It was a simple clay building, with little pomp or decoration. A single girl dwelled within, and the locals called her Blessed Maryam for her piety. 

Now, at the dawning of the day, she held her hands up, pressed together in prayer and contemplation. She had done all the recitations and readings as were fitting for her station in life. But In truth, she felt God more in silence. He was everywhere to her, in every sight and every sound, and she found in silence she could simply feel the Almighty flowing into her, filling her very being. 

She had been consecrated to the service of God in the Temple of Jerusalem at a young age, and had stayed there until her first menstrual cycle, when ritual uncleanliness prevented her from remaining. She had been set aside for this reason, in a structure built alongside her father’s home in Nazareth, where she could continue her devotions. 

Her parents thought she went too far sometimes, stating that if she didn’t come out to get food and water she would starve. They were not wrong. She had fainted several times before, only to have her mother find her. Then and only then would she pause in her devotions to take nourishment. Though she enjoyed her mother’s cooking, she sometimes grew weary of the constant maintenance of her body. Her soul found it’s sustenance in the worship of the God of her Fathers. 

Now, as the morning light filtered through her chamber window, she felt her body growing listless. No! Not now! She was in the throes of ecstasy, her very being swimming in forces her mind could not comprehend, yet her heart felt perfectly at home with them. 

Oh, please, Lord, she prayed. I don’t want to leave my prayers.

She stood up, swaying on her feet. She took a step, hitting a clay jug, shaking it. Some water fell from it. She looked down to see the jug, a cup, and an enormous platter of food in front of her, meats, breads, and fruits. She couldn’t possibly finish it alone. 

Maybe someone left it here, and I never noticed, she considered. 

Sometimes when connecting with God, she would become lost in a world apart, especially when reciting the Shema. 

Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. 

Afterwards, when the ecstasy subsided, she would feel the oneness of all things around her, sustained by the Source of all. In such moments, she would feel God’s presence through her senses, becoming hyper aware, and she was in such a state just a moment before. How could someone sneak up on her when she was like that? And these didn’t even look like her mother’s plates. 

Ordinarily, she would give it little thought, intent on continuing her meditations. But she had never smelled anything this good. 

Maybe eating isn’t such a bad idea. 

She poured some water into a cup. As soon as she took one sip, she realized just how thirsty she was, and ended up downing it in one gulp. As the water entered her belly, it groaned, her hunger kindled along with her thirst.

She lifted a piece of flatbread. It was warm to the touch and steamed when she tore a piece of it off, as if it were just taken from an oven. She took one of the thin slices of meat, placing it on the piece of pita, then smeared hummus over it. 

The savory flavour of her meal was unlike anything she had experienced before. She ate slowly, passively enjoying all she consumed, and thanking her Creator for her daily bread she had been provided through mysterious means. She was still astounded someone would have spent such a great deal of money to have all this prepared for her, especially during hard times such as these. Word had it that the Romans were planning to levy yet another tax. 

Her hunger having been satiated, there were plenty of dates and grapes leftover. Most of this would lose its flavour if she saved it.

Someone took the time to bring this to me. It’s only proper I do the same. There are many hungry mouths to feed in Nazareth, just as there were in Jerusalem.  

She lifted the platter and headed out into the streets. 

***

Yusuf smiled to himself as he strolled along the dirt road. He often smiled out of mere habit, not any particular joy.  These days, however, his smiles carried more meaning, more heart. It was because of her.

He didn’t have a bad life; he felt blessed that he had been born into a family of carpenters, a vocation he most heartily enjoyed. His work was an end to itself. He didn’t brag on his skill. The joy was in building, not the talking. He didn’t even charge very much for his wares. Over time however, he realized there was something else he yearned for: companionship. 

He had his family, it was true. He loved his parents, siblings, and cousins. But this wasn’t the same. He found himself dreaming at night about talking to someone female, not of his immediate family, to complete half of his faith and his life.

