God is good

Something a bit shy-fying

My goal in life...

The English language and its oddities

Belated Christmas Story

1: Mary

Maybe the angel will come.

I thought Josh would — do something. But he's walking again, at 2:00 in the morning like the irresponsible 15-year-old he can be, while his father is lying here. I'm past thinking Dr. Rosen made a mistake; done with wishing for chemo and radiation to help. But there must be a miracle coming; something from Him....

Josh; he could do it. But he's "walking." And my husband might not last the night.

I step into the bedroom and seize Joe's strangely-chilled hand in mine; struggle to speak something of a lifetime of love, wishing he could still hold me in the arms that have covered me since high school. He opens his eyes and grimaces, hurting again.

I rush to shake some pills from the bottle. "You should've taken that morphine-pump thing," I say.

"Nah, just fuzz up my mind." Seeing my worry, he grins carelessly, the smile that won me forever senior year. "And since when do I need help with that?"

"Joseph Moskowitz, you're incorrigible."

"Don't use your big words on me." He swallows the pills and lies back in bed, gathering strength. "I gotta talk to Josh."

"He's off on one of his walks...."

"He'll come back. Always does."

"But he could do something! He should think about you ... his father — "

"Maybe that's the point."

"What?"

"His Father." Joe smiles again.

I wish it was that easy for me. Joe's always been the rock in the family; keeps me from doubting everything, especially Him. But this should be simple. "Deliverer" — that's what the angel called our son. So why can't Josh manage a miracle for the man who raised him? He's "walking," and my love and light and life is about to d. . .

I can't make myself say the word, even in my thoughts. It's too hard.

There's still no sign of the angel.

But maybe I don't want to see one. Angels aren't what I expected from the books. Sometimes they bring bad news, which is not what we need. And that first time, at Carl's Place 16 years ago....

There's no other way to say it: He was terrifying.

* * *

I was 17 that April, a fragile barely-woman who still found it impossible to sleep without my teddy bear, and life was full of promise. I made a countdown for my wall: 87 days. I hugged myself with the blissful reality. In less than three months, Joe would call me "Bride."

Oh, he was five years older. An apprentice in the carpenter's union, he'd put up with plenty of "cradle-robber" jokes. But we knew — no matter what snide remarks came from his friends or my Gran — we knew it was right.

Joe insisted on taking me to the prom, though he'd been laid off since February. He even arranged for dinner before the dance — at Carl's Place.

"Burgers on prom night," he said, with his irresistible hangdog expression. "I'm sorry, baby. If I could, we'd be at Vincenzo's — "

"Don't get on that again," I reprimanded, polishing off the last few fries. "You're job-hunting every day — "

"Better go back to Gene Robbins while you still can."

Did I detect a note of insecurity in his voice? Gene Robbins was my ex — a doctor's son. He was an arrogant jerk in the first degree, but I was blinded by cash for six months. I finally kicked Gene to the curb the night he tried to take off my dress in his Mustang.

"Gene who?" I asked carelessly. "He's slime.

"Don't worry, baby. I'll find something. Retail if I have to — "

"Joe, I am not worried about money. I have you." I flashed my diamond. "This means I'm yours."

"Still can't believe it," he said, shaking his head. "You could do better."

"Not a chance." I gave him a wink. "Let's dance."

"OK...." He stood up and tried to twirl me, right there between two greasy tables.

"I mean at the prom," I laughed.

"Let me say hey to Larry in the kitchen first, OK?"

I wrinkled my nose — should've known Larry would be working. Once he and Joe started talking fantasy football ... "Larry's working? Five minutes — that's your limit, buster!"

"Five minutes?" He gasped in mock horror. "OK, OK ... I'll be back!" He jogged through the swinging door.

* * *

There have been times when I think that night was a hallucination. It simply isn't possible. Maybe it was some kind of trick; a magician on his night off. But what happened next....

Hallucinations don't live in your belly for nine months.

