FROM ONE FATHER TO ANOTHER

This isn’t the way I planned it, God. Not at all!  My child being born in a stable?  This isn’t the way I thought it would be.  A barn with sheep, donkeys, hay and straw?  My wife giving birth with only the stars and animals to hear her pain?  This isn’t at all what I imagined, or wanted for her.  No, I imagined family.  I imagined grandmothers. I imagined neighbors gathering outside the door and friends standing at my side. I imagined the house exploding with the first cry of  my baby, your son. Loud laughter, overwhelming excitement. That’s how I thought it would be. But now, who will celebrate with us?  The sheep?  The shepherds?  The stars? This doesn’t seem right. What kind of husband am I?  I provide nobody to help my wife with the birth.  No bed for her to lay in. Her pillow is a blanket from my donkey.

Did I miss something? Did I God?

When you sent the angel in my dream, and spoke of the son being born, this isn’t what I pictured. I imagined the temple, the priests, and the people gathered to watch. A parade! A banquet at least. I mean, this is the Messiah, your son! I would have thought this would take place in a palace, or at least at my own house. Out here what do I have? A tired mule, a stack of firewood, and a bunch of nasty animals watching. This is not the way I wanted it to be! Forgive me for asking but, is this how God enters the world?  The coming of the king, I’ve accepted? The questions people asked about the pregnancy, I can handle. The trip to Bethlehem, I can deal with. But why did his birth have to be in a stable? God!

Any minute now Mary will give birth. Not to a child, but to the Messiah. Not to an infant, but God. That’s what the angel said.  That’s what Mary believes. And God, my God, that’s what I was told and want to believe. Surely you can understand, it’s not easy.  It seems so … so … bizarre. I’m not used to such strange things happening.  God, I’m a carpenter. I make things fit. I square things up. I follow the lines that I measure out. I measure twice before I cut once. Surprises are not friends of a builder.  I like to know the plan.  I like to see the plan before I start. But this time I’m not the builder, am I?  This time I’m a tool.  A hammer in your hand. A nail between your fingers.  A chisel in your hands. This project is yours not mine. I guess it’s foolish to question you. Forgive my struggling.  Trust doesn’t come easy for me.  But you never said it would be easy did you? One final thing Father, the angel you sent, any chance you could send another?  If not an angel, maybe a person?  I don’t know anyone around here and some company would be nice. Maybe the innkeeper or a traveler?  Even a shepherd would do. I'm lonely God. 

And then all the sudden I felt your presence. You've been here all along. I heard you say: JOSEPH I AM HERE, DO NOT BE AFRAID. MY SON WILL BE HERE SOON.