And so Yusuf began saving his money to marry of course. His cousin Achem bartered on his behalf, since Yusuf always had a hard time negotiating prices for his wares. He thought all of them simultaneously priceless and cheap, for he put so much love into his works, but wanted them spread wide. 

Achem, however, was positive his handiwork was worth a great deal, and very soon Yusuf had more than enough money to provide handsomely for a bride. Achem seemed to try to suck as much coin from patrons as he could, even though Yusuf was uncomfortable with it.  

           He knew who he would ask but was all too afraid he would be rejected. She was fifteen years old and had served in the temple in Jerusalem. He met her parents, and they seemed satisfied with him. Then he had been allowed to speak to her, and she accepted him. His joy was boundless. She was like no other person he had met. She carried herself with such dignity, and her manners were impeccable. But as he spoke to her, he felt surer of his choice. She wasn’t just devout, but also honest. She didn’t talk much, but when she did, she would most often reflect upon matters of the soul. At least that was before she met Yusuf, then she would talk about him and his work. She often asked him to build things. He would do so, then she would marvel at his craftsmanship, only to give it away to someone in need. Yusuf didn’t mind this at all. The fact she could part with something she materially loved for the sake of others was a blessing. 

Transcendent, that was the best way to describe her, always looking upward to the heavens, always seeking something beyond the confines of the world as they knew it. Was her heart like the harp of Da’ud, forever playing psalms to her Lord? Sometimes he wondered why she even bothered marrying him. God was her Beloved.

           But then she would see him, and her eyes would brighten. He felt as if he were special, that aside from her family and the poor, he was the only reason she would ever pause in her devotions. She always seemed to make time for him, as if she saw a piece of the heavens within him. In those moments, he saw a special love of life in her, experiencing the goodness of the world in its fullness.

And so Yusuf smiled, intent on seeing his future bride as she spent her life near God. 

She must be thirsty, he thought as he passed by the well near the gates.

And then he saw Maryam, not in her secluded dwelling, but outside, surrounded by street children, holding a near empty tray of food. 

But of course, she would be here, giving things away, he thought.

“Do you know why you’re always so thin?” Yusuf strolled up to her. “Because you never keep anything to eat for later.”

“Yusuf, it would have been a waste to let it grow stale,” she stated, handing out the last loaf of bread to a little girl. “So maybe some people who need it could enjoy it.”

“You shouldn’t give away your mothers cooking like that,” he lectured. “She wants you to keep your strength up.” 

“It’s not my mother’s cooking,” she replied, cleaning her hands on her smock. “I’m not sure who brought it. But it was very fresh. Very good. Just what I needed at the moment.”

“At least you’re eating something, I suppose,” he sighed. “Anyway…I made you something. Please don’t give it away too.”

He pulled out a necklace strung with wooden beads and a pendant at the end inscribed with Hebrew lettering.

“This smells nice,” Maryam remarked, taking it from his hands. “Is it sandalwood?”

“Yes. And it’s for you. It even has your name on it. So please keep it, will you?” 

Maryam smiled. “Of course, I will. Thank you.”

“Now I’m going to take you back home, and I am then going to bring you more food for later, to save your mother more time in the kitchen.  Please avoid the temptation to give that away.”

“Says the man who laments the fact he has to charge people for his work, lest he starve. You give away your time and possessions just as much as me,” she observed.

“At least I still end up charging for it,” he countered. “Besides, beggars often take advantage of you. They pretend to ask for blessed bread at the temple for healing, but it is only for the bread.”

“I know,” she said softly. “They still needed it all the same.” She grinned teasingly. “Besides, I could say the same thing about you. Don’t pretend you aren’t generous. Elad hasn’t paid you for that table since what? Last winter? And then you made him some chairs, which he also didn’t pay for.”

She kept smiling, and he could swear he saw a light surround the face of his betrothed, as if the sun focused its rays just onto her. 

“I’m thankful you came into my life,” he blurted. “He didn’t mean to say it out loud, it just happened. 

