We’re still in Bethlehem–Mary and I and little Jesus.
There were lots of things I couldn’t talk to you about last summer. You wouldn’t have believed me then, but maybe I can tell you now. I hope you can understand.
You know, Mom, I’ve always loved Mary. You and dad used to tease me about her when she was still a girl. She and her brothers used to play on our street. Our families got together for supper. But the hardest day of my life came scarcely a year ago when I was in my twenties and she only fifteen. You remember that day, don’t you?
The trouble started after we were betrothed and signed the marriage agreement at our engagement. That same spring Mary had left abruptly to visit her old cousin Elizabeth in Judea. She was gone three whole months. After she got back, people started wondering out loud if she were pregnant.
It was cloudy the day when I finally confronted her with the gossip. “Mary,” I asked at last, “are you going to have a baby?”
Her clear brown eyes met mine. She nodded.
I didn’t know what to say. “Who?” I finally stammered.
Mom, Mary and I had never acted improperly–even after we were betrothed.
Mary looked down. “Joseph,” she said. “There’s no way I can explain. You couldn’t understand. But I want you to know I’ve never cared for anyone but you.” She got up, gently took my hands in hers, kissed each of them as if it were the last time she would ever do that again, and then turned towards home. She must have been dying inside. I know I was.Read More »