If you were around two and a bit years ago, this might sound a little familiar. I have permission to edit, rework, and post under this name from the original author.
Joseph hovered by the door, anxious to close it before the cold clawed its way back inside but too polite to leave his guests to the cold's mercy without one last warm goodbye. "See you, Amos ... No, we understand entirely, can't keep sheep waiting ... Good night, sirs. You've been more than generous – we can't possibly thank you. Please keep safe on your journey home." Especially not those guests.
Finally the wooden snib on the door thunked shut and he returned to the tiny fire that had been made on a patch of floor carefully cleared of hay. Close by, Mary knelt over the feed trough, cooing gently. She looked up and caught his eye.
"So…"
"So."
She bit her lip in the awkward silence that followed the departure of so many guests. "What do we do now?"
"Dunno."
Mary carefully pulled out some of the trough's straw so it wouldn't disturb the occupant. Joseph made a great show of placing it in the fire.
"The innkeeper's not going to be happy; all his hay trodden on" she remarked.
"'Spose it's what he gets for putting people in his stable."
They smiled faintly at each other, and the silence grew louder. Joseph stole a look at the baby in the manger. "Cute kid."
"Yeah…" Mary glanced sideways at her husband. "I know it's technically impossible but I think he has your eyes."
Their hands reached for one another, and they watched, in now peaceful silence, the minute, miraculous breaths, in and out.
"We should be getting on to Egypt soon," he sighed.
"Will the donkey last?"
"Should do. Poor thing. He had a hard time with such a heavy load."
"Oh, get away." She shoved him gently. He stuck out his tongue and she giggled. The young couple tousled a bit until Joseph hit his elbow on the small glittery pile next to the trough. They stared in suddenly remembered awe, him absent-mindedly rubbing his funny bone.
"They were old dears, weren't they? A bit up in the clouds but generous to a fault – and I don't mean to seem ungrateful," Mary added anxiously, "but we can't take these with us to Egypt. We put one foot on the road carrying gold, frankincense and myrrh and we'll be robbed before you can say Ezekiel's your uncle!"
"I'll call in a couple of favours from some guys I know. They'll change it into something more practical." Joseph raised her fingers to his lips soothingly.
The gold seemed to take his comment as an indication to shine a just little more brightly. The new parents caught each other's eye.
"I 'spose, the gold," Joseph began doubtfully. "They weren't expecting us to … put it away or something. They were expecting us to, you know, use it. For the good of the new born king!"
"Oh, of course. I think so. I mean, how else are we going to go on in Egypt? No family or friends – we need something to live on while you find work. So yes, of course," Mary hurriedly nodded, "good of the new born king."
They exchanged a slightly conspiratorial look that Joseph broke to beam at their little bundle of joy, and hope, and salvation.
"My son, the King." He leaned over to smooth the little patch of fluffy down that crowned the baby's head and stoke one chubby, cherubic cheek. "Did you hear what the shepherds said? It was getting late; I wasn't sure you weren't asleep. Angels appeared and said 'Don't be afraid–"
"You know," interrupted Mary, in a voice that her husband, though very new, was coming to recognise well. "They say that to everyone, but I was feeling so sick in the morning for no seeming reason that I was glad when an angel of the Lord appeared to clear the matter up."
"Mary," Joseph called her back, and would have waved his hand in front of eyes that were miles away but that his finger was caught by a strong albeit tiny fist.
"Oh." She returned with an almost audible thump, and plastered a look of contrite interest on her face. "Sorry, Jo. Please, do go on."
Joseph grinned, kissed her cheek and continued. "The angel told them, 'Don't be afraid. This very day in David's town your saviour was born – Christ the Lord!'" He gazed in wonder at the tiny fingers that held his own. "That's him! He'll save us from our Roman oppressors!"
After an infinitesimal eternal pause, Mary began shaking her head. "No, that's not what the angel said at all."
"Yes, it is! Amos said–"
She turned on him, eyes hard and jaw set. "I don't care what Amos said. Gabriel, an angel sent by Hashem from heaven, said that he would save us from our sins!"
"Sins we commit because the Romans oppress us," explained Joseph exuberantly.
"No!"
"Yes! Come on, Mary. Our son, he'll be a hero!"
"No!" she cried snatching the baby away from him, jumping to her feet. The baby wriggled in his sleep, whimpering and almost waking. Instantly, Mary's world shrunk to contain only the small person in her arms but as soon as he was settled, she resumed in a furious undertone. "No, I forbid it. Heroes are against the natural order of things. They say the fittest survive; how is the fittest supposed to survive if he puts himself into the position where he is most likely to get himself killed?"
"But Mary," Joseph stood up too, arms outstretched in patient, passionate persuasion. "They've bled us white, the bastards! They've taken everything we had. And not just from us! From our fathers and our father's fathers. Foisted upon us a half-Jewish pretense of a king, wholly under the thumb and influence of Rome! What good have they ever done the people of Israel?"
"You forget we now have aqueducts, roads, irrigation, new medicines. And the brought peace, a strained and not always comfortable peace but isn't it better, always better, than a bloody war?" She glanced down at the precious one she held in her arms. "I would prefer a live son to a dead hero any day."
"What makes you think he'd die?" Joseph scoffed.
"Oh, please! Anyone who fights the Romans dies."
"But this isn't anyone! This is Immanuel: he can and will save us. Would you trust me, woman!"
"What, like you trusted me?"
They never mentioned that time between angels. After Gabriel but before the second.
"You don't mean that," Joseph said at last.
Mary sighed a little. "You're right, I don't. But I still don't think..."
His arms came to rest around her, holding her close with the baby between them. "This is Hashem's son. Hashem didn't send his only begotten son into the world to die. He's going to be called Wonderful Counsellor, Prince of Peace. Mary, he is the Messiah; Hashem wouldn't just let him die."
"I know, but…"
"But what?" he coaxed.
"That makes sense, it's just…" Mary peeked over her son's head, to look at the gifts. Treasures of incredible wealth stacked in an incongruously untidy pile at the foot of a manger where already the donkey had snuck back to munch.
Joseph followed her gaze then returned to her face, understanding immediately. "The myrrh?"
She nodded tersely and tried to cuddle closer to her husband.
"It probably means nothing. It's just an expensive gift from some old men with no idea what to bring and too much money to throw around."
Mary sniffled and tried to smile. "But burial oil? For a little baby? They're wise men, Joseph, what if they know something we don't?"
"Hashem won't let anything happen." Joseph kissed her forehead and their son's. "We should leave soon; it's a long way to Egypt. Are you packed?" he murmured after a pause.
"I think I'd like to just sit quietly for a moment."
"Okay. We can do that too."