Homebound By Starlight

It's the season for wishes.  Everyone makes them.  Wishes for new cars, new toys, new lives. Seems everyone wishes for something different, something new, or someone with whom to share that new thing.  I'm not much different.  I too wish for something I don't have, will never have.  I wish the Luke 2 account had more details. 

Who were those shepherds?  Did they own the sheep or just guard them?  Were they young?  Old?  Male?  Female?  Did they wish they were somewhere, anywhere besides that hillside that night?  Were they longing for the coming Messiah?  Or had they given up the wait, lost the longing, forgotten the forthcoming deliverance?  I wish I knew.

But maybe it's best I don't.  Not knowing allows my mind to conjure so many more scenarios.  Like, what if those shepherds weren't all boys and men?  We always seem to assume they were, but what if the untold story went like this?

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It was tax season in Bethlehem and our sweet little town was a bustling madhouse. People filled every nook and corner.  Or so I'd heard.  It's not like I was allowed to go see for myself.  No, that would make it possible for me to meet people--hopefully men--and that would never do as far as my parents were concerned.  But my brothers could go.  They could travel in from the outskirts of town and see the crowds, meet people, have a life.  The girls, though, they must be sheltered, hidden, and wed to complete strangers their father's deemed appropriate.  It was completely unfair!  I may be female but was in no need of such irritating coddling. 

 

I could go on and on (and often did) about the absurdity of the situation, but mental activity was wasted on that endeavor.  So, even as I bemoaned my female status, my mind was conjuring up a way to make a visit somewhere, anywhere and meet people--preferably men. 

And then I had it.  Literally.  As I did laundry, I realized I had my youngest brother's cloak in my hands.  Perfect.  We were about the same size.  Yep.  The plan became clearer. 

 

I bundled the cloak away with my things all the while plotting out the rest of the day's activities and going about them much more lightheartedly than usual.  I wonder if anyone noticed.  Oh, well.  Tonight I would actually get to meet people, even if those people were just other shepherds.  This would be fantastic!

 

It was horrible.  The cloak was longer, heavier, and more cumbersome than I realized. Probably because he needed to use it to carry lambs from time to time. Why didn't I think of that?  By the time I was able to sneak out of the house, it was darker than I anticipated and I could only hope I would stumble across the other shepherds before becoming a midnight snack for some ferocious beast. Wonder why that never crossed my mind?  And it was colder than I ever thought it would be.  I should have worn more clothing underneath the cloak. Hindsight may be clearer than foresight, but it is absolutely not warmer!

Of even greater concern was the fact that if I got in too much light from the fire or spoke without thinking to lower my vocal register, the other shepherds would immediately know I was an interloper.  As far as plans go, it was stellar.  Execution of the plan?  Only the outcome could tell if it was worth it.  I could only hope.

 

Eventually, I arrived at the small fire where the shepherds and sheep were gathered. It was a miracle I found them.  Even I didn't realize how much of a miracle it was.  The ones who were awake seemed surprised to see me but didn't question me too closely.  Thank goodness. I wished I could get closer to the fire.  Alas, the risk was too great since one of those sleeping shepherds was my oldest brother.  Discovery by him would be a fiasco!  I chose instead to sit against a nearby tree, study my surroundings, and silently revel in my cunning plan. 

 

Then brother number one woke up.  Oh, this was going to be bad.  The brothers never came out with the sheep together.  Of course, one helpful friend decided to immediately inform him that his younger brother had joined them.  How did he immediately know it was me?  And what kept the top of his head from just exploding right off as he realized the foolish risk--his words, not mine--I had taken in coming out to the field in the middle of the night? We'll never know the answer to that exploding head question because at that moment a rescuing angel appeared.

 

Literally.  I was rescued from a lecture by an angel that appeared in the night sky.  We were too terrified to be mad.  As we huddled together for safety and stared upward in awe, the angel told us not to be afraid.  He also said the Savior had been born in our normally sleepy, currently crazy little town.  Just as my mind was trying to think where a babe would safely be born in the mess that was our town at tax season, the angel told us.  He was in a stable, in the straw of a manger, wrapped only in old rags on a night that was freezing my hair. 

 

At that moment, a million (maybe more or less as my counting isn't so good when I'm struck with awed terror) angels joined him and they all broke into a beautiful rendition of "Glory to God".  And then, just like they came, they were gone.  We stared at each other for just a moment, then by common agreement abandoned the sheep and headed into Bethlehem.  This we had to see. 

 

We came to a halt some time later, panting and gasping for breath. As far as we'd run, we were still stopped more by the sudden realization that we didn't know exactly where to find the babe than by the exertion. There were a zillion stables in Bethlehem and not one owner would want to be wakened in the middle of the night by prowlers in his stable.  I flopped back on the grass in an attempt to replenish the air in my lungs more effectively and that's when I saw it.  A huge, bright star sitting in the sky.  I'd never seen it before and since staring at the stars was something even girls were allowed to do, I'd done a lot of it.  I instantly knew the star was our guide.

 

Once again we took off in the direction of the guiding star.  And things started to look more and more familiar.  Yep, we were headed to our very own stable.  So much for sneaking back in before daylight. But then we got there and that little boy in the manger stole my heart.  He was so little, so perfect and the stable was filled with feelings of peace and homecoming.  Not just a feeling of being home, but of being in the presence of the one with whom you belong.  I didn't understand it all, but I knew in my heart that he truly was the Savior, the Son of God.  I had found the boy for whom I searched, the man that would make my life fulfilled.  I was home. 

 

And that's my story.  I set out on an adventure to meet and choose my man, my way, on my terms.  And I did.  And he brought me home.  Home to my family.  Home to fulfillment.  Home to him.

 

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So this Christmas, I wish you love, peace, and joy.  I wish for you to find your fulfillment, your contentment, your definition in the baby found in the manger that night. I wish for you to allow him to be your home.

Merry Christmas!