Shepherd’s Story
Read at Lambrick Park's Christmas Eve Service/December 2019 Wow! What a crowd. You lot look rough. Like you’ve been waiting to get to the front of this line for days. Nothing like a census to bring people together. All of Bethlehem’s children home. At least you have one. A home that is. ‘Tis the season us shepherds live and sleep with our sheep and goats. We wander from pasture to pasture and, rarely, do we feel welcome. Just yesterday good ol’ Abram stormed out of his house yelling-- “You foul-smelling animals find another place to graze.” I wish he was talking about the sheep.
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Joseph’s Story
Read at Lambrick Park's Christmas Eve Service/December 2019 We’re an hour away from Bethlehem, my childhood home. I want to run, to beat nightfall and to provide Mary with safety and shelter. A donkey-induced labour helps no one though, so we’ll walk slow. Our ten-day journey nears its end. “Mary, see that hill. The one with the date palm and the large rock. My buddy James and I battled giants, lions and Philistines there. Sometimes I’d be King David, sometimes Goliath; sometimes a shepherd, sometimes a wolf. Sticks became swords and palm leaves slingshots. Israel always slayed her enemies.” Mary's Story
Read at Lambrick Park's Christmas Eve Service/December 2019 Dried bread, dried berries, and dried meat--again. Travel leaves Joseph and me dry. Oh, how I long for Nazareth, for a bowl of my mother’s lentil stew. A scene from home plays in my mind. Mama hunches over the fire. The green onions, garden vegetables, parsley and thyme sizzle and spark as she adds the olive oil. The scent spreads throughout our small cluster of limestone houses. I close my eyes to keep the picture alive. |
Chavon BarryChavon is a new writer from Victoria, British Columbia. She wrestles with simple answers and is learning to listen, to be still with God. Archives
April 2022
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