He was a tall, slim man in a dark suit, carrying a pocketwatch. He didn't enter through the door. He didn't burst on the scene with a flash of light like some movie effect. He was simply there, standing next to my table, right after Joe went into the kitchen.

"Don't be afraid. He's here with you," said the man, taking a seat at my table.

Was this freak trying to hit on me? "Uh, I'm engaged," I said, with an awkward smile. "My fiance's in the kitchen — "

"Love isn't always a romance, Mary."

This was getting a little scary. I stood up, holding my cell phone for security. "Look, just get away from me. Or ... I'll get the manager."

"They can't see me," he said. "Go ahead — ask them."

I turned as he pointed. There was a middle-aged couple at a table behind me, staring with some concern. "Hey ... could you maybe talk to this guy, or something ... he's creepy."

The couple just stared. "What guy?" said the husband suspiciously.

"HIM!" I pointed to where the dark-suited man sat calmly, playing with his watch. "You know — black suit, my table?"

"We need to get home, Greg," said the wife, and they hurried outside.

"Look, don't play stupid ... if you won't do anything, will you at least ask in the back?"

The door closed behind them, and I was alone with the stranger.

"Mary, you are an extraordinary girl," he said, in brisk businesslike tones. "In the fullness of time, you will give birth."

I edged towards the kitchen. "Joe ... Joseph, will you come out here?"

"He can't hear you," said the man, standing and following me. "Your child will be called Joshua — Deliverer."

"Get away from me." I started to dial 911 on my phone; realized the display had gone dark —

"Through the power of the Most High — "

"Please don't touch me," I said, backing towards the kitchen. "I'll scream!" With all this talk of babies, was he threatening me; threatening to ... ?

" — The Spirit will come upon you, and you will have a baby boy — "

"JOSEPH!" I hollered towards the kitchen. I was almost there, if I could get through the door —

"Mary, speak with Aunt Elizabeth," said the man.

"What?"

"Aunt Elizabeth, Mary. Sixty-eight years old, and six months pregnant."

That was impossible — I hadn't heard from Aunt Liz in a couple months, but it was completely.... "That's impossible. My Aunt Elizabeth?"

The man abruptly flipped open his pocketwatch and checked the time. Then, as though obeying a cue, he turned away. "The fullness of time, Mary," he said. "Remember — Joshua."

Suddenly, the dining room was empty.

I looked down at my cell phone — the display flickered back on. My hands shook; I was terrified. I put my hand on the kitchen door to get Joe; longed to feel his arms around me....

My phone rang. It was Aunt Liz.

She wanted me to be among the first to know: she and Uncle Zach were expecting, and they planned to name the baby John.

2: Joe

For her sake, I wish for a miracle. What kind of scum leaves his wife alone with four kids? Not like I can help it, but I wish....

Josh could do it, I believe that. But the kid says it's not "His Father's will." I've made my peace, even though I don't understand ... I swear, mostly I have. We all gotta go sometime, and from what I hear, life Upstairs is a little nicer anyway, and Mary and the kids....

But there's the problem. How is "His Father's will" gonna raise four kids?

The other night, Sara — she's our youngest, just started kindergarten — she asks Mary, "If Daddy leaves, when's he coming back?"

I thought my heart would break and kill me right there. It would've saved cancer the trouble.

Josh must be back from his walk, because I hear Mary in the living room taking him on another guilt trip. She won't say it anymore, the stuff about miracles — not out loud. I made her promise. But she won't let the poor kid have a minute's rest.

"Shouldn't you be in with your father?" she snaps.

Josh's footsteps pad quietly into the bedroom. I force my eyes open and smile. "Don't let your Mother get to you."

He suddenly reaches down; takes my hand. "Dad, you know I would — if I could — "

"Son, don't start that again — "

"But I mean it! If I could — right now; you'd be on your feet and — "

"Son ... sit down, OK?"

He sits.

This kid is way too old to be 15. I'd rather die 10 times than see him hurting like this; hurting over something he obviously can't fix....

