and "A Muppet Christmas Carol." The sudden unwelcome ringing of the doorbell echoed inside my hollow head. Our neighbors had arrived for dinner, choosing to brave the vile germs I emitted into the air with every breath.

We all sat down to the beautifully set table and said grace. That’s when it happened. The rolls (which I normally inhale) were passed under my nose causing a strange reaction to my insides. I sprang from the table – moving faster than I had all day.

For once that day something good happened: I reached the bathroom in time.

After a pointless vow to never eat again, I gave up and finally let my poor body crawl back into the very bed I should never have left in the first place. I was vaguely aware of a hand caressing my face, the covers being tucked in tight, a soft kiss, a whispered “Merry Christmas,” and the door closing. As I drifted off a sigh escaped my lips.

Okay so it could have been a snore.

*****

One of my more miserable Christmas memories :)

A Gift for Andy

Around this time last year my next door neighbor died. For several weeks beforehand I'd been frantically trying to put together an afgan for him, as he was desperately sick. Unfortunately I didn't get the gift done in time. He died shortly after Christmas. When I did finally finish the afghan I took it to his widow on the same day as their wedding anniversary.

Out of this experience I was able to write a short story, one which I'd like to share. Things didn't happen exactly this way, but therein lies the magic of creating something beautiful. At the end are (badly taken) pictures of the finished product.

~~~~~

A Gift for Andy

The teal strand of supple yarn twisted between my fingers. Just one last row. It felt like a fool’s errand. He was already dead. Already dead. But I couldn’t stop. It had to be finished.

Double crochet, chain one, double crochet five times. By the tenth row I’d memorized the pattern. By the fifteenth my thoughts no longer dwelled on my task. Now the blue metalic hook flew on its’ own, a forgotten extension of my hand.

Each approaching row haunted me. Each completed row taunted me. Too late, they said. Too late for seventy-nine teal and plum colored rows.

It had started as a work of love. My sweet neighbor had been ill for some time. I recall the morning I awoke to an ambulance in front of his house. That time he almost hadn’t come home.

Double crochet, chain three and double crochet in the same stitch. His wife was devastated, as she should be. I sometimes heard her crying through the screen door as I worked in my yard. She needed someone, I knew that. But we hardly knew one another and I didn’t know what to say. I never knew what to say when it came to death.

Five more double crochets, end. I took out my tiny lime green-handled scissors and snipped. It was done. But it was too late.

I sat in back at the church. It was my first Catholic funeral. I didn’t understand most of what went on, just stood when they stood and sat when they sat. The priest kept referring to my friend as Andrew. Only he wasn’t Andrew. He was Andy. My friend Andy.

We began talking over the bushes that separated our yards over a year ago. He was always so warm and friendly, like a favorite uncle. I could always make him laugh. The sound of it made my heart light. I was never a fan of moustaches, but loved the way the ends of his would turn up every time he smiled.

Fold it once, twice, and three times. He was only fifty-five, though the ravages of alcohol made him look sixty. “Don’t you go down the same path,” he’d tell his grandsons. “This is what will happen.” He was always straight like that, telling it like it is. I always respected his honesty.

About two months ago he started to get really sick, you could see it in his yellowed eyes. He needed a liver transplant. The doctors all said even if one had come he’d never have made it through the surgery. That’s when I started the blanket. I wanted to make something special for my friend. He needed to know that I cared. But life got in the way. I had to put the blanket aside, just for a short while. By the time I got back to it a whole month had passed. I never thought my fingers wouldn’t go fast enough.

My feet barely made a noise as I passed through the bushes. She was crying again, but I couldn’t leave. Not yet. That other-world-like feeling is too strong. I needed to finish my task. Taking a deep breath, I sent up a silent prayer and knocked on the door.

“Evelyn, it’s me.”

She sniffled once or twice before opening the door, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but I wanted to bring you something.”

“Come in, please,” she said, ever the lady.

Evelyn sat down on the couch, so I perched next to her before handing over my little package.

The words choked in my throat. I blinked back many tears before I could talk.

“I started making this for Andy, back when he got so sick. I wanted him to have something I made, but I didn’t get it done fast enough.”

As she unwrapped the tissue paper I watched her eyes flood with tears once more.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, “I didn’t get it done in time. But I thought maybe you could have it instead.”

She took the blanket and wrapped it around her, brushing her face against the silky stitches.

“It’s so soft." Her gray eyes, magnified by tears, focused on me. “I was just praying…I’ve been feeling so alone since he died. I needed this.”

She reached out and took me in a tight embrace. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. Perhaps I’d been able to give Andy my gift after all.

"An Infant Cried"

Considering the season, for my first creative post I chose a story written as a challenge entry in an online writing group back in 2007. The initial entry was to be only 750 words, but as my very own blog doesn't require any sort of word count restrictions, I've decided to flesh it out a bit. I hope you enjoy it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joseph turned to his wife, her angelic face hopeful.

“Just ask, Joseph, please.”

Head tilted, eyes shining, and a voice so very soft, Joseph took her slender hand and pressed it to his lips.

“For you, I’ll try.”

The corners of her mouth turned up, as though an angel had placed a string on each end and tugged. It made his heart skip a beat.

He knocked on the front door. A man answered, his eyes bruised with sleeplessness. “We’re full,” he said, automatically closing the door in Joseph’s face.

“Wait, please.” Joseph could hear the desperation in his voice, but didn't care any more, not if that's what stopped the innkeeper’s hand. “My wife, sir. She is in need of shelter, even if it's just a corner on the floor.”

Joseph pointed to her standing close behind. She smiled, giving a little wave before placing the hand back on her swollen belly. Mary should have been a pathetic picture, especially after traveling for so long. He couldn’t see it. She still took his breath away.

As he turned back Joseph could see the innkeeper had not been unaffected. It happened every time someone looked at his remarkable wife. No one could understand why they felt the need to help her, but Joseph knew. He knew. He watched the struggle on the exhausted man's face, a struggle which did not end well, for them. Sorrow filled his harried features as he stepped slightly aside and pointed to the milling crowd behind him.

“I’m sorry, sir," his voice quiet yet firm. "As you can see there isn’t even room for me or my family. We have given up our own rooms to perfect strangers. After all, it’s-”

“I know,” Joseph interrupted, having heard it twice before. He smiled in an effort to soften his rudeness, fully recognizing the pain it caused the innkeeper to refuse them. “It’s tax time. Thank you.”

He turned and took two steps before the innkeeper called him back. "Sir, wait. I know of a place. It's not much."

"We'll take it. We'll take anything. Please." After a few briefs words Joseph strode to his wife, feeling a bit lighter than before. “He knows of a kahn nearby. We’ll be comfortable there.”

Mary nodded, her relief noticeable only by the relaxing of her tightened lips. The labor had been coming on for some time now, yet she hadn’t complained once. Hoping to make her even a little more comfortable he urged the donkey on.

*****

“Look there!” cried Seth.

Jacob turned his head in the direction of his young brother’s gaze. To his amazement high in the sky there was a star far brighter than any other.

“It can’t be,” he gasped.

Before he could wrap his mind around the meaning of the new star, seemingly out of nowhere a being appeared, one more glorious than any he’d ever witnessed before. The light emanating from the being shone so bright he shielded his eyes. The being spoke, it's voice quiet, yet piercing. Jacob felt each word press into the marrow of his bones.

“For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.” *

Breathtaking, extraordinary music flooded Jacob's senses. He blinked, and a whole host of heavenly beings appeared, all singing praises to the newborn. Every sense burned as though on fire, yet it was the sweetest sensation he'd ever felt.

Far too soon the vision vanished. For several seconds his body trembled with the memory. As though they were one and without a word, both Jacob and Seth turned once again toward the new star.

“Should we go?” asked Seth.

“Of course,” he replied.

The two brothers immediately set off to find the newborn. Along the way they met up with others who had witnessed the miraculous event. Not one word was uttered as they traveled, each one of their minds entirely filled with what they had seen.

It took some time, but at last they found the innkeeper.

