What I'm thinking about

     I don’t know how to feel sometimes. It’s one thing have a broken coffee pot and laugh at how much fuss I make over it, but there are other things. First world problems are everywhere. The end piece of bread never soaks up enough French Toast batter. It’s not cold enough for me to wear my awesome furry hat. There are too many songs on my iPod. Oh my, whatever will I do?

     Another bothersome problem for me is that I feel burned out of writing. I love it when I am writing. I have ideas, too many actually, (another problem). But a lot of the time I just sigh inwardly and think, what’s the use? I was considering taking the month of February off for my blog. I’m afraid however, that if I took the month off of all my writing I might have trouble starting up again. Writing is like exercise and it’s a bad idea to take too much of a break.

     So yes, I have ideas, but they’re for fiction. I don’t want to post incomplete story snippets here on my blog. I like each entry to have some kind of resolution. That means I need to write what I’m thinking about. So what am I thinking about? I’m thinking I’m tired of blogging lately, that’s what. I’ve felt presumptuous and self-absorbed blogging lately. I don’t want it to be about that.

     But if I think hard, what else am I thinking about? Well we lost two hens this week. They were two of my favorites. And like I said, I don’t know how to feel. Is this a first world problem too? With all the pain and suffering in the world, is it okay for me to grieve over a couple of chickens? The one we lost Friday was a Rhode Island Red, very friendly. She would let anyone pick her up. She was a good layer too. The other hen was a Plymouth Partridge Rock. She was part of the first flock we got. This one was blustery, louder than a rooster sometimes, squawking and scolding. She is featured in my blog a year back aboutbroody hens. That’s her being dunked in cold water.

     So they were two of my favorites. I feel terribly sad that they were killed. Is it okay for me to feel that way or should I just shrug it off and say that they were only a couple of birds with a limited lifespan. There’s too much real anguish in the world for me to justify feeling this way, right?

     When I told Sarah this, she reminded me that feeling sad for something, even something like this, is okay. It just proves that I’m a human being with feelings. She’s right. And I ought to know better than to deny pain. Sure maybe I shouldn’t be too broken up over something so trivial, but if it hurts, then it hurts. Pain is real and if I deny it, it won’t just go away.

     So I’m very sad for losing these hens. I will miss the one’s affection and the other’s attitude and noise. I’ll get over it soon, I’m sure. I know from experience that even the most devastating pain from crippling loss will ease over time.

     So I made it through the first blog in February. It took an unpleasant event to prompt me, but I got it out. I hope that this week I can work on Sidewinder at least a few mornings. I have put off my memoir a while longer. I liked my November novel so much that I wanted to re-write it and see how good it could actually get. And what’s good writing without pain and loss to fuel the writer? It takes more than coffee to give me ideas. And this time, it took more than just loss. It took a reminder from someone that feeling pain just means I’m human.       

What is Lost

     I don’t just do things I am later ashamed of, I think things too that later on I wish I hadn’t. Maybe I’m not the only person like this, but this is my blog and it’s about what I’m thinking about.

     People are dying. I can’t help thinking that every time someone dies, at least one person is devastated. At least one.

I’ve read the local news, young men were killed. One was shot by police after they say he fought with them and either produced a gun or went for one of theirs. In a different story, a young man was killed crashing the speeding car he stole into a street sweeper. When the names of these men were released I went ahead and looked at Facebook. There they were. One profile had anguished messages mourning the death. Another profile had posts by the deceased man, mostly expressing his dislike for things.

     And right there on the news stories are posts by people talking about “Darwinism in action” or “thinning the herd”. People are pleased there is one less car thief on the road. Posts are claiming that if someone tries to shoot a policeman then it should be no surprise that he’s gunned down on the street, even if it is in front of a church.

Also in the news, this past week there were victory celebrations and angry protests when the Texas State Supreme Court put considerable restrictions on clinics performing abortions. Well, good, maybe there will be more life there to make up for the loss, right? Pro-life advocates are hoping less babies die I’m sure. While those opposed to the abortion restrictions see it as a blow to woman’s rights, even human rights, oppressively controlling what a woman is allowed to do with her body.