It's really OK, I want to say, but don't have words. If it wasn't for Mary and the kids, I could go out with a smile on my face. I don't need a "healing," just somebody by the bed, to stay with me until ... That's all I want anymore. It's amazing how simple life gets at the end.

But things have never been simple with this kid around. He sits with his head down, suffering, longing to do something to help.

Silence.

I start thinking about how complicated — and marvelous — he's made my life. The time he was two, when we had to run to Mexico before the CIA found him. When he was 12, and we searched all over town for him, until we finally went back to the synagogue — "my Father's house," he said.

I look up at Josh, sitting beside the bed. I poke him in the ribs and smirk. "You're trouble, kid," I say.

"Always have been," he replies.

I don't say anything more, but I have a feeling he knows exactly what I mean. It's like he's a mind reader.

He started before he was born ... causing trouble. I remember that afternoon two months before the wedding, when I picked up Mary from school. Right in the car, she told me she was pregnant. That was trouble. I mean, who could believe this kid was God Himself, right? I was sure she'd been cheating on me.

No, this kid has never made my life simple.

* * *

It was May, but the sky was overcast and it looked like it might rain and the wind rattled last fall's dead leaves in the yard. It was like the weather was designed with our conversation in mind.

Obviously, the baby was Gene Robbins'. She and Richie Rich must have been sneaking around behind my back, and now for some reason he didn't want the kid, so she was crawling back to me with another man's baby inside.

"Just keep the ring. Is that what you want?" My voice was cold; I stared straight through the windshield of my car.

"Joe, I don't understand either. Please try...." Her voice and eyes were pleading; begging me to come near.

"I'm not raising Gene's baby. You need money, take him to court."

"Joe — listen, Aunt Liz is pregnant. She's sixty-eight!"

"Why do I care? I just hope Uncle Zach's the daddy," I snapped.

I felt her hand on my shoulder, touching me with such tenderness.... I couldn't help myself; I turned towards her and tried to believe. "Baby — how can I trust you?"

"Joe, I'm begging you. Seriously, begging. Just listen...." She took my hand. "On prom night. At Carl's Place; while you talked to Larry ... there was a man."

I turned back to the windshield. "So the kid ain't even Gene's? Some one-night thing?"

"No! Joe, he was ... I'm almost sure...." She suddenly looked down; blurted it out: "He was an angel."

I couldn't believe she bought that. Apparently, after prom; after dancing in my arms until midnight; she went and found some guy who claimed to have wings....

"Joe, listen! He never touched me; I never ... saw him again. But we need to name the baby Joshua."

"So this guy never touched you, and the stork brought you kid," I sneered.

"No! It was the Spirit...."

I started the engine. "Keep the ring," I said. "It'll help pay for diapers."

"Joe, I swear!" It was an angel!"

"So marry him."

Mary jerked open her door and jumped from the car; ran into her house without looking back.

As I drove home, I could hardly see the road through my tears.

* * *

I stumbled up the stairs to my apartment, walked past the canned laughter of my roomie's sitcom, and locked my bedroom door behind me. It was two months before our wedding, and Mary was back with Gene, or sleeping with "angels," and the whole time she kept insisting she loved me. I knew she was out of my league; knew she was too young; but I actually believed it when she said....

I jerked her senior picture out of my wallet and shredded it onto the floor. After that, I laid down and — for the first time since I was about 8 — cried myself to sleep.

Dreams are strange things; completely unpredictable. I just remember lying down ... then suddenly, I was in a nightmare. In my dream, I opened my eyes because I heard a noise, and found a stranger standing beside of my bed.

He wore a dark suit and played with an old-fashioned pocketwatch on a chain; stood in a pool of white light that came from nowhere. I guess somehow I knew I wasn't awake, because I didn't start hollering for my roommate.

Not yet, anyway.

The man spoke. "Mary," he said. "Her name means 'Cherished One.'"

"Yeah, that's what I thought," I growled.

