MY BOY JESUS

My name is Joseph of Nazareth. I am a carpenter. Let me tell you what Christmas was really like and what my boy, Jesus, meant to me. . . . My heart jumped when the tiny figure within her kicked as my rough, callused hand felt Mary’s belly. Oh, we loved each other as much as Abraham and Sarah. . . . He had settled down and looked up at me. I felt His warmth and worried that my work worn hands would offend His tender skin . . . until His tiny fingers wrapped around the edge of my hand and He fell asleep. I handed Him to Mary and she held Him close to her breast. I was His father and He would be my boy! My joy was extreme. Jesus had come into my life like He would come into no others. . . . My boy, Jesus, was the one to watch. His deep piercing blue eyes would soak up everything around Him. He wanted to know how everything worked. He loved to work with wood. I watched as He felt the wood, following the grain, using the tools to create, and how He inspected his finished product.