It’s my son’s birthday today

It’s my son’s birthday today. He’s 13. I know what you’re thinking: the dreaded T word: teenager! Nope, things are way weirder than that.

Not long after his 12th birthday we had a big family get-together in the city. After the celebrations were over we were on our way home when we realized that he wasn’t in any of our relatives’ cars. Back to the city we went, and searched for three agonizing days before we found him.

He was giving those officious priests a hard time. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t asking them frivolous or malicious questions, like a typical smarty-pants teenager—he was asking really good, thoughtful ones that they simply couldn’t answer. I thought to myself, “That’s my boy. Like father, like son.” Then I remembered—he’s not really my son!

I think I’ve confused you. Let me explain it from the start.

I’m Joe Davidson, my wife’s name is Miriam, and our son is Josh. Before we were married, I found out Miriam was pregnant. The baby wasn’t mine.

We country folk aren’t stupid, we know where babies come from! I was devastated. I felt hurt, betrayed, confused, angry, and then more angry. Didn’t we both value loyalty and trust? Didn’t we believe that babies were for after marriage? Didn’t we love each other more than that?

I have my principles, but I’m not a vindictive man. I still loved Miriam, and I didn’t want her to suffer through a messy broken engagement, but I couldn’t just marry her as she was. So I decided to end things quietly and leave town. Maybe that way people would blame me and leave her alone.

Have you ever seen an angel? I have. In my dreams. Let me tell you, it’s not a lovey-dovey experience! I don’t normally remember dreams, just nightmares. I woke with a sweat and a racing heart. I’m glad it was a dream and not face-to-face.

The message was clear: “Do not be afraid to take Miriam as your wife. Her child is from God. You shall call him Joshua, which means ‘he will save his people’.”

You don’t mess with God, so I did what I was told and married Miriam.

But people gossip. We had to endure constant smutty talk, and rejection from those who couldn’t understand. As far as everyone was concerned, we just couldn’t wait until the wedding—and they despised us. If only they knew the truth!

As we got used to the idea of being prospective parents we did what all new mums and dads do: we started collecting baby things, enrolled for the pre-natal classes, booked in for the birthing centre at the hospital.

Then, just as zero hour was approaching, the President called a census. Talk about inconvenient! He wanted to know how much tax he could collect. He could have counted us where we were, so why did we all have to go to our birth towns?

It was no fun for Miriam, ten-tenths pregnant and having to ride a donkey from one side of the country to the other. And accommodation was impossible. We finally managed to find some shelter in a stable!

Just as we settled in, along comes Josh in a rush. There must have been some benefit to the donkey ride after all.

I started thinking about the cradle I had made back at home and wishing we were there. All I could find for Josh to sleep in was a feed trough.

Then when I thought we could finally start to settle and have some rest, the place became busier than a maternity ward nine months after a blackout during a blizzard! The animals in the stable all seemed to want to have a look—or maybe they just wanted us to go somewhere else so they could have something to eat. Even our donkey got into the act. He’s usually a placid protective type; maybe he was trying to get them to back off a bit.

After that some shepherds popped in for a peek at the new baby. I think really they were scared to go back to the hills before the angels left.

Then there were these astrologers from Asia; they’d been riding for two years to get there. I thought their gifts were a bit odd, but handy to help pay some bills.

We hadn’t even had time to go back home when there was another angel dream in the middle of the night. This time the news was even scarier than the seraph: “Take the boy and his mother and get out of here—the King wants to kill him”.

I didn’t hang around. I packed the donkey immediately and we left before dawn.

Obviously we couldn’t take those special gifts. When you are a political refugee, you take only essentials, plus who wants to be robbed on the way?

We found a place to stay and people took care of us. It wasn’t five-star or anything like that, but at least it was out of the way of the King.

Years later there was another dream: “Those who wanted to kill the boy are dead. It’s safe to go home.”

So we thanked our helpers and left to go home. At last we settled into some sort of normality. Time passed, and Miriam and I grew closer and our family grew bigger. It was easier to forget the hustle and bustle of the previous years. In fact, I began to wonder if any of it was true, or if it had even happened at all. Did God really have a plan for Josh? Was I part of it? Or was I just imagining all these things?

Josh turned 12, and we made that trip to the city.

When we found him giving those priests a run for their money, it all came flooding back. But even then I wasn’t convinced that it was true. Then, on the way home, Josh quietly said to Miriam and me, “Why were you worried? Didn’t you know that I had to be about my Father’s business?”

Suddenly I knew it was all true. God did have a plan. My words seemed to have taken on a prophetic sense. It seemed like I had spoken for God: “That’s my boy. Like Father, like Son.”