Then I realized ... how could he know her name? I eyed him cautiously. "Are you a friend of hers? Teacher or something?"

"You could say that." The man smiled, as though at some inside joke.

"Well, then tell her we're through." I rolled over.

"Most men, if they had a chance at a wife like her ... they'd never look back."

"Who are you?"

"Call me ... Mr. Angel," he said. "Where do you think her baby came from?"

I turned back to face him. "How . . were you listening to us?"

He stared thoughtfully at my shredded picture of Mary on the floor. "Really — where'd the baby come from?"

"Apparently, the stork." I'd had enough of this guy. I climbed out of bed and walked to my bedroom door.

"The Spirit blows where it will, Joe," said the man.

I unlocked the door and turned the handle. It didn't move. I pulled; I twisted the knob — nothing.

I turned to face the stranger, fear rising in my gut. "How did you do that?"

"Behold, a virgin will conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel." The man's words rang out with force. I yanked the door violently; pounded on it and shouted for my roommate. The man walked briskly towards me....

"Mr. Angel ... look, I won't tell anybody about this, I swear — "

"It's not me I'm concerned about," he said. He towered over me, must have been close to seven feet tall. He no longer played with his watch but looked stern, menacing. He backed me against the wall; there was nowhere to go....

"Just — let me out, okay? I haven't done anything," I pleaded.

"I never said you did."

"I swear. I won't tell anyone — "

I braced myself for a blow; a weapon. But abruptly, the man turned and walked away.

"The door's open now, Joe," he said, calling over his shoulder. "But you don't have to use it. Remember: a virgin will conceive."

He never turned to the left or right — simply strode straight into drywall. He was gone; the dream was over; I found myself bold upright in bed, sweating and shaking. Must be awake now; must've sat up in my sleep, I thought. I've never had a dream so real....

I looked down. In my clenched fist I was still grasping Mary's senior picture, the one from my wallet with her love note on the back. But hadn't I just torn it up? Yes — there were the shredded pieces, sitting on the floor where I left them. The photo in my hand didn't have a single tear.

A virgin will conceive. The words from the dream rang in my ears. Of course, that was clearly a fairy tale; completely impossible.

Then again, so was the unharmed picture. And the man in the suit.

3: Mary

These toy shelves in the den are beautiful.

Josh built them years ago — his first big project. He isn't Joe's flesh and blood, but strangely, he's the only one with the gift.

You couldn't pay Jimmy enough to get his hands dirty; he'll sue people for a living. And Phil can't pound a nail without banging his thumb. Sara still wants to be a princess. But Josh creates beauty out of wood, just like his father....

The night he was born, Joe said, "This boy's got carpenter's hands, Mary. Nails in his blood."

I've always thought a man should build something. After Joe's gone ... one day I'll look around at the cabinets and dressers ... I'll say, "My Joseph, he made these...."

But maybe it won't come to that. Maybe the miracle will still happen.

Josh pads softly into the room. "Dad's sleeping," he whispers.

I nod my head; pick up some toys and put them on the shelves. My son bends down to help me.

"Joshua?" I ask timidly. "Do you promise ... will you tell your mother the truth?"

"Of course, Mom." He looks at me quizzically.

"Josh, can ... can you make your father better?"

He stands abruptly; starts to go. "I'll go sit with him, Mom, if that's what — "

He's avoiding the question; I need to know. "Josh, you promised! Can you make your father — healed?"

Josh is quiet; downcast — and his silence speaks volumes. Clearly, he can heal my husband. But for some reason....

"Is this because you're not really Joseph's son?" I spit at him. "Is that it?"

"Mom, I love him! I swear to God, if I could — "

"And I swear to you, Joshua Joseph Moskowitz: I would give my life for your father."

He lowers his eyes. "I know."

"You think about that," I say, taking his arm; shaking it. "You think about what you could do, without breaking a sweat — "

"Mom!" he says, pulling away, tears in his eyes — "Mom, I'm sorry.... It's not my time yet."

