by Candace Arthuria Williams
Thank you, heavenly Father, for every baby who is born in the warmth and security of a sanitized facility. I am thinking of One who was not. His mother was not guilty of any infraction against your law or the laws of mankind. She did not succumb to a man who was not her husband. A chaste and holy woman, she was a chosen vessel unto you, enduring the indignities of those who would not believe. Thank you for the angel who reassured her fiancé of her innocence. Blessed is Mary among women—and Joseph, whose faith was the prototype for marriages made in heaven.
Those were difficult days. There were no hospitals promising safe delivery, no music or jingled bells to announce the baby’s arrival. No doctors or anesthesiologists, not even a place for his mother to lay her head. Yet under the care of the angels, she delivered the Light of the World in the humblest accommodations. However, no sooner than she did, the treacherous King Herod, fearing the birth of his rival, decreed that the innocent Child should be put to death. To ensure a successful execution, all male children, age two and under, should suffer the same fate at the hands of his brutal assassins. Thank you, dear Lord, for the wisdom of the wise men who chose to go another way when asked to reveal the whereabouts of the Child. Thank you for the brown people and absence of walls that allowed sanctuary in Egypt—the perfect example of political asylum for immigrant, refugee families.
As most of us know, that is not where the story ends. The boy grew up to personify your perfection, as the embodiment of love and hope—until the ignorant masses fulfilled Herod’s evil intent. But even then, He arose in victory, imparting salvation to all who believe. Followers of Christ Jesus live to share that inheritance with the world.
As we open our gifts, eat more than we should, and watch touchy-feely movies about love and mistletoe, infuse us, dear Father, with the true and Holy Spirit. Let the Christ-child be forever emblazoned upon the remembrance of your children.
“Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.”
Candace Arthuria Williams began her career in Corporate Communications and currently writes short fiction, essays, and poetry. Her work is multi-cultural, inter-generational, and expands across a broad range of genres. During the pandemic, Candace completed a diverse collection entitled “Very Short Stories for Very Busy People.” Her objective is to capture readers’ imaginations without consuming too much of their time. She has published with the International Women’s Writing Guild, the Teaneck Public Library Archives, and Friday Flash Fiction.