The Tower of the Flock, Part 4
Mary’s story
I cradled my precious baby, the Son of God. Soft, sweet cheeks, perfect little mouth, wispy dark curls. His belly full, he slept like a lamb.
Shortly after Joseph brought me to this stable in the base of the watchtower, his aunt Shlomit bustled in. Poking her finger into his chest, she clucked her tongue. Her chin waggled as she upbraided him. “A stable? You brought your wife to a stable to give birth? I couldn’t believe my old eyes when I saw you leading her out here to a. . . This is where animals sleep.”
And yet it was cleaner, quieter, and smelled better than her house. There was no place I’d rather be.
Poor Joseph. His head drooped, and he held up his hands to ward off another verbal assault. We’d had enough of those today. First, when we registered, the Roman census taker realized Joseph was the official Son of David, heir to David’s throne. He’d made a snide announcement, telling everyone in line to bow before their king. And then he spat in Joseph’s face. And my brave, noble husband did the only thing he could do. He stood there, immobile, waiting for the official to move on to his next victim.
When we arrived dusty and weary at his uncle’s home, we asked for a place to stay. The disgust on his uncle’s face cut a deep wound. Honorable Joseph. He made no defense. What could he say that his uncle would believe?
“Don’t bother asking anyone else,” Uncle Judas said. “There’s no room. Anywhere. Bethlehem is closed to you.”
Bethlehem is closed to you.
But my husband tried, anyway. For hours. And then he brought me here, where we were supposed to be all along. Once he remembered Micah’s prophecy, that the kingdom would come to Migdal Eder, the Tower of the Flock on the hill of the daughter of Zion, we knew this was where we needed to be.
But peace eluded us. Joseph sighed and said, “Dear Aunt Shlomit, I appreciate your concern. But this is where we will stay.”
The look she gave us made me feel tainted. I couldn’t blame her. I’d heard many stories about the special bond my husband had with his favorite aunt. And she thought I’d dishonored him. But when Joseph looked at me with such love and trust, I smiled through my tears.
“Mary will give birth soon. She can’t be moved. If you want to do something to help, Auntie, you could stay and see us through this. I don’t know what to do for her.”
Shlomit let out a raspy sigh before she readied the space with a practiced hand. “Joseph, it’s obvious you love her, and she loves you. So if you’re willing to look past this, I suppose I will, too. I hear they’re a little less strict up in Nazareth. It’s a good thing that’s where you’ll be living.”
Joseph worked his jaw. It was no use contradicting her.
When I moaned and leaned against the stable wall, they both turned to look at me. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a stable or a palace,” I said through gritted teeth, “this baby is coming.”
She’d watched us head for the tower, and then she’d gathered blankets and cushions and food and water and her bag of supplies, loaded them on her donkey, and come after us. She was a midwife, and she was going to do her duty, no matter what she thought of me. She was kind, competent, and unflappable.
In between my pains, I told her of my visit from the angel Gabriel. She started to soften, and then Joseph told her how an angel had appeared to him and said not to fear in taking me as his wife. By the time she placed Jesus in my arms, she, too, was calling him the Son of God.
Before I had time to be afraid, I held my baby in my arms. She’d cleaned him up, wrapped in swaddling cloths, and handed him to me. I breathed in his sweet baby smell and the scent of soft linens. They smelled freshly laundered with natron and lavender and hyssop. Of course our merciful God had prepared for his Son’s arrival.
Before she left, Shlomit arranged blankets in the stone trough to cradle my baby and keep him warm. I sang softly as I laid him down and tucked the blankets in around him.
My soul magnifies the Lord
My spirit rejoices in God my Savior
The Mighty One has done great things for me
Holy is His Name
Then I sat down by my husband, gazing at his handsome profile. The deep lines of worry etched around his eyes had smoothed out, and he slept peacefully, just like our son. I have received blessing upon blessing.
I closed my eyes to pray, but a sound outside caught my attention. Peering into the darkness, I saw two eyes shining back at me.
To be continued, Tobiah’s story . . .
-Photo credit Canva Pro