"And when is it ... 'your time'?"

He studies the carpet; mumbles a reply: "Not soon enough." Josh stumbles from the room, crying openly.

I realize my fists are clenched and I'm shaking and the tears in my eyes come from rage — rage at this "Son of God" who refuses to help my husband....

I wish he could see. I wish this kid could witness the night of his birth, when Joe knew Josh wasn't his real son. He knew it — and he still would have died to protect his boy.

* * *

We didn't expect Josh to make his big entrance three weeks early. That's why we were on the road to Chicago, going to the national convention for the carpenters' union. And I didn't know what labor felt like, I thought it was cramps again — until it was too late to find a hospital. That's why I gave birth on a frigid tile floor at a deserted highway rest stop. At 2:30 in the morning, I wrapped our newborn in my Nazareth High sweatshirt while Joe found a cardboard box to be a cradle.

But I couldn't understand why it happened that way. Wouldn't His Son at least rate a hospital? I expected a couple reporters interested in the "Son of God" angle, maybe the governor would show up ... I guess I wanted a little fanfare. Instead, we got graffiti and a nonfunctional pay phone.

Joe kept pacing around, trying to get a signal on his cell phone to call for an ambulance. I was struggling to keep myself and Josh warm under a car blanket. Suddenly, we heard a noise outside.

"Joe, what is that?" I said groggily. "It sounds like a whole bunch of ... motorcycles."

Joe walked over to the door — and his jaw dropped. "Baby ... there's about 10 Harleys in the parking lot."

This couldn't be happening. First a deserted rest stop, now this ... how could He do this to us? More bikes poured into the lot; scary-looking guys in leather and chains climbed off. Baseball bats and knives were pulled out. They filled the parking lot, milled around purposelessly. Joe heard them griping about why "The Boss" had dragged them here.

Then for no reason at all, one of the bikers smashed a window in our car. I didn't understand. Josh's Father was putting His son in mortal danger....

"Mary, there's three of them headed up the sidewalk," said Joe suddenly. He grabbed a push broom that was sitting in the corner. "I'll try to jam the door. Listen, if they come in — "

Coming up the sidewalk? "Joseph! The baby; what are we going to do with Josh?"

"Listen ... if anything happens, you ... you run out that back door, OK? Run out and go around to the highway, wave until somebody stops — "

We heard one of them yanking on the door handle, then a pane of sheet glass shattered under a blow from a baseball bat. Three of the biggest men I've ever seen entered the rest stop. The leader — I saw a tattoo that said "The Boss" — shoved his bat into Joe's chest.

"Some people try to block doors," he said. "Not a good idea when the Outlaws are outside."

Joe tried to back away. "Hey man, that's our car out there — "

"Boys got excited. You have a problem?"

"No, sir. It's just — my wife and my boy — "

"Gimme a reason," he said, jabbing Joe with his bat. "One good reason why I shouldn't — "

"We just had a baby, man. A newborn ... listen, I'll come outside; you can do whatever you want. Just let my boy and my wife — please, man...."

The Boss caught a glimpse of me and the baby hiding in the corner. Suddenly, he pushed around Joe towards us. My husband tried to thrust his body in front ... as The Boss inexplicably dropped to his knees.

"The kid's real!" he croaked.

Joe's mouth gaped open as the other two bikers knelt reverently beside him.

The Boss and his cronies stumbled over themselves trying to explain. They'd been at a bar earlier when a tall, slim man in a dark suit walked in, toying with a pocketwatch. He proclaimed, "Join the celebration — the King has come to earth!" He brought a band with him that played a country tune about "peace on earth." Then as he left the bar, the stranger said, "See your Lord at Exit 180."

Most of the gang was convinced it was a joke, but The Boss insisted they find out. And so they arrived at our rest stop — some of them hoping against hope they'd find a newborn King.

I asked The Boss if he wanted to hold little Joshua. He started to shake his head ... but then reached out his arms with an awkward smile.

