Chapter 7

The Shepherd’s Song

We departed the Watchtower of the Flock, glorifying and praising God for all the things that we had both seen and heard. I looked up toward the eastern sky and saw the new star shining brilliantly. I pointed to it and rehearsed to my companions everything that Simeon had told me earlier in the temple. How I wished he could have been with us tonight! But I knew that the Lord had promised him he would live to see the Christ. My heart took comfort that Simeon’s faith would soon be rewarded.

We came to a crossroads on the path leading to Shepherds Field. There we stopped, and each of the shepherds embraced me, lending their support. One more task remained, and each of them seemed to sense how difficult my returning home would be. My father asked, “Do you want me to go with you? You shouldn’t be alone.”

I considered his offer and then slowly shook my head. “I will not be alone,” I said. “I can do this now.”

My father hugged me and said, “Believe, Joshua. No matter where your journey leads you, there is no risk in trusting God.”

I did not run home. Strangely, I felt no need. I walked, contemplating the situation that I was about to find. Despite the prospect of my wife’s death, I clung to my declaration of allegiance to God that I had made earlier tonight. After all that had occurred, how could I ever blame God recklessly or take an action that might distance me from Him? Nevertheless, I felt profound sorrow when I imagined life without Miriam. As I walked the distance home, I tried to steel myself against the wave of grief that would surely crash upon me when I stepped through the door.

I walked by the light of a shepherd’s lamp, which gave light to my feet. When my father had traveled his road of sorrow, his faith had given light to his feet. I marveled that he could suffer the loss of his wife and yet trust God as he pressed forward. Where had that ability come from? I remembered that tonight he had spoken to the Child as if he were speaking with his dearest friend. My father had paid a high price for that relationship. I wondered if I, too, was willing to pay such a price. Earlier, I had cried my allegiance to God. Could I do so now?

My question was about to be answered.

The streets of Beit Sahour were empty and dark as I approached my home. A thick silence had settled on the little village, and a heavy apprehension weighed upon me. The courage that I had summoned faltered. No enemy is as certain or as cruel as death. It broods about us with gaping jaws, ready to devour young or old with no courtesy of timeliness or sensitivity. To defeat this monster was the work of God. In death’s presence no man had power. As I drew near my home, I heard someone crying. I held my lamp higher and saw the silhouette of a woman sitting outside the door, her hands to her face. I hurried toward her. She looked up at me with a tear-stained face. Leah!

Astonished at seeing me, she cried, “Joshua! Where have you been? Oh, Joshua!” My mother-in-law stood as if to embrace me, but terror seized me. I pushed past her and burst through the door. There I beheld my worst fear: an empty bed covered with blood-stained linen. My knees buckled and I crumpled to the floor, weeping. The strength that I had tried to summon fled entirely now. Miriam was my life! I could not draw a breath without thinking of her. I could not remember a time when I had not known her. She was the beginning and the end of every day. Without her, my life held no purpose. I held my face in my hands and rocked, wailing and sobbing.

Leah rushed to me and enveloped me in her arms. “It’s all right, Joshua,” she tried to comfort me.

“No,” I cried. “It can never be all right.”

“But it is all right,” she insisted.

Then I heard a sound that I had long hoped to hear but dared not imagine: the sound of a tiny cry. A voice spoke my name: “Joshua.” I turned. There in the corner, in the dim lamplight, sat my Miriam . . . rocking a baby! She said, “You have a fine son.”

Stunned, I looked at Leah for confirmation, and she smiled and nodded. “It is a miracle, Joshua,” she said, beginning to cry again. “God gave us a son tonight. Go and see him.”

Astounded, I moved toward my wife, unable to reconcile the information that was flooding my mind. I knelt beside her and stared at her, then at our child, and then at Miriam again. I surveyed her face, checking every detail against the memory of her in my mind. Was I dreaming? My questions were coming faster than I could form them. Miriam took my hand and placed it on her cheek. “It is true, Joshua. I am alive.” Then she placed my hand on the child. “And so is your son.” What she said next caused tears to spill from my eyes again: “God heard your prayer, and He has blessed us today.”

