Wednesday, December 15

Whispers in the Chaos, Pt. II

My mind travels to a lonely, dirt road. A young woman, her belly swollen with life limps along, her back aching with each step.  Her fiance walks beside her and she looks into his face, his brow furrowed with concern as he watches her. The night air is clear, but her mind is clouded, fogged with worry: will they make it in time? Has He prepared a place for them?  Where will they go?  A sharp kick in her rib brings her mind  back to the present, the rocks turning beneath her feet, the wind blowing against her face and on the breeze she hears the faintest voice:  Be still.
Fra Angelico. The Anunciation
They top the hill and look down at the city below, a soft glow emanating from the windows.  They can hear laughter resonating through the silence; the city is full.  They know they aren't the only ones to have made this journey, but hopefully they aren't too late.  Hopefully there will be a room for them.  Hopefully.  They cling to the hope that the One who called them to this journey has saved a place for them, a place for this King-Child to be born.

One by one the man hears the words:  No.  Sorry.  Booked up solid.  Come back in a month.  He turns and looks into her eyes and they both hear the whisper:  Be still.  "We'll keep looking" he says and they walk further into the city.  After hours of searching, he returns to her, now bent over as pains sear her abdomen.  She looks to him and a smile crosses his face; they have found a room.  They go to the back of the building to find a stable, but by this point, she doesn't care.  She must lay down.  She must have rest.  He spreads blankets across the straw and she lies down, for a moment in a panic at the thought of birthing a child in this mess.  This can't be right; this isn't what she pictured when the angel visited her. But then the whisper:  Be still. 

She calms herself, her breathing deep and regulated as another contraction causes her body to double over.  She braces herself on his arms, bearing down against the pain until she hears a cry pierce the night air.  She falls back in exhaustion as he places this tiny life, the long Awaited One, in her arms, his face crumpling as his virgin lungs fill with air from a world He came to save.  In the midst of this baby's cries and her own tears, she hears the words again, the melody of them filling the dusty stable: Be still.


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