There are some things I believe are wrong that I just kind of have to let go. Abortion is not one of them. I just think it’s the killing of a child. But I listen to the arguments for abortion and hear that people are scared. What would happen if all of these children were born to single moms, extreme poverty and hunger, or broken families where they did not learn love? What would happen then if they failed to learn boundaries or respect? Would they be the ones stealing cars and killing themselves before their 21^st birthday?

When I saw each of these local news stories where two young men were killed because of their bad choices, I felt indifference. And then that apathy turned into the same feeling that others had when they posted comments on the news pages.

Hey stupid, what did you think would happen when you tried to take a policeman down? Oh, yeah, I’ve had stuff stolen from me before and my friends have had cars stolen. So what were you thinking when you boosted the Honda and took off? What did you think would happen when you ran the stop sign?

Yeah, I was thinking stuff like that. And now I am ashamed for thinking that way. Later I thought about all the babies who might live because of the new abortion restrictions. I don’t know how much socio-economic status has anything to do with anything. But if babies will be born that wouldn’t have before, they already might have a strike against them. Whatever culture or family they grow up in, will they too someday be looking a crackpipe passed to them for the first time?

Maybe I’m assuming too much. But it’s what I’m thinking about. And something else I realized about two young men who died. Their moms seemed to choose to allow to live. Someone wanted them and someone is grieving that they don’t have them anymore.

And now as I write this, in Florida people are polarized again about the shooting and killing of a young man. Regardless of what the law says, regardless of who was wrong or right and who was a punk and who was an asshole, there is one thing that can’t be denied. Someone died. People are grieving a loss.

When someone dies, people hurt. They say that’s even true for mothers having an abortion. I don’t know. But if there is a chance at life, can we keep it? Too many young people are killed already.

unnamed loss

     I was already feeling rotten when I went out to put the chickens away. We don’t really put them away at night. They instinctively go into their coop, which is a metal storage shed. They hop up onto their roosts and turn in for the night all on their own. All day long they have free rein of the backyard and can go in and out of their coop. At night someone needs to close up the door to the coop to keep them safe. Yucaipa does have its share of critters and predators.

     I had finished an easy night at work but was feeling upset because I had lost one of my framer’s gloves. I use the gloves every day at work. When I vacuum they keep my hands from blistering and they are helpful to wear moving tables. I had worn my gloves sometime that evening, then later noticed one missing. They were pretty new gloves and now I was missing the right one. Just thinking about missing it makes me run my thumb over the inside of my palm as if feeling calluses.

     And if that wasn’t enough, I had lost a folding utility knife sometime too. I keep my knife and multi-tool in a pouch on my belt with Velcro closing it. Yesterday I noticed the knife had disappeared, fallen out of the pouch somewhere. I don’t know when or where and that got me down too. Prajna had given me the knife and multi-tool for Christmas a few years back. I tend to attach feelings to objects.

     I stepped into the chicken coop and counted. There were 14. There should be 15. A few weeks ago we had had 17 chickens. Two had died in two days. We weren’t sure how but suspected the heat. I counted the chickens again, this time looking at the different breeds until I realized which one was missing. I shone my light all over the corners of the coop and inside the nesting boxes. No, one of our Plymouth partridge rocks was not in the coop.

I stepped outside and shone my flashlight around the yard. I looked around behind the shed where the girls hang out a lot, in the kid’s old playhouse, and under the trees. Then from a distance I saw it over by the side fence. As soon as I saw it I knew, but my mind just kept saying, no. But there she was, dead on the ground. Feathers were around her like there had been a struggle. This hadn’t been the heat. She had been killed. If could have been a predator. Or worse, it could have been one of our dogs. We had been letting them outside unsupervised and never had trouble with them and the chickens. The puppy sometimes chased them but they were too fast.

I came inside and told Prajna. I got a plastic garbage bag, scoped up the dead chicken and put it in the dumpster. I don’t know how hardly dignified and perhaps hardly legal.

