I know a story of a girl.

Let's call her Brooke.

Brooke was maybe 16 - average height, brown skin, bright-eyed - she was innocent. And she intended to marry a guy named Trent.

Now, Trent never resented his soon-to-be wife however her unexpected pregnancy left him questioning.

And, Brooke was, at the least, afraid.

She wrestled with the thought.

See, because Brooke had never smashed before.

She was just a girl next door - a virgin, chosen, burdened - by this weight of glory.

But, you see, Trent wasn't naïve. He didn't believe she could conceive without having pleased another.

He resolved to divide in quiet until his dreams told him not to be so pious.

This isn't about you.

It's a divine ordination of reconciliation.

The child she births would rebirth nations.

She carries the real Adam - no need for Eve.

He came to redeem and never leave us.

Immanuel, God with us.

All is well. He's true and just.

A man for his people. The messiah, lowly but regal. He didn't count himself as equal but beneath the most feeble.

So, Trent would you marry Mary, I mean, Brooke would you accept this glory?

The answer sealed in three-part deity, swaddled close in form of a baby.

A night so sweet and holy. Silenced hearts.

Boldly stretched between a tree - bled, died, rose.

You see, Trent didn't know the whole story.

No Joseph to coach him, just blind faith and a donkey.

This is Brooke and Trent's take - one of old - molded by God's design.

And retold.

A Merry Christ - mas Story.