Dec 30, 2010

The Man Behind the Manger


Joe

These last three months have been torture, but Marie's memory keeps me holding on. My heart aches with longing for my love, my sweet Mary. She's coming back home today! I can't begin to describe how glad I am that I can come to pick her up and see her once more. . . and our wedding is so soon! We're going straight from the airport o pick out my tux, and tomorrow we'll be looking for a florist for our big day. All the pretty little preparations that will make our day even more flawless and wonderful. I can't wait to see her. I hope she likes her present that I picked out for her. . .

I drive quickly and steadily to the airport, ten minutes before her plane lands. In the busy, bustling terminal, I sit in a chair and rake rake my fingers through my hair nervously. That makes me smile a little; she's always made fun of the way I do that to my hair when I get anxious. It's how she knew I was about to propose.

I wonder if I'll recognize her? Did she get a tan at her cousin's place these last few weeks? Is she as excited as I am for her homecoming? I laugh a little at myself. How can she not be? We've written for months about how we couldn't wait for our engagement, our matrimony, our wedding night. Both of us have saved everything for each other, even our first kiss : to be shared at the altar. I love her, so very much. My beautiful bride.

Passengers start to file into the few empty spaces around me; her plane has unloaded. I search the crowd from my chair, knowing that if I stand I'll end up looking right over her head. I can't find her anywhere. Then, a tap on my shoulder- I turn around to look right into her eyes. I stand up and embrace her, drinking her n with my hug and my eyes. I pull apart to look at her. Her gentle face. Her curly hair. Her small frame.

Wait - round frame. Round stomach. No. It can't be. . .

She seizes the look on my face," Yes," her words slip from a throat tight with tears," I'm pregnant, Joseph."

I crumple into a chair like a man that's been run through with a sword. My Mary is no longer mine. Someone has been holding her, touching her, kissing her. How? How else? What can I do? What can I say? I look into her eyes, and hear sobs. She's not crying; these cries are my own. Words slip in whispers out of my mouth.

"How could you?" I choke from the inner workings of my heart," How could you?"

"God," she whispers," He placed in me the Messiah."


In church, we sing and read about Mary, the manger, and shepherds seeing a star. Wise men journey from the East, and King Herod loses his cool. Why does no one seem to remember Joseph in all of this: the man standing behind the manger, looking into the eyes of a boy who is not his son, trusting in God and in his virgin betrothed, whom he has yet to marry? That it some crazy faith.

As this Holiday Season draws to a close, a wish you a happy New Year and hope that in yourself you may find a miraculous faith. God could always use another Joseph.

3 comments:

  1. beautiful post!i love how you modernized that scene! did you write that yourself? Can't wait to read your next post!

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  2. Wow, that was amazing! And yes, it is so good to remember Jospeh as he is often forgotten though his pain was undoubtably real too.

    Elizabeth
    (just found your blog and I really like what I see so far.)

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  3. Aww, Thanks! Yeah, I wrote that by myself. I was just thinking about how Joeseph is often forgotten, and I think he had it even rougher than Mary at times. Then our church Youth Group had a lesson taught about him and I was like, "Okay God, Let's write a blog post." :)

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