I felt more miserable than ever. It was hot outside still. I didn’t want to go to bed but didn’t know what I wanted to do. I took the stuff off my belt to get ready for bed and felt around where my knife could have fallen out. I have a cluttered area on top of a bookshelf where I keep all my gear. My fingers touched something and I pulled it up. It was a key holder that I had lost about a week back and thought was gone forever. I have two of them that I keep on my belt to hang my keys on. I had forgotten this one was missing. Now it was found. In my deep sadness, I felt just a little rise in my hopes. Just a little. But it wasn’t really enough.

I tried to use the tools I have to get in touch with my feelings. Was I frustrated, angry, what? It was my fault for losing the glove and maybe the knife too. Was it my fault if one of our dogs, the puppy perhaps, had killed the hen? All I knew is that I felt sad. Sad was the only word. Maybe I was ashamed at myself for grieving over a dead bird. Sarah had named it. The hen had been shy and gentle. There is so much loss and grief in the world, who am I to feel bad for losing a pet chicken?

I tried not to deny the sadness while still having a sense of perspective. I could get a new glove; I could get two in fact. I had other knives. And we have 7 new baby chicks.

I hung the found key holder on the hook where I keep my personal keys. Right now my personal keys there are only my house key and the key to the family van. My truck key is at the mechanic along with the truck that probably will never be fixed.

The Shattered Bottle of Wishes

The twist on the old story goes like this: A man is walking down a beach when he spies an old looking bottle. The moment he picks it up, a djinn appears is a puff of blue smoke, bows and speaks:

“And what is your third wish?”

The man is startled, but has enough about him to question what became of his first two wishes. The djinn says that the man already wished his first wish, his second one was to undo it and make it all as before. Now his third and final wish remains. The man thinks for a moment, then tells the djinn his final wish.

The djinn’s face curls into a smile as he brings his hands together.

“Yes,” he says. “That was also your first wish.”

Little stories like that can provoke deep thought. I can’t help always wondering what I would wish for if I had three, or just one wish. A shoebox full of 100 dollar bills would be a good start I think. I would love to have my truck fixed. And while I am at it, have it never break again. And why not have it so that the tank never runs out of gasoline again? Could I fit that into one wish?

That’s pretty selfish to wish for that when there is so much need in the world. Three wishes could include clean water for the world’s population, and end to human trafficking and no more natural disasters ever. That would improve on a lot. I don’t know how something like that could be pulled off though. If I was a djinn I would just clap my hands and make the world disappear. No more want for anyone.

How about wishing just to make people nicer? I could wish for that. Is it ethical to transform people and just make them nicer? I don’t think it is or God would do it.

And then I bring God into this. I used to think that God was like the djinn in the bottle with unlimited wishes. Maybe it’s easy for a kid to think that God is like Santa Claus with a big bag of cool stuff for everyone who’s good. Prayer seemed like wishing for what you want. And this mindset didn’t end when I grew up.

I don’t have a grudge against the spirit-filled church that I went to when I first got back with God. But it fostered a mindset where God would answer all prayers according to my will. But here is where the djinn in the bottle vanished. Because if my prayers were not answered, then I wasn’t praying hard enough or needed to examine my own life somehow. It was encouraging to feel myself a prayer warrior and actually see prayers answered. The real tricky thing was this: Wishes were not free at all. I still had to be worthy and work for them.

But then Naomi got sick. Of course I didn’t panic when she got cancer. I thought that if enough prayer was lifted up for her, she would be well. For three and a half years I kept believing that she would be healed through the power of prayer to God. Over those years I did something else, every time I saw a falling star, I wished on it.

So then when Naomi died, I got pretty mad at God, the stars and just about everything else, including myself, big time. The magic bottle fell to the ground and burst into slicing fragments of broken hope. It took years to overcome the hurt and anguish that came from thinking that I had somehow failed. It’s still something that can drag me down once in a while. It is taking a lot of un-learning and re-learning to understand some key truths.

First, it is the human condition to believe that there must be something that one can do. That was the flaw in the wishing machine, being good enough to get a stocking full of shiny stuff. I had to work and perhaps even suffer for it. I held tight to that belief. And I have only recently come to realize that thinking that way is idolatrous. Only one person truly had to suffer. All I have to do is accept that. But it’s not for shiny stuff.

