The Guest Room

The journey had been long. Longer than they had expected. Joseph walked with measured steps, his eyes scanning the path ahead, while Mary shifted uncomfortably on the donkey. Her hands rested on her swollen belly, feeling the promise of new life stirring within.

Bethlehem was finally in sight, a collection of stone houses nestled among the hills. The city of David. Joseph’s family place. Yet, as they drew closer, doubt crept into Joseph’s heart. He had family here, but he hadn’t seen them in years. Would they welcome them?

The streets were alive with people—distant relatives, travellers, and others forced to return by the decree of the emperor. It seemed everyone had come home at once.

Joseph stopped in front of a familiar door. He took a deep breath, glanced at Mary, and knocked.

The door creaked open, and a woman’s face appeared. Recognition bloomed slowly, then turned to joy. “Joseph!” she exclaimed. “You’ve come home!”

“Yes,” Joseph said, his voice tight with relief. “This is Mary. My wife.”

The woman’s eyes softened as she took in Mary’s condition. “Come in, come in!” she urged. “The house is full, but we’ll find a way.”

They stepped inside. The air was thick with the scent of bread and the warmth of bodies. The guest room—what they called the lishkah (kataluma in Greek)—was crowded with relatives and other guests, so it wasn’t much, but it was private enough for Mary and Joseph to settle in for the night.

For the first few days, they rested and tried to make themselves comfortable in the busy home. The noise of the other families—children running about, adults chatting and catching up—was a constant hum, but Mary and Joseph made do. The space wasn’t large, but it was cozy enough for them. The women in the house, knowing that Mary was expecting soon, made sure she had everything she needed, offering help and companionship.

However, as the time drew near for Mary to give birth, it became clear that the tiny corner in the lishkah was no longer adequate. The bustle of the busy household and the lack of privacy made it difficult for Mary to focus on what was happening. The space was cramped, with just enough room for them to sleep, and now it was not the ideal place for childbirth.

When the labour began, Mary was moved downstairs to the lower level of the house, where the animals were kept. It wasn’t a separate stable as we often picture, but rather part of the house that served as an area where animals could be brought in at night. It was quieter, more secluded, and offered the privacy Mary needed to give birth.

The women in the household, already prepared to assist Mary, went with her to the lower level for support. They helped her settle in, bringing blankets and warmth from the animals that gathered there. The men, on the other hand, remained upstairs in the living area, unaware of the intimate details of the birth but fully aware that something special was happening. They stayed engaged with the household activities, talking and waiting for news, while the women supported Mary through labour.

It was noisy in the house, with children playing and relatives talking, yet the cries of the newborn baby pierced the night. Mary wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in the closest thing to a cradle — a manger, a feeding trough used by the animals, filled with fresh hay. The manger, while simple, provided a safe, secure place for the infant.

The sheep stirred and settled again. The house above was still bustling with noise. But in that humble space, love was born. The Light the world had waited for had arrived, not in a palace, not with fanfare, but in the place where the overlooked and the ordinary lived.

Meanwhile, outside the village, a group of shepherds kept watch over their flocks. Their world was the night sky and the rustle of sheep. Nobody paid them much attention — they were just shepherds, after all. But suddenly, the sky split open with a brilliance they couldn’t comprehend. A messenger of God stood before them, and their hearts pounded with fear.

“Don’t be afraid,” the angel said. “I bring you good news of great joy! A Saviour has been born to you in Bethlehem. You’ll find him wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

As quickly as it began, the sky was filled with more angels, their voices ringing out in praise. “Glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth to those favoured by God!”

As suddenly as it had appeared, it was dark again. The shepherds blinked, their hearts still racing. “Let’s go to Bethlehem,” one of them said. “Let’s see this thing we’ve been told about.”

They went in haste, their feet sure on the rocky paths. When they arrived, they found the house, the lower room, and the manger. And there, just as they were told, was the child. The Saviour. Wrapped in clothes, tiny and perfect.

The shepherds knelt, awe washing over them. The Light had come to them, the ignored, the forgotten, the ones who slept under the stars. They left that night, their voices loud with joy, telling anyone who would listen about what they had seen.

As the night settled again, the house grew quiet. Mary held the baby close, her heart whispering with wonder. The world didn’t yet know. The rulers and the mighty were still asleep in their palaces. But the Light had begun to shine. In a humble room, among family and animals, in a manger meant for hay, love took its first breath.

And nothing would ever be the same.

The Guest Room
(shorter version)

The journey had been long. Longer than they had expected. Joseph walked with measured steps, his eyes scanning the path ahead, while Mary shifted uncomfortably on the donkey. Her hands rested on her swollen belly, feeling the promise of new life stirring within.

Bethlehem was finally in sight, a collection of stone houses nestled among the hills. The city of David. Joseph’s family place. Yet, as they drew closer, doubt crept into Joseph’s heart. He had family here, but he hadn’t seen them in years. Would they welcome them?

The streets were alive with people—distant relatives, travellers, and others forced to return by the decree of the emperor. It seemed everyone had come home at once.

Joseph stopped in front of a familiar door. He took a deep breath, glanced at Mary, and knocked.

The door creaked open, and a woman’s face appeared. Recognition bloomed slowly, then turned to joy. “Joseph!” she exclaimed. “You’ve come home!”

“Yes,” Joseph said, his voice tight with relief. “This is Mary. My wife.”

The woman’s eyes softened as she took in Mary’s condition. “Come in, come in!” she urged. “The house is full, but we’ll find a way.”

They stepped inside. The air was thick with the scent of bread and the warmth of bodies. The guest room—what they called the lishkah (kataluma in Greek)—was crowded with relatives and other guests, so it wasn’t much, but it was private enough for Mary and Joseph to settle in for the night.

Continue reading the full story here.