verything was ready. The house wasn’t big but still, it was well built, with a nice little garden graced by a tamarind tree.
I took special care with the furniture, for I am a carpenter--a good one at that. But I spent the most time on the cradle, carefully sawing, sanding, and shaping it. It was the best thing I had ever done--not good enough for a king, much less for the Son of God, but as good as I was capable of making it.
My close friends and family--those who understood, however imperfectly, that this Child was special to us even though the circumstances of His coming were unusual--were ready for the big celebration.
The midwife was scheduled. Mary laughed at me for thinking I could schedule such an event. Nevertheless, Mary would have the best care I could give her. Jesus, Child of my heart, if not of my loins, would be born in as much comfort as I could arrange.
Then the unthinkable happened. Word came that Caesar had ordered a census. My plans suddenly and irrevocably dissolved into sawdust at my feet. We had to go to Bethlehem, the home of my ancestors, to register.
I knew no one there. It was a poor place from which my family had long since escaped to look for better opportunities.
No midwife, no friends, or family with whom to celebrate the birth, no house, no cradle. Yahweh, couldn’t you have prevented this from happening?
I didn’t know then how bad this trip to Bethlehem would be. A cave. Animals. A rough feed box filled with straw. Strangers, from even more humble circumstances than mine, as guests. Yahweh, couldn’t you have done better by your own Son?
But, there was worse to come. After the crowds had left Bethlehem to return to their homes, I found a small house for us. It was a vast improvement on the cave, but we were to know little peace there. After the visit of the men from the east, we had to run for our lives--to Egypt of all places.
Herod threatened the life of our little Lord. Egypt? Yahweh, why Egypt? Could you not have held back one king’s hand to allow the King of kings to play in His own backyard in safety?
I had moments when “why?” was the only question I seemed to be able to ask. Yahweh, why did you entrust a perfect Son to imperfect parents? It’s hard enough to tell your child that you are sorry for some stupid mistake when he has his own imperfections, but much more difficult to do when that child is perfect, as Jesus was. We felt so inadequate. But His love and forgiveness were unconditional then, as they are now.
Much later, around the time we “lost” Jesus in the Temple, I finally realized Who was looking after whom. Who was I, Joseph, carpenter and caretaker of the Divine, to think, however prepared I was, that I could look after Immanuel, “God with us” better than His true Father could?
My last question: Yahweh, why did it take me so long to figure out that you never fail to keep the promises you have made, even when I don’t understand the process surrounding their fulfillment?
To you, who follow me in celebrating the coming of the Christ child; remember the privilege that is yours to have God with you. Don’t be distracted by the plans that go astray and seem to contribute nothing to the journey. While God is with you, HIS perfect plans will always be completed. Enjoy His presence this Christmas and always, and leave the rest to Him.
-Joseph