~~~~~

Something about her face had left him oddly unsettled until another knock came to his door. Simon could not suppress the groan as he once again prepared to send the seekers away. "There's no room," he muttered, unwilling to look into another hopeless face, unable to wipe the memory of hers from his mind.

"Please, sir," a young man said, "we're not looking for a room."

That stopped him. His rich, brown eyes widened at the site of several shepherds on his doorstep. "Then what do you want?"

"My name is Jacob. There's a star, the new star. And there was an angel." Simon watched as the young man wiped a trembling hand over his face. "It is an impossible thing to ask, and I hardly expect you to know the answer. Do you know of a newborn baby, born this very night?"

Instantly he knew for whom they searched. He could have given them directions. It would have been easy enough. Simon truly surprised himself when he offered to show them the way.

It wasn't far to the khan. Though his footsteps were quick and sure a part of him wished the walk were endless. Then, perhaps, he wouldn't have to see her face again, no matter how much he wished to do just that. Too soon they arrived. He motioned to the shepherds, silently accepting their thanks, staying back as they entered.

A quiet murmur drifted to him, though he couldn't capture a word. At the sound of the infant’s cry his heart erupted into a pounding force inside his chest. Immediately he knew there was something different about this baby, special. Like the mother. Though he couldn’t find the words to express why, Simon knew seeing this child was far more important than anything else in the world.

As he crept to the opening of the kahn he heard the low laughter of the husband, and noticed the animals bordering the scene were strangely quiet, as though aware of the sacredness of their newest occupant. At first his view was blocked by one of the shepherds, the boy. Move, he inwardly commanded the ignorant youth. His thought quickly turned to a plea. Please, move.

How he desperately wanted – no, needed – to see this child.

As though his thoughts had been heard, the young man knelt, as did his brothers, giving the innkeeper full view of the tiny baby, and Simon’s heart was changed.

~~~~~

Millions of people for thousands of years have gathered in churches around the world to honor the Lord Jesus Christ.

Yet none could possibly shine a light to the simple scene in a stable where a mother, a father, and a few shepherds knelt to worship the newborn king.

* Luke 2:11-12