On the subject of the wishing machine, God has never been that. God put laws into place like gravity and motion. He did not create cancer. That imperfection grew out of the fall of man. And God doesn’t just clap his hands and make all cancer vanish. Just like changing bad people into good, that would violate His laws. Not to say He doesn’t. A miracle is when God does indeed by-pass the laws He made. That didn’t happen with Naomi. Was it then God’s will that she die? When God was drafting up His master plan for creation for all eternity, did he have her life cut short of her 7^th birthday, regardless of any prayer I lifted up?

And while we’re at it, was it God’s will that monstrous tornados would rip through cities and kill children? How many people prayed for their lives before they died? Did God hear them, and shrug and say: “Sorry, that’s not in the plan”?

There is a stand out word there. Shrug. People shrug when they are confused or at a loss. God cannot be portrayed like a person who doesn’t know what He’s doing. I think one of my problems with faith is that I tend to anthropomorphize God. Picture him as a djinn, Santa Claus, a wishing star or a detached force of nature, or anything like an imperfect person and I’ve got an inaccurate look at God. And when I read about who God really is, he never shrugs and says “oh well”.

Part of my unlearning and relearning is admitting I’m powerless to control my tendency to do the wrong thing. And I personally have to admit that I’m powerless about forces beyond my control. If I admit that, then I need to believe that God is powerful to control what does. As soon as I do that, I start to become disillusioned and wonder how a loving God can allow all of this.

But I want to believe that God is a loving God. And that is what I will pray for. Because another step in this healing process is surrendering to His will. This isn’t an empty wish made in a fairy tale. This is my passionate desire to align myself with God and understand His will for me. Against such thing there is no law.

The last wish for the man on the beach was probably something self-serving. But maybe not. Would anyone take back a wish to have God’s will done in their life? Maybe. The renewing of the mind should come first.

Here is what hints to me that this is indeed a prayer that will be answered. Denial is easy. If I could just deny all my doubts about the goodness of God and live in ignorance then it would be easy. I know how easy it is to deny things. But this is not easy. These doubts I have are hurdles that I have to overcome. But I’m praying for something now that isn’t a wish for more convenience or shiny stuff. I’m asking God to take me away from what I want and help me to do what He wants. In spite of my doubts, God will take me as I am and start that renewing.

Dawn of a Thousand Suns

     When the knock came to Shifra’s door, she wanted to shout that she was sleeping and to go away. When she opened the door and saw the dimwitted innkeeper’s daughter smiling at her, Shifra knew that the girl may have believed the ruse. Oh well, the door was open and there was the girl smiling at her. A knock at the door at this time of night could only mean one thing. A child was to be delivered. And if it was the innkeeper’s daughter, then the mother having the child was most likely from out of town. Would they have any form of payment for a midwife? The last foreigner had offered to pay in sand. Yes, sand that they claimed was from their home soil and brought fabulous luck. Shifra had gone hungry for days after that. Hunger. Tonight another small one would come to know that.

“So, another mouth to feed and another back to be broken under Roman tyranny,” Shifra said to the girl. The girl looked puzzled and seemed to consider. Then she smiled and nodded.

“And my old bones aching from the cold,” Shifra said and she turned and got her wrap. “I thought these summer months would be warm and pleasant. I’m sure that the sheep on the hills outside the town will freeze to death in this cold. And the shepherds watching over them… Ah, but I’m sure they don’t. The cold is sent to vex only me, Right girl?”

The girl was running her fingers over Shifra’s rough doorframe. She was about to shout to the girl to stop before she caused the whole little shack to fall to the ground. But the poor girl’s look of bliss was too much to quell.

Shifra had delivered this girl some 15 years back. The girl had come into the world backwards and blue. Usually, when that happened, Shifra gave it up. But this child had been strong and gurgled to life. But those minutes of blueness had taken their toll. The girl grew up not quite understanding most things. She spoke only rarely and always seemed happy. To be happy all the time, Shifra thought. That was a sure sign of something wrong.