"Well, I don't know about 'Joshua'; I don't like kids," he said. "But I do wanna hold my Lord."

While I watched my son wriggle in his arms, I think I understood why there weren't reporters; why it happened at a deserted rest stop. After all, where else could The Boss meet the King?

* * *

My trip down Memory Lane is officially over. Strangely, I find myself smiling. All those bikers holding our newborn boy; that was a sight....

But there's no reason to smile, I tell myself. Is there anything funny in this situation? I need to check on Joe, because obviously, the miracle is not coming. Josh will not act, the angel will not come, my husband will pass to eternity before the night is over....

And all I want to know is why. Why is this "His Father's will"? I understood about the bikers and the rest stop. I understood, so I could ... accept it.

Josh walks back through the den with red and swollen eyes. I can't blame him for not looking at me.

"Will you make sure your father's all right?" I ask gently.

"Sure, Mom." He keeps walking, head down.

"Josh...."

He stops, nervously.

"You know, the whole way — ever since the angel came — I've always done what He asked. When I was pregnant and Gran said I was "cheap trash" ... when you were born at that rest stop ... when He told us to run to Mexico ... I did it. You were my baby, from Him. Everything was worth it."

"I know, Mom...."

"I'm sorry, Josh. Your crazy mother, she's been a basket case...."

"I know...."

"But my Joseph ... not this; it isn't worth this!" Tears sting my eyes; I look heavenward in sorrow and defiance. "Joshua, I can't give Him any more!"

My boy is silent. There is nothing either one of us can say.

Finally, I head towards the front door. "I'm taking a walk."

"Mom?" His eyes are full of concern.

"I just need to talk ... to your Father. OK?"

He nods. I put on my jacket and step into the cold night.

4: Joe

It's not supposed to be like this. Dying, I mean.

In the movies, you're old — you got kids and grandkids around the bed. You don't leave your wife alone to raise four kids. But at least Josh will be here, the new man of the house. I know he'll take care of her....

He comes into the room and sits down by the bed.

"Joshua, promise me. You'll always take care of your mother? And the kids?" I know he will, but I need to hear it.

"Dad, you know I will. Until...."

What's this "until" business? "Son, there's no time limit. She needs you."

Josh studies his shoes. "Dad, you don't understand. I have to ... go."

I can't believe this. If His Father's the one Upstairs, this kid is gonna live forever. And he can't look in on his old mother? "Joshua Joseph Moskowitz, you listen to me — "

"Dad ... I wasn't gonna say — "

"Say what? Your All-Loving Father won't let you help my wife?"

"No!" he says, and stands to his feet. "No! Dad, I would never ... you don't get it. I have to go."

Suddenly, it dawns on me. He means he'll have to leave like me; say goodbye to everyone and suffer his way back to eternity. But that's impossible; how could this kid, this God-as-Human, do such a thing? "No ... son, please — that's impossible; it isn't right — "

"Remember the prophecy, Dad?" he says gently. "He was wounded for our transgressions ... brought as a lamb to the slaughter — "

"That's bunk, Joshua," I say earnestly. How could his Father do this to him? "That prophesy garbage, it never actually happens — "

"But don't you remember, Dad? The night the Ambassador came?"

I know what he's talking about, I remember the night like it was yesterday. But it was so long ago, and I was hoping it would never really happen.... "Josh, you were in bed. You were only 2."

"But He woke me up, Dad," says Josh. "He wanted me to hear the prophecy ... so I would never forget."

And then the feelings of that night come flooding back to me like it was yesterday. I remember the ambassador's news; how it began with dreams and excitement ... but turned to terror.

* * *

Clearly, the kid had carpentry in his blood — maybe he was bound for a career in architecture. But that didn't fit with his name — "Deliverer." Maybe he'd turn out to be a rabbi. Or he'd get into politics! He could finally turn our country around.

Josh was 2 years old now, and I'd wondered about it ever since he was born. What would it mean to be His Son, when he grew up and became a man?

