Come and See

Hey y'all! It's been a while! I'm just going to keep it short and sweet. I love my Savior. I've come to really know him this semester, not just as a being I know about, a character in a Bible story, but as my brother, as my Savior. I've gotten closer to Jesus Christ than I ever thought possible, and I am so grateful for that.

I've also come to learn much more about Mary, about the role she played and about who she was as a person. I've tried to really put myself in her shoes, to try to understand what kind of a woman she must have been to go through everything she did so faithfully, so willing to submit to the Father and to obey His word. She was an amazing example of everything a mother should be, and I'm grateful for the chance I've had to learn more about her as well.

As part of a semester-long project in my New Testament class, I wrote 15 creative writing pieces focused on the women of the Gospels, and this piece is one I wrote on the Nativity story, and I hope it can bring a bit of the true spirit of Christmas to you during this special time of year!

May we all have the confidence to always share our love for and faith in our Savior Jesus Christ.

http://jenedypaigepaintings.blogspot.com/2013/12/little-lamb.html  - I love this painting and the research she did to try and portray this accurately!

Come and See

The evening was racing towards that deep blue that precedes the black of night, the air swarthy from a tiresome day of hot sun. Dust swirled at the edges of buildings, inns cacophonous with shouts and snores, stables mellow with animal breaths and the sound of shifting hooves in the quietly crackling hay. A sheep bleated meekly from a far off hilltop, its caretaker standing watch, angelic in stance and manner despite the dusty worn robes, the humble staff, the face creased with years of diligently guarding animals he had come to love as children.

A man, fear and determination solidified in his deep eyes, hurriedly led a young donkey through the time-saturated streets, the dying light pressing in from each wall as he pounded on first one inn door, then another. His wife sat in quiet compliance upon the animal, her increasingly labored breath the only sign of the pain and fear within. She rested one hand on her expanded stomach, her lips moving quickly in a constant prayer. Her eyes were far away, her focus not on things of this world. Her gentle heart beat with the rhythm of consistently renewed faith, her hands trembling slightly, but her whispers never stuttering. The man was in a fervent discussion with an innkeeper, gesturing pleadingly to his wife, who was now breathing quite laboriously, and her lips stilled for but a moment as she looked up, the godly light from her eyes spanning the dusty air to pierce the innkeeper’s heart.

A cow bawled and stamped its hooves against the worn stone stable floor, its cry of surprise lost in the woman’s cry of pain. Her husband was carrying her now, and she clung to him, her hand clenching and unclenching the fabric of his robe, her whispered prayer interjected with sharp intakes of breath. The man laid her down gently in a pile of straw, the hands that had diligently built a strong house for his family now hurriedly building a makeshift home in the hay. The beasts were restless, their eyes shifting in discomfort at the noise, at the newness. Their hooves stirred the hay.

The night sky hung in anticipation; the stars burned, keen and expectant; the sun on the other side of the world radiated the glad tidings to the mortals below. A pure infant cry broke through the claustral air, and the animals ceased their agitated shuffling. The cow turned its wide black eye to gaze at the man and the baby held gingerly in his arms, its hooves still, its breathing steady. The woman looked on in fatigued elation, wonder lighting her face as she took the child and wrapped him gently in cloth. The man reached behind him with labor-worn hands and grabbed a simple manger, setting it next to the gentle new mother. She kissed the top of her son’s head and laid the now quiet child to rest in the makeshift bed.

The selfless sentinels stood on the hilltop, quietly taking account of each in their flock. The night stretched long, and the shepherds leaned into their staffs, the lulling air conjuring memories of lullabies and coaxing sweet soft bleats from the pure lambs as they nestled in next to their mothers. Light flooded the fields, and the men looked up as the night sky ruptured, heaven itself pouring onto the worn wooden staffs, the guardians’ alarmed faces, the radiant lambs’ wool. Joy shone through the dust, illuminated in the face of the messenger, streaming from the eyes of the humble.

The animals slept, swaying slightly on their feet. Nestled softly against his mother’s breast, the child did not make a sound, but gazed up with wide, wise eyes. The man brushed straw and dust from a blanket and tenderly draped it around his wife’s shoulders. She looked up gratefully, weary eyelids drooping, warm heart overflowing. The hushed dust stirred, creeping into the stable and swirling the straw, announcing the arrival of a few men, time-worn staffs held tightly in their gentle hands. They drew close, now standing just outside the stable door, their eyes bright with something that looked like starlight. Alert now, the woman subconsciously clutched her child closer, but a whisper of love reached her heart, and she looked up at her husband, who was gazing not at the visitors, but at the pure infant. He nodded, and the woman smiled, first at him, then at her son. She then looked up at the shepherds, still standing reserved just outside the door, and beckoned to them.

“Come and see,” she said, more breath than words, “He is for all mankind.”