Shifra knew that she herself made up for it in bitterness. The anger at the world, the resignation seemed to have grown over the years. Every year, another year of loneliness. Another year of children being born and handed over to parents to live in this sad world that had no hope. The promised messiah was just a story. The real world was without hope. Once Shifra accepted that, everything seemed so much easier. Of course she had suffered a lot years ago. That had robbed her of any joy she might have carried into her later years.

“Very well then girl,” Shifra said, pulling her cloak tight. “Perhaps at least your father will provide a bowl of broth for a poor old woman, yes?”

The girl smiled and nodded. Shifra was confident that Josiah the innkeeper would not want Shifra to leave without something to eat or some other form of compensation. The man was generous beyond belief, taking in lodgers until his rooms were full. Tonight there may even be people sleeping in corridors. The little town of Bethlehem had more people than ever. This mother in labor would have no privacy.

Shifra let the girl lead the way through the nighttime streets brilliant with moonlight. More people than usual were sleeping in the streets these days. It was that Roman censes. The Romans wished more taxes from everyone, regardless of whether or not they wished to live under Rome.

The girl began to wander away from the direction of her father’s inn toward the outside of town. Shifra stopped walking and watched the girl, but she didn’t turn around. She sighed.

“You’re going the wrong way, you silly girl,” she said. “Don’t you know where your home is?”

The girl turned around and smiled. “Yes,” she said softly.

Well, the girl had spoken. Yes, of course she knew where her home was. So why was she leading Shifra across a pasture to a stable?

“No. No,” Shifra called ahead of her and hurried to catch up. “You don’t fetch a midwife to deliver a cow. Animals can be born all by themselves.”

But the girl kept walking. Overhead, the moon was blazing like a brilliant white bonfire. Shifra paused and looked up. Then she stopped mid-step and almost fell forward. It wasn’t the moon. It was a star. It was a star such as she had never seen before. It looked to have more colors that the usual white. There were needle-like rays extending out that seemed to shine in almost rainbow colors.

She stood and stared until she felt her arm gently touched. Shifra started at the girl standing by her. The girl too, was looking at the star. The baffling thing was that when she did, her dimwitted smile was replaced by a smile of knowing. The girl’s mouth had closed and her eyes narrowed as her head titled up to look. Then she looked back to Shifra with the same look of understanding. They both looked at each other for a moment and then Shifra shook off the wonder.

“Let’s see this mother in need,” she said. And they both started off for the stable.

There were the sounds of animals stirring, disturbed from their sleep. Shifra could smell them too. How nice, she thought. A child born amongst animals, surrounded by their noise and smell. What kind of life would this baby grow into?

Walking into the stable, Shifra saw a man hunched down over a young woman. The woman was holding a small bundle. So the Hebrew women continued to be lively, it seemed. The child had arrived quickly. Shifra considered just turning and walking away. She could go home, back to her mat and blanket where she would lie all night and curse the darkness. No, best check the child over. Make sure the mother was alright. Maybe she would still, even now, receive some compensation.

The mother was young, Shifra observed. The husband, a little older looked up with a smile.

“You’ve come to see,” he said.

Shifra raised her eyebrows. “I’m the midwife,” she said. “I see that the child is come already. Do you want me to look him over and see to his health?”

Then the mother looked up into Shifra’s eyes. Shifra was stunned at this girl’s expression of peace and knowing. Why should a young mother who had just experienced childbirth look this way? She looked as if she had married a wealthy merchant and would never know hunger. But no. Shifra looked more at the young mother. That wasn’t the giddy look of a bride on her wedding day. No, it was the look of someone who knew that they were safe from something, like fear or hunger. But this young mother had a new mouth to feed. The same mouth would howl all night and deprive her of sleep and eventually her beauty too. The child would go on to break her heart. Perhaps he would be walking at night and never return and this mother would never know if her child was alive or dead.

Shifra shuddered at the feelings in her. This was not time to reflect on how she felt. This new mother was exhausted. The look of calm relief was that the pain and pushing were done. She walked closer to the mother and child and tried to ignore the look of hope the mother had.