"What do you think, baby?" I asked. "Will he be governor or president? Kid got your brains; I know he'll wind up one or the other."

Mary handed me a paper marked "PAST DUE." "Joseph Moskowitz," she said pointedly, "do you have any idea how we're paying the gas bill?"

I shrugged. "You're the one with the brains."

"Then we'll discuss the future governor after the bills," she said firmly.

Then someone rang our doorbell.

It was after 8:00 — late for a visitor. And sometimes I wonder, if I'd known who was there ... would I have answered the door? Of course we had to protect Josh, but I wish we never found out the rest. I wish we could've gone on living quietly at home with the gas bill as our biggest worry. . .

A portly man in a pinstripe suit was standing on the porch. He bowed low as I opened the door.

"Are you the King?" he asked, with a slight foreign accent.

I stared. "The King? Try England, buddy."

"But I followed his star ... the Suffering King?"

"Do I need to call the cops?" I asked.

"Look outside," he said.

What did I have to lose? I stepped onto the porch ... and stood transfixed by the sight. Think about the moon at its brightest, and imagine it's hovering just above the treetops. That's how the star — Josh's star — appeared that night.

"Mary — come here," I gasped, pointing. "It's over our house."

"Fixed in relative latitude," said the man, nodding. "The National Observatory has never seen anything like it."

"So this is about Joshua?" I asked.

"It concerns the King," said the man, extending his hand. "David Levine — Israel's ambassador to the United States. May I see him?"

"He's asleep," said Mary.

The man looked surprised.

"I mean, he's 2 years old — " I explained.

"Only 2 years old ... and such a future ..." said the man, almost to himself.

"Do you know something? About my son?" I asked eagerly.

"Only the prophecy...."

Mary and I stared blankly.

"I have brought gifts," said the man hurriedly. "As the King is 2 years old, I will regard you as regents."

"What prophecy?" I asked. Was it my imagination, or was he dodging the question?

The ambassador took three packages from his briefcase. "Gold," he said, hefting a heavy wooden box. "A symbol of royalty.

"Frankincense — perfume of the great," he continued, holding a glass bottle.

Finally, he removed a small, crude-looking metal jar. "And ... myrrh."

What was he trying to pull? I didn't know much about prophecies, but I knew what myrrh was for — preserving dead bodies. This guy was bringing my kid gold, perfume, and embalming fluid. "What kind of a joke is that?" I said.

"I'm sorry, I thought you knew," said the Ambassador. "The prophecy — "

"What prophecy? I read the Scriptures, too — "

"He was wounded for our transgressions, bruised for our iniquities ... brought as a lamb to the slaughter...."

"What does that mean?" I said, anger rising in my voice. How could that have anything to do with Josh?

"I'm so sorry. I simply assumed ... you had heard it before." The man began closing up his briefcase. "I'll leave my gifts, I'm very sorry — "

"No!" I shouted. "What's happening to my boy?"

Then suddenly, a tall, slim man in a dark suit walked into the living room, carrying a suitcase and consulting his pocketwatch.

"Mr. Angel?" I said in disbelief.

"The time is not yet come," he said. "The powerful would trample on the weak. Before it's ordained."

"Mr. Angel, I don't understand — "

"The CIA — they have heard of the King! Joshua is in danger."

The ambassador's face grew pale. "But ... I was assured strict confidentiality in my inquiries — "

"There's no time! Go to Mexico. Until the ones who want the child are gone," said the angel, thrusting the suitcase into Mary's hands.

"I have diplomatic plates on my car," said the ambassador. "They should get us to the airport."

"He's only a baby!" I protested. "How can they think — "

"GO!" shouted the angel. "The men are watching the street — use the alley."

Mary swung into action, going into our bedroom to throw clothes in the suitcase. But I had to know — what was happening to my boy?

"Is this about the prophecy?" I asked. "The wounds and bruises — "

"No one can crush the King ... " said the angel.

"Thank God!"

"... Until his time."

