The Gift of Love

Today’s blog post is an imaginative rendering of what might have gone on in the stable the night that Christ was born. I have not found it written anywhere and it is entirely my own thoughts on what might have been true.

“And she brought forth her first-born son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn” (Luke 2:7).

The stable was dark that night except for the soft glow of an oil lamp that Mary had tucked in among their belongings, and except for the strange, golden reflection of some unusual light that seemed to come from the night sky itself. Mary had never seen anything like it. The strangest part was that she wasn’t frightened, not by the unearthly illumination, not by being away from her family and the dear, familiar furnishings of her home. Instead of fear, she felt a deep contentment and a bubbling sort of joy. She was tired, of course, but looking at her beautiful baby made her forget her weariness. Her son’s dark eyes watched her as if they shared a secret, just the two of them. His incredibly perfect, small, pink fists peeped out of those soft bands of cloth she had wrapped around him. She smoothed back a black tendril of hair from his forehead. Did he smile?

Mary glanced up at Joseph who knelt beside her, gazing at her baby with as much amazement as she was feeling. Dear, strong Joseph. He would always take care of them.

Even the cattle were quiet,  their breath warming the brisk air. It seemed to Mary that the whole universe had stopped and time stood still. Everyone in the stable and in Heaven above were watching. Wonderment wrapped them all–that and a deep, peaceful, exciting stirring of something that came from the tiny boy looking at her with such trust. No words could express the bond between Heaven and earth that night. Mary breathed a prayer of thankfulness as she felt the deepest emotion God had ever given–the gift of a mother’s love.