The Innkeeper's Tale

Who was knocking on his door this late at night? It was piercing cold outside, pitch black, and way past the appropriate time that anyone should still be out. Another traveler, probably. Looking for a place to stay.

The innkeeper looked around his small house, leaving his eyes to rest on each individual sleeping on the floor, and grumbled. It was far too crowded in here. People were taking up the floor. There wasn't an inch of room to even be seen. The knocking persisted, frantically, and he thought to ignore it, as how was he supposed to cross over all the sleeping people? Only to tell the traveler that no, he could not stay, as there was no room (as he had told the other ten who had come before…)? It wasn't worth it. He just wanted to stay in the kitchen, drinking his wine, and shut out the world. It was exhausting being an innkeeper, especially since Herod had ordered the taxation rule.

But he was making good money—or at least, he was supposed to. Half the people would probably sneak out early morning before they would pay him what they fully owed.

The knocking continued, this time, shouting followed. "Help! Help! Help me, please!"

What was it now? Grumbling, he slammed his drink down and hurried to the door, tripping over those sleeping in his path.

He grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door open aggressively, preparing himself to see a young man standing there with nothing but a bag of money, ready to bribe him for a night to stay.

But what he saw instead shocked him.

A girl. Just a girl, being carried in the arms of her man. She was pregnant—clearly. It appeared she was already in labor, and needed a place to give birth this instant. The man wobbled in place, almost as if ready to collapse from fatigue and worry. He looked the innkeeper in the eye, and begged him, "Please, Sir, I ask you for a place to stay. My wife is in pain. There is nowhere else to go."

The woman—girl, really—cried out in pain, grabbing her stomach. She looked into her husband's eyes and whispered, "Joseph, please…"

Joseph stared back at the innkeeper, his eyes begging.

But there was no room! He had nothing. The innkeeper wanted to help—he truly did—but he had no room in his inn for them. Not for one person, much less two people who would soon become three. He had no room for a woman in labor. He had no place for her to stay at all (except his room, but that was off limits as that was his room).

"I'm sorry. I cannot help you…" he said, as he prepared to close the door.

Joseph stopped him, however. He moved closer and place his hand on the wooden door, preventing it from closing. He did this, all while managing to still cradle his pregnant wife. The man was strong and determined.

"Please! We have looked everywhere else. This is the last inn. We have nowhere. It is cold. It is dark. My wife is…" he glanced down at her and removed his hand from the door. Joseph stroked his wife's face. Sweat dripped from her temple, and she writhed in pain and cried out once more. The husband looked up at the innkeeper again, tears pooling in his eyes. "We have nowhere."

The innkeeper wanted to help, but he absolutely could not. "I have nowhere. I apologize, but you must find somewhere else to stay."

And with that, he closed the door.

He stood there, back pressed against the wall. The innkeeper could still sense the husband and wife were behind him. Then, he heard the steps of footprints walking away slowly. Quietly. Disappointed footsteps. Then, another cry of pain.

The innkeeper tried the sight of the two out of his mind. If had room, he would have helped—no doubt. But there was nowhere. And, the couple looked poor. They probably would not be able to pay him for his time. And how long would a newborn infant have to stay here? He didn't want to have a baby in his inn. That would scare his other customers away, and he would lose money.

And yet, he turned to look out his window, and was shocked at what he saw.

Joseph, sitting on the ground—in the middle of the street—a short distance away from his inn. His wife was sitting with him, and Joseph was wrapping his body around his wife. Comforting her, hugging her, and whispering words of encouragement to her as she sat there, whimpering and fighting back tears. Joseph stroked his wife's long hair and kissed her brow.

And they just sat there. In the middle of the street. In the piercing cold. While it was oh so dark outside. As if they were accepting their fate because they had nowhere else to go. So where would they stay but right there?

The innkeeper couldn't bear the sight anymore. A thought came to him, and he rushed out the door, not even closing it behind him.

He hurried to the couple, out of breath from the short distance he had run. Joseph looked up at him, his eyes filled with tears and worry and sadness.

"I have a place," the innkeeper said. "It is not much, but it is something. Follow me."

The woman looked at her husband, who looked at her. He quickly moved to pick her up as the innkeeper hurried off to his destination.

A stable. That's what he had, and that's what they would get. It wasn't much. Small. Built in the hole of a cave a short distance away from his inn. There was a cow and some sheep and a mule. An abundance of straw littered the ground, enough to keep the animals warm for these cold nights.

"Here. This. This is what I have. You can have it for this night." The innkeeper turned towards Joseph, who cradled a crying Mary. He nodded quickly and whispered, "Thank you," before rushing inside and placing his wife down.

The innkeeper nodded, then turned to leave, hurrying back to his inn, his fingers already numb with cold. Behind him, he could hear the cries of a soon mother-to-be.