My mom wrote this around Christmas, and I only just now had a chance to put it up. I hope you like it!
Who Shepherds the Shepherds?
It is cold out here, while I watch the flock. My son sleeps nearby, huddled under his cloak. Father is back at the house, too old to be out in the cold on a night like tonight.
A crisp, clear night. I remember my first nights out here, it seems so long ago, huddled under my cloak, curled up next to my father, trying to stay awake.
I dreamed the flock belonged to me, that mine were the finest sheep, the softest, whitest fleeces. Fit for the King, or the priests. The lambs pure, the rams unmarked.
Night after night, I sat out here, with my father, and the flock.
Mother would bring us bread, and warm broth on the cold nights, before she went to bed.
One night, Naomi came with mother. She made the soup, and the sweet honey bread that has become my favorite. And our sweet love has brought us our beautiful Joshua, sleeping here with me tonight.
How I wish I had more for him. It doesn't seem to be enough, just to keep him warm and fed. But most nights that's all I can manage. The taxes, the wolves, the losses during lambing. It seems there's no peace.
And now it's all up to me. Father's eyes aren't what they used to be, and sometimes his mind wanders, where, I do not know. As much as he wants to help, I end up searching for his lost sheep as much as those that wander off under Joshua's inattentive eye.
Naomi is a good wife. She takes good care of Mother and Father, and I know it can't be easy. Mother means well, but she and Naomi have always had different ways to do things. It's hard for two women to run one household.
"Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.
For today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Messiah and Lord.
And this will be a sign for you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger."
Glory to God in the Highest
And on earth, peace to those on whom his favor rests.
That's what the angel said.
I woke Joshua and we gathered the flock into the pen, and went to
Bethlehem. And we found the babe, just as the angel said.
A normal babe, beautiful, sleeping peacefully, just like Joshua when he was born. His parents were poor, and tired. They had come a long way for the census and had less than we did. Not even a room at the inn.
But, even with so little, they had a peace that I could feel, but will never understand. A peace I long for.
The Messiah? This babe will be our salvation? Chances are this babe won't even survive to raise a sword, to challenge the Romans, to free us from our suffering. Surely his parents must know that. But they seem so sure of things, not worried like Naomi and I were when we first held our blessed Joshua.
Bur the angels didn't sing for Joshua. And now there is a new star, which seems to hang over that humble stable, like a beacon, drawing us to the child.
There's something special about this child. When I was with him, it didn't matter that I'm only a poor shepherd, son of a poor shepherd and father of a poor shepherd-to-be.
I am a poor shepherd, with more than just my sheep to tend. But I'm a good shepherd. I know my sheep and they know me and trust me. And Joshua shall be a good shepherd too.
The babe's father is a carpenter. That's good. This baby, Jesus, will grow up to be a fine carpenter. There is dignity in the simple work. I don't know how a simple carpenter will save us all, but now I have hope - hope that even if things don't get better, I will.
I will be a good shepherd, and raise Joshua to tend the flock and care for our lambs. And the babe, Jesus, will be a good carpenter, and build hope with his hands.
Maybe it's hope that is our salvation.
Whaddaya say? Is she a good writer or what?