“Let’s have a look,” she said. “A little boy?”

The mother nodded and turned the bundle in her arm. She had done well wrapping the baby up. She saw his face, red and wrinkled. His eyes were closed and his mouth moved in smacking motions.

Shifra felt her heart soften. “We’ll leave him wrapped up for a while,” she said. “He’ll be awake soon enough. You both can rest.”

She became aware of someone next to her. It was the innkeeper’s daughter. She had gotten on her knees, as if in prayer and was looking at the child. Her face wasn’t the empty smile now. There was almost a look of apprehension.

“The baby is fine, girl,” Shifra said. “Everything is fine. Oh my…”

Shifra shuddered as the girl held her hands out to the baby and the mother, not much older, handed the child over with a smile.

“Careful,” Shifra said. “Hold his head, yes, that’s the way. There you go.”

And then the silly young girl was holding the baby and had the same look on her face. This was a look of someone who had heard good news. Shifra looked at the father and saw the same thing. Everyone looked to this child as if he were some king who would bring peace and prosperity to the land. But it was just a helpless child. A child who would someday feel the crush of the world just like everyone else.

“Well,” Shifra said. “The child seems well, perhaps I will just be on my way then.” She stood and waited for someone to at least look in her direction. But everyone was looking at the newborn boy. She looked at him again. He was no different, she thought. But why then, did something feel different? Did that star in the sky put some kind of spell on this night?

She would get no compensation. The innkeeper’s daughter handed the child back and went to the feeding trough. She would find her own way home. Shifra turned and headed to the stable door, but gasped in surprise. The door was blocked by a group of dirty men. Bandits, surely. They had come to steal the animals and would carry off the young women too.

Shifra opened her mouth to shriek, but then recognized the man in the front, and her heart went from fearful to hard anger.

“Hello Berel,” she said.

“Hello,” whispered the biggest of the men in a soft voice. He hadn’t even noticed who spoke to him. He too was ignoring Shifra and looking at the baby boy.

“What are you doing here?” Shifra hissed at the man. “Get your dirty band of shepherds out of this place. There is a newborn child. You don’t belong…”

She stopped as the group of men stepped around her. Then they got to their knees, just like the innkeeper’s daughter. They had on that same look of wonder, of reverence even. What was it? What had enchanted all of these people? The child? Well, she wasn’t impressed.

Shifra watched as the young mother got up and placed the child into the hay of the feeding trough. Then she joined the others in gathering around the manger, kneeling as if in prayer or worship. Even Berel and his shepherds knelt with heads bowed.

Shifra looked at the baby in the manger and then to everyone gathered around. What could this possibly mean other than perhaps she was still back on her mat asleep and shivering in the cold? But at this moment she didn’t feel cold. She felt more than warmth. The wonder and joy of those gathered in the stable seemed to spread to her. Shifra felt the warmth of it all. She began to relax and took a step toward the manger.

Berel knelt in front of her staring at the child in the manger. Shifra felt her heart grow tense. How could he be here revering a child? Had he lost his mind to the drink again? He didn’t belong in this peaceful place. She nudged him with her foot. He looked up at her with the bliss almost like the dim innkeeper’s daughter. Then he recognized her. He smiled even more broadly at that. Shifra felt her face harden into a glare and Berel’s face turned confused.

“Who did you leave behind this time?” Shifra hissed at him. Berel rose slowly to his feet and took her by the arm.

“No, I’m not one of your sheep,” Shifra whispered as he led her out the stable door. Once they were outside she turned on him. He held his hands up to her.

“Shifra, be calm I implore you,” he said. “This is not the night for anger and bitterness. Let’s be at peace just for now?”

“Why are you here?” she asked him. “Who did you leave alone on a hillside this time to be eaten by wild beast or disappear, never to be seen again? What mother will mourn the loss of a son tonight?” Shifra realized her voice was breaking and she covered her face. Too late. She felt the tears wetting her palms.

