I’m a simple guy. There’s really nothing special about me. I don’t know much about a lot of things. I’ve never felt comfortable with other people—I feel better just working with my tools and my hands. Women scare me. They've always been a great mystery to me. I don't know much about children. I have siblings, of course, like all Jewish kids. But I don't know how to take care of kids. That was always considered women’s work. And I certainly don’t know much about spiritual matters—other than that God definitely exists. But for some reason, God decided to use me, a simple carpenter, for his plan to bring His son—well, my son too—Jesus, to earth.

It’s really a crazy story. Most people still look at me like I’m a lunatic when I tell them how Jesus was born. Oh, people know my oldest son is different. They can tell whenever my wife, Mary, goes out to the market with all of our children. Jesus never gets into trouble. He never disobeys us or talks back. He never argues with his brothers and sisters. He doesn't talk much either. But when he does, well, I know that he is already smarter than I will ever hope to be.

Anyway, I’m rambling. It all began when I met her—my wife, Mary. What first attracted me to Mary was her expressive eyes. Although dark brown, they always seem bright and full of joy. She was sort of quiet and shy—like me. But, she was always friendly. And she was always kind to anyone she came into contact with. I asked her father’s permission to become betrothed as soon as possible. The, I started working non-stop, trying to make a home good enough for her. Of course, she kept insisting that anything would suit her. She’s sweet and humble that way. But then one day, she came to me. And the words that came out of her mouth nearly crushed me.

“I’m pregnant,” she said.

“How?! We’ve never been together in that way!” I shouted at her.

She was in tears. Apologizing. I shudder to think of how angry and hurt I was then. Not understanding at all what a miracle this was. No, I was too angry and upset . I had in mind to break the betrothal. However, I wouldn’t make it public. I wanted to spare her the shame and humiliation—not to mention the stoning. Because I still loved her.

But that night, an angel came to me. Told me not to divorce Mary, but to go on with our marriage as planned. The angel said Mary had been made pregnant by the Holy Spirit. I was so confused. How could this be? But then, I knew that God can do anything. I had to come to terms with reality—God had chosen Mary, my Mary, to bear His child. And he had also chosen me to raise Jesus. Needless to say, I was completely overwhelmed. (In all truthfulness, sometimes I still am.) But I did as the angel instructed—I took Mary as my wife, and we prepared for the arrival of a very precious addition to our family.

Then, more chaos came into the mix. A census. Everyone had to return to the place where their family came from. For me, that meant returning to Bethlehem ,which was a far journey for a man with a very pregnant woman. It was because of this that I hated to have to move her at this delicate stage in her pregnancy. But I had no choice. So, we packed as much as we could, without weighing ourselves down too much. (You know how women like their creature comforts.) I was able to find some mode of transportation for Mary’s sake—a donkey. She didn’t complain, though. The whole journey she made sure that the donkey and I were well watered and fed. She even named the donkey—Joshua. It was a looong journey. By the end of it, I felt as though I had aged at least ten years. I felt more concerned for Mary, however, who’s time was approaching rapidly.

As we reached Bethlehem’s outskirts, the pain had started. It was all Mary could do not to scream all the way into the town. I was starting to panic. I had nowhere to take Mary. We had no home. I had no family living in Bethlehem any longer. What could I do? So I did the only thing that I could think to do—I began knocking on doors. Pretty much any door. No one had rooms, however. It was all because of the blasted census. Mary started crying a little louder at this point.

So I prayed. I knew that God would want some sort of shelter for His son to be born in. And that’s when I saw it—a small inn. I frantically knocked on the door, begging for a room. When the innkeeper saw me, his eyes nearly fell out of his head. He had no room, but his wife, seeing Mary’s state, told me to take her to the stable next store. What a dirty, smelly place it was! I couldn’t imagine God wanting His son, the King of the Kings, to be born in a stable. But that’s what happened. With the innkeeper’s wife’s help, and my pacing, then rushing to Mary’s side… well, he was born into the world. A helpless baby. A beautiful baby. A baby that changed my life forever.

Yes, I’m a simple guy. But I’ve seen how God can use even a simple guy like me. Still don’t believe in miracles? It is the season for them…