Mary clasped a dust covered hand over her swollen abdomen as the donkey stumbled on a rock in the road. She clutched the beast’s coarse mane with her other hand to steady herself. The firm sphere of her stomach was hopelessly awkward and cumbersome these days, making it difficult to balance on the ground, let alone on a moving animal. Had it really only been nine months since she learned she would bare this child? It felt like she’d been pregnant for two years.
Mary rubbed small circles across the mound, feeling the child kicking in protest at the rough ride. Not much longer now, little one.
Joseph held the donkey by its lead rope, his wide shoulders set with determination. “We will reach Bethlehem by nightfall. I promise.” Every day, his handsome brow creased deeper and deeper in worry. Every few minutes he’d ask if she needed food, water, if she was hot, cold, comfortable, if she felt any pain. Mary fought back a smile. The dear man.
“Be it unto me according to your word.” When she’d spoken those words to the angel nine months ago, the oddest mixture of terror and peace had flooded her. She had known her life could never be the same, that her beloved Joseph would likely cast her off, that untold scorn would follow her every step. Yet, how could she say no to Yahweh? He had chosen her to carry the embodiment of His heavenly Glory in her womb. If He had chosen her for such a task, would He not also protect her?
Still, she had not expected Him to show such goodness. When Joseph said the angel appeared to him in a dream, said that he would still marry her and love this child as his own, she knew that Yahweh was with her indeed. Tears of gratitude had coated her cheeks. As long as she had Joseph, had someone on her side in the midst of this frightening task, she could bear it all.
As she predicted, scorn and ridicule did follow as soon as word of her pregnancy got out. All her childhood friends in Nazareth no longer wanted anything to do with her. A zonah they called her, when they thought she wasn’t paying attention. A harlot. Though she knew the truth, she could not help the humiliated blush that warmed her face when she overheard the spiteful whispers. And yet, through it all, Joseph had stayed at her side, never letting her face the wolves alone.
Not a day went by that she did not thank Heaven for her gentle and loving husband.
The Judaean sun sagged on the horizon. In a few hours, it would disappear behind the hills and they’d be left in darkness, forced to stop and make camp. Other than the nights they’d passed through and stayed in Shechem and Jericho, there had been nowhere but a field or olive grove in which to rest along this seven day journey. Mary’s back muscles twinged and she rubbed at them with her hand, stifling a groan that would only worry Joseph further. Could she handle another night of sleeping on the hard ground?
Another pain traveled through her. She sucked in a breath and held her stomach. It passed quickly. Probably nothing more than another muscle spasm.
The baby—Jesus, as the angel instructed Joseph to name Him—kicked again, his foot digging straight up into her ribs. She smiled. What a strange and wonderful thing to have a human being grow inside of you. The first time she’d ever felt Jesus move, it frightened her. Then she’d realized the source of the odd sensation and a wave of pure love filled her heart. It had become real then, the knowledge that she would soon be a mother, and not to just any baby, but to the Son of God.
Will I be a good mother? That question had haunted both her waking hours and her dreams. Her younger sister and only sibling was born when Mary was two years old, so she knew little about how to care for babies beyond what she could observe at a distance. A lump rose in her throat, the familiar pall of insecurity threatening to settle over her mind. Then Jesus moved within her again, his tiny fist pressing against the wall of her womb. An aura of peace covered her like a blanket.
All will be well. Do not fear, a still, small voice whispered to her heart.
“Are you well, motek?” Hearing the term of endearment from Joseph’s lips still felt so new and never failed to warm her heart.
“Yes. All is well.”
The next few hours trudged along, but at last, as the sun sank beyond their view, the rooftops of Bethlehem appeared in the distance. They hurried their pace over the last stretch of dusty road, eager to reach their destination at last.
They entered the town among a dense crowd of other weary travelers, the scent of dirt and manure heavy in the evening air. Donkeys brayed, carts rattled over ruts in the road, and children cried in protest of their hungry bellies.
Another pain wrapped around Mary’s middle, longer and sharper than the last. Perhaps if she stood, the pains would ease. “Help me down, Joseph. I need to walk for a while.”
Joseph lowered her from the donkey’s back, his touch as gentle as if he handled delicate pottery. “I won’t break,” she laughed, even as another twinge went through her.
“Just hold onto my hand, motek. I will find somewhere for us to stay, I promise.” He clasped her hand in his and pressed a swift kiss on her knuckles.
Joseph rapped on the door of the first inn they found. It swung open, revealing a tall man with a deep frown pulling at his bearded mouth. “We are full.”
“Shalom, sir. My wife, as you see, is with child.” Still holding her hand, he gestured to Mary.
“Yes, I do see. But did you not hear me? I said we are full.” The man crossed thick arms over an equally thick chest. “This census has our town overrun. You’ll be lucky to find any lodgings this night.”
Joseph’s shoulders visibly sagged. “I understand. Toda, sir.”
Without offering a “you’re welcome” in response to her husband’s thanks, the innkeeper shut the door with a thud. Another cramp seized Mary’s middle, even stronger than the others. She breathed deep and eased the air back through her nose. Oh, Yahweh, help me.
Joseph turned to her, optimism warring with discouragement in his brown eyes. “We will try again. Surely there is someone who can lodge us.”
A sharp, wracking pain gripped her. She clutched her stomach, doubling over. “Joseph.” He had let go of her hand, turning to look down the street in search of another possible resting place. She felt a strange popping sensation. Suddenly, fluid gushed from between her legs, soaking her tunic and the street. “Joseph!”
He whirled around. His eyes widened at the sight of her. “Mary, what—”
“Joseph,” she gasped. Her heart raced and she gripped the fabric covering her contracting stomach, the fluid still flowing from her womb. Not here. Not now! But it was happening, and it was completely out of her control.
She met her husband’s terrified gaze. “It’s time. He’s coming.”
Awesome!
Thank you!!
[…] In the Manger ~ Part 1: Mary December 1, 2019 […]