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The Cradle, a Christmas Story
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by
Dr. Ralph F. Wilson
They left their home, the new cradle still swinging from the rafters.
Night after night the aroma of fresh-cut wood had filled the room
as Joseph had patiently fashioned the tiny cradle, using the same
chisel and saw he usually put down at dusk.
Now Joseph wiped the tears from Mary's cheeks and shut the door
behind them. "It'll be okay," he told her, as he cinched
up their belongings on the donkey.
"Joseph, can't we wait a few days? The baby could come any
time." She didn't want to leave home. Not now.
"We've waited for the baby as long as we dare." He was
ready to get on the road. "We have to leave today or I'll be
arrested for not appearing in Bethlehem for the census."
"At least bring the cradle, Joseph," she pleaded. "I
want the baby to have something nice."
"No, it'll have to stay behind. The baby will be rocking in
it soon enough."
Joseph tugged hard at the donkey's halter. No luck. "Come on,
animal," he shouted, whacking it on the rear end to get it
moving. Grudgingly the donkey responded. With one hand Joseph led
the donkey, with the other he steadied Mary on the steep incline,
slowly enough to accommodate her ungainly progress down the winding
road which led from Nazareth's height. In the house above, the cradle
hung still.
Five days and ninety bone-weary miles later, Joseph searched the
small stable where they were staying on the outskirts of crowded
Bethlehem. Mary's time would be soon now. He was careful to keep
his lamp from igniting the old straw. He finally settled on an ancient
stone manger for the baby's bed, cut from the wall of the limestone
cave which housed the animals. He reached in to scoop the last gritty
bits of straw from the manger's dank bottom. "That'll have
to do," he muttered. He filled the trough with an armful of
fresh fodder, which he covered with a folded blanket to keep the
animals away.
It was well past midnight by the time Mary finished washing and
wrapping her new baby. Now she lifted him gently into his new bed.
Joseph put his arm around her shoulders as they gazed at the sleeping
infant.
Mary touched the tiny fingers. "That cradle you spent so much
time on would be real nice right now, Joseph." She looked up
at the cave's low ceiling. "You could hang it somewhere. No
baby I know has a cradle like that. It's fit for a king."
Joseph grinned. "Not every boy has a carpenter for a dad,"
he said. But he wondered. Why couldn't little Jesus be home in that
cradle? Why does this special child the angel told Mary and him
about have to be born in this smelly stable? A hill-country carpenter's
home is bad enough. Why here? Why Bethlehem?
The answer wasn't long in coming. An older boy poked his head in
the door, startling the couple from their quiet moment. "Is
there a baby in here?" he mumbled apologetically. Then he saw
the tiny child. Mary picked her baby up to shield the infant from
his eyes. The face disappeared.
Mary's eyes mirrored Joseph's concern. He strode to the cave's opening.
He could hear a distant call, "Over here, Jake found him!"
In the darkness, Joseph could make out a handful of forms coming
toward him. He gripped his stout wooden staff and stood resolutely
at the door.
As they approached the stable he could see they were shepherds.
Joseph's grip on the staff tightened. The oldest one spoke hesitantly.
"Can we come in? We have ... ah ... come to see the Christ-child."
Joseph glanced at Mary. He could feel a tingle move down his spine.
This was more than an accident. The whole fantastic course of events
was far more than an accident. He nodded and stepped back into the
stable. "Yes, come in. You are welcome."
The shepherds shuffled into the cramped cave. The youngest pushed
in alongside the donkey to get a better view. They knelt. "God
be praised!" The old shepherd spoke with deepest reverence.
"It's just like the angel told us," another whispered
in awe. "'Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which
shall be to all people,' the angel said."
"Imagine! An angel . . . talking to us!" the old man interjected
with rising excitement. "None of the uppity-ups in this town
would lower themselves to talk to us shepherds," he added.
"But an angel did . . . And the child is right here in a stable
so we can come and see him." Rivulets of tears were inching
down the shepherd's weathered face.
Joseph stared at the old man. "How did you find us?" he
finally asked.
The boy who had first peeked in answered. "The angel said,
'Unto you is born ....'"
"Yes, to us!" The beaming old man couldn't contain himself.
The boy spoke deliberately, as if to remember the exact words: "Unto
you is born this day in the city of David a Savior ..."
"That's here--Bethlehem--David's birthplace," the littlest
boy interrupted. He thrust out his chest proudly. "King David
was a shepherd, too, you know."
The older boy continued. " . . . a Savior, which is Christ
the Lord."
"The Christ, the Messiah . . . He's the one!" The old
man pointed to the baby.
"The angel was very specific," the young man went on.
"'And this shall be a sign unto you. You shall find the babe
wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.'" He grinned.
"How could we miss? We just ran into town and checked every
stable until we found you . . . found him." The boy paused.
"How many newborns in Bethlehem do you know with a cattle manger
for a cradle?"
Joseph chuckled. So that was it. The heavenly Father Himself had
provided a bed for His child. A special cradle. A sign to these
crude shepherds that God cared for them too.
Joseph squeezed Mary's hand very tightly.
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