Humility

Frail and swaddled in a blanket that had not been washed in at least a week, enduring much dirt and germs, this new and precious baby was born. The water buffaloes and goat were watching as the village woman bore her first son into the manger they occupied. It was a night, much like any other, the valley was warm with the days heat lingering, and the stars were brightly guiding any man’s path. This new mother silently, calmly and even respectfully waited as her husband inquired for a room to give birth, she knew that the possibility for any woman to help her was extremely slim, as it was already well into the night, yet she was resilient in her temper, she chose to trust in God. One man offered this manger, and with a peace, she accepted and began to prepare herself for the miracle moments away. If you have never met a village woman, you should know how strong and beautiful they are. The culture demands hard working women to be raised; there is no place for weakness. Tenderness is a trait that only can be fully expressed in love making and child birth, but it is in these times when a woman can show her beauty fully, for there is a vulnerability that is captivating in her eyes. The woman was now fully prepared, she would have her outer garment to wipe the blood and sticky beautiful layering that her child would need off, as well as the blanket to hold him. Her husband, though fearful, and in awe, took her hand and prayed as the little one made his way out into the stench around him. The woman carefully cleaned the child, swatting away the flies that were immediately drawn away from the animals to see the new life also. Water is not conveniently received in a village, one has to walk long distances to bring water and the pitcher is typically carried on the head and only by women. I wonder if this village woman towed her water for cleansing before she gave birth or if her husband was able to do so for her, I hope the later. There is no hay, like we have here in America, only limbs with thick leaves that have been cut down from trees and fed to the animals. I wonder if this woman had any of these leaves to cushion her as she lay this night.

This is just a made up story of what I picture now of Jesus' birth. I have been in some very stinky stables overseas and have experienced life for a village women, so my imagination has new smells and scenes. I am amazed at Jesus, in a new way. He is so humble. How am I to truly be like Him?