Joseph's Lullaby
"Go to sleep, my son…"
His son. Joseph couldn't believe it, but as he sat there, the infant cradled in his arms, it was hard not to. A few months ago he was going to divorce his wife Mary quietly because he thought she had been with someone else, resulting in her pregnancy. But the angel had come to him in a dream, explaining Mary was indeed telling the truth.
He peeked over at Mary, who looked radiant in her blue veil. She lay atop the hay, sleeping soundly, a small lamb next to her, almost as if purposely there to keep her warm. He looked out into the dark night, that bright star still shining in the sky like it had when Jesus first had been born only a short while ago. The three kings who had visited—bring with them treasures—had left, as had the shepherds. It was just Mary, Joseph, and Jesus in the stable, along with the numerous different animals surrounding them.
It was late, surely. Joseph should have been asleep many hours ago, as he was incredibly tired. But it was cold, and how could he sleep with the Son of God in his arms? Sure, he could lay him in the clean feeding trough he had positioned near them earlier, but why would he want to lay this baby down? He wanted to hold him forever and stare into his sweet face. The face of the Son of God.
Who was he, that the Son of God should be called his son? He was a carpenter. He worked hard, day in and day out, but he was nothing special, and yet God had chosen him to be his son's foster father.
Oh, his son had such a long road ahead of him. Joseph knew that. He knew the struggles that would be coming for his child. Not in detail, but why else would God send his Son, if he wasn't going to go through hardships while here?
But as Joseph sat there—Mary sleeping beside him, breathing softly—and looked into that baby's face, he wanted all the future to go away. He wanted this moment right here to last forever. He had a family. A wife and a child. Nothing else mattered. Not Herod and his taxes. Not the fact that they were forced to stay outside in a stable. Nothing mattered but this moment right here.
Jesus slept. Jesus. Emmanuel. God with us. He was holding the Son of God in his arms, and was given the most wonderful gift of being able to call him his own—for the time being, that is. Maybe Jesus would only be his son for fifteen years, or thirty years. Joseph didn't know. But at this moment right here? Jesus was his. He was able to be called "father". He was a father. He would grow up with a son and wife in his home, and teach Jesus how to walk and talk, and work in his carpentry business.
Oh, he understood. He understood that this was the Glory of Heaven sleeping in his arms. He understood this was the King of Kings. The true Son of God.
But as for just this moment, he wished to call Jesus his very own. Did this baby understand the weight of his glory? Did he understand the price of it all? Or did the Father above guard those truths from him, so that he could sleep peacefully in Joseph's arms tonight?
The world can wait for one more moment…
Jesus would be saving the world soon enough. He would be saving his people. Saving him.
Oh, but Lord…
Could this baby have one night where he slept peacefully before that had to happen? Could he, just for one night, be Joseph's?
The child in his arms began to fuss, so Joseph quietly shushed him, then began to speak aloud to this baby. His son's eyes opened, and Joseph stared into them. He was so beautiful. His son was so beautiful. "Sleep, my child. You have such a long life ahead of you. A difficult life, I am sure. But please, dear Child of mine, sleep tight this night."
Baby Jesus slowly closed his eyes, cooing softly as Joseph stroked his cheek. A tear slipped down Joseph's face, to which he would have wiped it away had he not been holding the King of the World in his arms.