I gazed at her with wonder. She was beautiful. Her smooth, olive complexion appeared healthy and vibrant now. Her soft chestnut hair was washed and combed so that it cascaded down over her shoulders. I took her delicate hand in mine and traced its petite bones. I kissed it gently as she whispered, “Is anything too hard for the Lord?”

I shook my head. “Not for Immanuel.”

She looked puzzled.

I responded, “Now I know that God is with us indeed.”

As much as I had cried during the day, I thought I could summon no more tears. But I was wrong. When I looked at my son, his dark eyes open and peering at me, I could not contain my emotions. I wept unashamedly. The tears seemed to wash me clean of all the pain I had carried. I felt joy fill me with the same warmth I had felt when the glory of the Lord had rested upon me.

I gazed at the child—my child! He was so small and delicate. His tiny features were flawless in every way. His complexion reminded me of his mother’s, as did his nose and mouth. His hair was soft like lamb’s wool, about the color of mine. Miriam had wrapped the child in a swaddling cloth that she had embroidered with symbols that represented our family’s lineage and our tradition of shepherding. In forty days we would present him to God in the temple, where we would offer a lamb to symbolically redeem him. Perhaps we would meet Simeon there. That was a fond hope.

“Would you like to hold your son?” Miriam asked me. I dried my eyes and nodded. “Make a cradle of your arms,” she said. I knew how. She gently placed the tiny bundle in my arms.

The child lay still and stared up at me. I brought my ear close and listened to his breathing. Then I kissed him tenderly on the cheek and thanked God silently. Still looking at him, I began to ask my wife, “How did—?”

Leah completed my question. “—this happen?”

“Yes, tell me.”

Leah knelt beside me and stroked the child’s head. “We were losing Miriam,” she began. “She had lost so much blood. I sent Ephraim to find you, but you had left for Jerusalem already. We feared that Miriam would not survive the hour. When we drew the child from her, he was not breathing. We worked with Miriam when she cried out suddenly, and her heart ceased to beat. When all seemed lost, something amazing happened.” Leah paused as if she were searching to find the right words.

“What happened?” I urged her.

“Something brilliant like lightning illuminated the sky, and suddenly the child gasped for breath. At that same moment, Miriam opened her eyes and began to cry.” Then Leah asked, “Did you see a great light tonight, Joshua?”

I smiled.

Miriam looked at me questioningly, and asked, “What was it?”

I answered, “The Light has indeed come to earth.” Miriam’s expression showed that she did not understand. I explained, “The Messiah has come, Miriam. He was born this night in Bethlehem. I have seen Him.” Then I understood. I looked at my son and said, “When the Messiah drew His first breath, our son drew his.”

Leah’s expression was that of sudden realization. Excitedly, she announced, “When the light shot across the sky, an impression shot through my mind, as though it had been a voice. It said: Fear not!”

I completed the angel’s message for her: “For, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.”

“Do you know what the saying means?” she asked.

“It means that we need never fear,” I replied.

The baby began to whimper, and Miriam reached for him. I said, “Let me. I know what to do. I know how to calm little—” I hesitated a moment and looked to Miriam for help.

“Joshua,” she said. “Just as we planned, we shall call him after his father: Joshua—Jehovah is salvation.”

I smiled. “I know how to calm little Joshua. I will rock him and sing to him.”

“What will you sing?” she asked.

I knew the answer. Bending close to my child, I began to softly hum the angelic melody. He quieted immediately. I stood and walked him to a window and looked out. There in the eastern sky stood the brilliant star beaming with promise. I turned and gazed at my wife, beautiful, radiant, smiling at me adoringly. I cuddled my son in my arms and looked deeply into his face, alive, vibrant, and perfect in every way. My heart overflowed with gratitude. Once more, tears flowed freely.

How do you thank someone for giving you back your wife and blessing you with a son? Standing in the warmth of my home amongst my family, I knew that I had come to the end of a long journey; I felt as though I had entered my promised land.

Miriam had been right: God had indeed blessed us today. I gazed up at the star. Cradling my son, I pointed toward it and whispered to him softly. He stared at me with shining eyes, and I imagined that he understood. Something miraculous had happened tonight, and the world—our world—would never be the same.

I held my child and again began to hum. I was not a singer, but I sang to him just the same. It was the song the angels sang to us from the heavens: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.”