For generation, my husband's family have been keepers of an inn here in Bethlehem. And now, together, we do the same. Ours is a small inn-humble and unpretentious; nevertheless, it is as clean as we can make it. It is not a large town, this Bethlehem of Judea, endeared to Jewish hearts as the birthplace of David and that of the prospective Messiah.
When came the time of the tax rolls, the proclamation of Caesar Augustus that there shall be a taxing, sleepy Bethlehem was not itself. It's quiet streets were choked with dust and filled with the voices of tired, hurrying people. Though our inn was filled to the rafters, I escaped for a moment to my yard. I stood, gazing down the street, studying the faces. I saw a donkey being led by a strong young man. He was obviously fatigued and yet, different somehow. There was pride in that face. And dignity. He was a poor man and yet, I have seen passing my door great men of the world, with much less nobility. And then I saw the face of the young woman riding the donkey, exhausted and great with child. If the man leading the animal had about him an air of royalty, this surely was a queen. Her face was drawn with fatigue and her simple robes. powdered with a light fine dust, and yet there was no trace of discontent, no shadow of complaint, no faint inclination to murmur. Slowly they came closer and stopped before me. Quietly the young man asked for lodging and my heart fell. The couple drew from me a desire to comfort and serve. I knew that within that hot, crowded, noisy and odorous inn there was no room, no single corner fit for the birth of a child--any child--especially this child. My mind raced. My own room? Impossible. It was crowded already with my own children and members of my family that had come to pay that same tax. The sheds behind the inn? No. But, there was a stable, the shelter we kept for our animals in the recesses of the hills behind the inn. There would be clean sweet straw, open areas to admit freshness and light, but most of all, peace and privacy. And so it was to a humble stable I led them-these two extraordinary young people. I then left them to rest and returned to my work at the inn.
Evening came, and following it, the night. That night. The night foretold for centuries, hoped for. Prayed for. For on that night made glorious by a burning and brilliant star was born in my stable-the son of God, the redeemer of all mankind, the Savior of the world, Jesus Christ. I saw him, lying still and small, in a common manger. I stood by while humble shepherds bore witness that it was indeed the Messiah. I stood in the shadows and gazed at the radiance of his person, the indescribable look of joy, peace, and love that transfigured the face if his mother and that of Joseph. I was there. I saw him.
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