Dearest Lord and Father:
You know me. You chose me (an act that still mystifies, but I accept.)
I am not prone to complain, so will you forgive me, please,
this ungrateful word.
To make my sin of complaint less egregious, let me first thank You, my Father
for the incomparable gift of Yourself, Your Son, the sweet child that even now
lies against my breast, sleeping, sweating beneath the woolen blanket.,
You know us mothers, of course. I felt a chill in the desert breeze, so I wrapped him to keep him warm. Sweaters and coats, blankets and hats, all invented for children by their mothers who, alone, feel the cold.
I reach down, and push the dampened curls off of his forehead, dabbing the beads
of moisture from his face with the sleeve of the tunic beneath my halug. Grateful for its warmth, I contemplate adding my cloak as evening approaches.
For this child of my heart, I praise You, thank You; for Joseph who stands by me,
who knows the way, whose calloused hands and strong arms hold me and his
son with such gentleness and care; protection. I am blessed beyond measure.
Oh! And for the star-spangled night – light enough even without the moon,
I thank You. For all the help from strangers along the way, from then to now,
offering solace, aid; an extra piece of bread,
a cup of warm goat’s milk. You have showered down your favors, even on me.
But I shiver now, remembering the sight of three great men. Surely each a
magus, draped in finest linen, and silk of many colors, their heads crowned in
bands of indigo, red. purple cloth entwined in coronets of purest gold.
I watched the three through the window of our upper room. Dismounting,
from dusty yet beautifully adorned camels, they walked to the threshold; knocked.
Joseph, below stairs, planing wood, ceased and I heard him open the door.
Not a word from him, so I wondered; forgive me, I worried. Then
the sound of hushed voices, the soft clump of sandals on sawdust, the
creak of the stairs. Pale-faced Joseph stepped through the door, stumbled.
Behind him, the three men, kings, magicians; I knew not what to call them,
but my heart pounded furiously against my breast, enough to wake the child.
He lifted his head, and smiled at the royal trio who now lay prostrate on the floor.
Rising slowly to face little Yeshua, his father, and me, they held out gifts.
Gifts not for a king, they told us, but gifts for The King. The King Who is
Himself the greater gift, incomparable to gold, frankincense, myrrh.
Our neighbors, witness to the site no maggid could have dreamed,
crowded into our simple make-shift house. All had to see more,
all closed in, some to steal a touch of the rich fabric, to gaze at such gifts.
I am grateful, oh my Father. Forgive that my eyes have strayed from
Your Glory – the Glory I hold in my arms, the loving man at my side, the
wealth that lies at my feet; but I see in dismay out the window of the room,
Our visitors had seen their camels watered and fed before they came to visit.
Thoughtful, not to demand provisions from us, yet still I fret. Forgive me,
please, forgive that I complain in the midst of such fortune.
I cannot muster any gratitude nor joy that I must clean the street below.
Yet, I will sing unto the Lord as long as I live; I will sing praise to my God
while I have my being. My meditation of Him shall be sweet. I will be glad,
I will be glad in the Lord. Even in the aftermath of camels, I will try.
~ Selah ~
No irreverence intended here, my Gentle Readers! This is just an image that came to my mind on an idle afternoon. I guess it’s because my insomnia room looks like fed and watered camels decided to camp out for a while there.
halug – a dress worn by women of ancient times under a cloak
maggid – a story-teller from biblical times.
I wish you all enough. . .