"What does that mean? I don't understand — "

"GO!" shouted the angel again. "The time is not yet come, but the men are at the door!"

I finally fled the room, woke up Josh and tried to explain we were going on a trip, but there was no time to pack toys....

We were running out the back door when we heard an officious knock at the front. In the living room, I heard the angel whisper, "Long live the King!" And then we were gone, driving faster than we'd ever traveled before towards the airport.

* * *

"The prophecy? It's true?" I ask my son softly.

Josh mutely nods his head.

"When?" I ask urgently. "When will this happen?"

"When it's time," replies Josh.

"I don't understand...."

Josh speaks suddenly, urgently, as though from the depths of his soul. "Dad ... what is it like — when you're dying?"

I only have a few hours left; I don't want to talk about this.... "Son, let's not — "

"Please! Does it hurt ... like me and Mom? Does it hurt here?" Josh takes his hand and places it on my heart.

Of course it does; it's agony to leave your family behind. "Son, you always think.... If anything happened to your kids, you'd give it all. You wouldn't even have to think. But now you lie here ... and you got nothing left to give."

I lie back against the pillows, exhausted. Just talking is enough to tire me out now. But there's something I have to know.

"Joshua, the prophecy: pierced and slaughtered ... why would your Father do it? To you, His Son.... If anything happened to you or Jimmy or Philip or Sara, I'd give it all! Why does he want you to — "

Josh stands, suddenly interrupting — "So someday, it will never happen again!"

I'm confused.

"This — good-bye, this dying thing, it has to stop! I'm starting to hear things, Dad. Voices ... everyone around me; it feels like everyone in the world. Dad, please try to understand," he says. "You know it wasn't made to be this way."

I stare blankly.

"Take Jimmy. He won't tell you, but he's terrified of dying. He's only 12, but he's thinking about how it will happen, and when, and he can't sleep at night."

I had no idea — my Jimmy? He hasn't said a word about it....

"And Mrs. Folger next door — remember, last year she died all alone. And there are two men in the hospital right now, and they're not going to make it, and they don't know what lies beyond...."

"Josh, how can you possibly know that?" I say — but it sounds as though he really does know....

"Nobody can help them, Dad," says Josh, sounding like he might cry. "I hear them all the way to the cemetery, the voices weeping, and they feel so dark. It shouldn't be this way...."

Mary is back from her walk, she comes into the room.

"And Mom, you remember the baby. The one before Jimmy — the one that didn't make it."

How did he know ... we never told him about Mary's miscarriage; never told a soul....

"I know, Mom. Even though he only lasted a day, you still remember him, and you still love him, and you're hoping somehow — someday — not now, when it's time — you'll see Baby Jeremy again...."

It's something she's longed for, all these years ... how did he know?

I reach out for Josh's hand. "Joshua ... son, I don't understand. Is this about the prophecy?"

"'Wounded for our transgressions,' Dad," he says quietly. "So that death will be no more."

"But why you, son?" I ask. "Why would your Father do this — to you?"

"Why would you do it, Dad?" asks Josh. "You said if anything happened to us, you would give everything...."

"Josh, I wouldn't even think twice. I'd fall on the grenade, y'know? I love you too much."

"Dad," says Josh gently, pointing to his Father in heaven. "Dad ... so does He."

Silence.

"That's why I'm here, Dad," says Josh quietly. "Because he loves you too much ... not to let me do it."

I nod slowly. I think I finally understand.

5: Mary

Joe hangs on for a few more hours — all the way till morning, when Jimmy and Philip and Sara wake up and say goodbye. I still don't know why my Joseph has to leave. But as I hold his hand and he quietly breathes his last, I feel a strange kind of peace.

For some reason, I suddenly think about The Boss holding Josh all those years ago, and smile faintly through tears. When our son was born, he didn't bring new life like just any baby; anyone else who would grow up to die. He brought new life to us all — so some day, dying will never happen again.

Which means that one day, I'll see my Joseph again ... my love and light and life. Not now, but in Josh's time.