“Shifra,” Berel said almost in a whisper. “I will lament the loss of your son for the rest of my life. I was a fool back then to leave him while I went for drink. You have every reason to hate me forever. But for tonight, I ask that you set that aside.”

“I can’t,” Shifra croaked.

“Shifra,” Berel said. “Look.”

Shifra uncovered her face. There outside the stable were almost a hundred sheep. Most had settled to the ground and all of them seemed content.

“Berel,” Shifra said. “Why are you here?”

And Berel told her.

“A messenger of God came to us,” he said. “I was never more frightened in my life. But as soon as he spoke, I wasn’t afraid anymore. In fact he told us to not be afraid. He told us that he brought us good news for everyone. That a child was born that was The Savior.”

Shifra looked at his face. This wasn’t the face of someone on the drink. Was he speaking the truth? This was not the Berel that blustered and fought. He had tried to make peace with her. What had come over this man to change him so?

“The messenger told us that we would find the child here. We came and it is just as we were told. The child is wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger Shifra, exactly as we were told.”

Shifra tried to hush Berel, but he continued.

“Once the messenger told us were to find The Child Christ,” he said even louder. “The sky lit up as if it was dawn with a thousand suns. Yet, we weren’t blinded. We all saw the sky full of these messengers of God. They all were singing praises. Singing glory to God and on Earth peace. Shifra, we said to each other that we must go see this and we came. The sheep followed and we came here and… yes. We were told the truth. It is just as the angel said. And the angel said it was the savior of us all. This child is The Christ.”

“The messiah?” Shifra said. “This is a baby.”

“Jesus,” whispered a voice. Shifra turned and saw the innkeeper’s daughter.

“What did you say?” Shifra asked her.

“His name… Jesus,” the girl said. “He is Christ, the Lord.”

Shifra stared at the innkeeper’s daughter. She still had on the same smile as when she looked at the star.

“The mother shall name him Jesus?” Shifra asked. The girl nodded. “And the mother also told you he is The Christ?”

The girl nodded again. She extended her hand to Shifra. “Come see,” she said.

Shifra looked at Berel. The man had a soft, but huge smile on his face. He nodded to her.

Shifra took the girl’s hand and let herself be led back into the stable. It was still quiet. She shepherds still knelt in reverence. The mother sat by the manger looking at the child. Shifra carefully stepped up to the manger and looked down at the child.

“He is well,” the mother said.

Indeed, the baby was awake and looking around. His eyes of course wouldn’t focus on anything just yet. But he still seemed to be very much aware of everything around him.

“He will be hungry soon,” Shifra said.

She didn’t take her eyes off him. The reverence of everyone around was overwhelming. Even the animals seemed to sense the wonder. Shifra couldn’t deny the awe that she felt.

The look on the mother’s face as if her baby would someday save her. Everyone in the stable kneeling as if in worship, the shepherds, even. And then Berel says he has seen messengers from God who say that this is the promised messiah? This was a baby. He was just a baby boy born in a stable lying in a manger.

This was just as the angel had told Berel. Berel, who had been responsible for the loss of her son. Berel whom she hated. She must not believe him.

She wanted to believe him. She wanted the peace that the mother had.

And she looked at the child at that moment, his eyes fixed on her. His mouth twitched. Newborns didn’t smile. This was nothing. But at that moment, Shifra so wished that it was a real smile. Oh, to have the messiah smile at her. And then she sank to her knees. It was still painful to lower herself, but she didn’t care. She felt in her the desire, the need for this child that looked at her to be just what Berel said.

If this was truly so, the messiah born tonight, how wonderful would that be? Berel had been so heartbroken at the loss of her son. And tonight he was so filled with peace and joy. Shifra wanted that. Would believing bring her that feeling?

The boy began to shake his head back and forth. He was looking. Before Shifra could prompt, the mother lifted the baby and brought him to her. Yes, he would be fine.

And that night in the stable among the animals and shepherds, next to the smiling innkeeper’s daughter, Shifra felt something for the first time in oh so many years. She thought how Berel had described a sky full of angels of God. And that was what she felt in her heart. When the tears came this time, they were of joy.