“I am too. I feel a kindred spirit in you, Yusuf. We look to something greater than ourselves, just in different ways. You’re so much older than me, but I don’t feel so young and inexperienced when I’m with you.”

“I’m surprised you ever felt young,” Yusuf smiled, “You’re like an old lady…”

“I am not!”

“Don’t worry, Auntie Maryam, I’ll make sure to mash up all your food into a nice paste so you can eat it with all those missing teeth.”

Maryam kicked him in the shin.

***

At the end of the day, she returned to her hut, intent on more prayers and meditations. But an overwhelming exhaustion filled her. Try as she might, she couldn’t pray. She just wanted to sleep. She lay down on the floor of the hut, slipping into deep slumber. 

Then she saw something.  She didn’t usually dream very often, or if she did, she rarely remembered what they were about. But this time it was as clear as utterly vivid. She was not in the desert. It was too green, and the air felt moist. She felt perfectly at home, even though there were trees and plants she had never seen before and a river a beautiful shade of violet. Was it the soil beneath that caused this colour, or was it the rocks?

She knelt down and touched the flowing water, scooping it into her palms and bringing it to her mouth. Only that it wasn’t water, it was wine, the finest she had ever tasted. Maryam usually abstained from strong drink as a part of her routine fasting, and therefore had not developed a taste for it. But she wanted more of this, she wanted to drink of its depths for all eternity.

“Salaam, Maryam.”

She raised her head up, her body stiffened. She was not alone.

“This is but the lowest level of the garden of pleasures which the Almighty 

Lord reserves for His faithful servants,” said a voice. “The higher you ascend, the less the mind can process God’s gifts, but it’s sweetness is felt all the same.”

She turned to see a man. No matter how hard she looked at him, she could not get a clear image of his face. All she knew was that he was impeccably attractive in both visage and form. Not in the way the other girls talked about the soldiers and athletes of Nazareth, but in a different way, as if the beauty of an Oasis were put into corporeal form.

All she knew was that it was male. She was not supposed to be alone with one in her chambers. Even Yusuf had never traversed this fair into her dwelling. She now felt fear. Often the worst evil comes in the loveliest of forms. 

“Stay back!” she cried in panic. “I was consecrated to the Lord and served in His holy temple. You will not touch me!” She looked up and lifted her hands. “I seek refuge in the Most Merciful from you, so leave me, if you be fearing of God!” 

“Be not afraid! I have been sent by the Lord of Worlds!”

“Are you…an angel?” she gasped.

“Yes. I come to you in the appearance of a man, for our natural form brings terror and madness to mortals who gaze upon it.”

“What message do you bring, O servant of the Source of All?” whispered Maryam, her breath quickening.

“It is the will of your Lord that you should bring forth a pure boy, who will be a light of truth to all existence.” 

“But how can this be, for no man has touched me, nor have I ever been unchaste!” she replied in confusion. “I am dedicated to the Lord alone.” 

“Nothing is impossible for the One,” he responded. “He says ‘be’ and it is, and all things are decreed according to His purposes. Your offspring will be a sign to the people and a mercy to the worlds.” 

She prostrated and put her face to the ground. “Behold, I am the handmaiden of the Lord. Be it done unto me according to your word!” She remembered a psalm of Daud she had learned as a tiny child. “The Lord is my light and my salvation, of whom should I be afraid? The Lord transcends existence itself, the One for whom I dream, for whom I long! As the deer pants for running streams, so my soul thirsts for you, My God!”

Mary opened her eyes with a gasp, sitting up in bed, sweating profusely. She felt as if she had been running, her lungs burned, her body hot. She stood up and staggered outside into the cool night air.

“What was that?!” she thought aloud, to no one in particular. She wanted to hear her own voice to ground herself. She knew it had been a dream, but it felt so real. It didn’t feel as if she had awakened, but rather the world around her now seemed less than real. 

Am I losing my mind? She thought to herself, trembling all over. She got the impression she was locked in a cage with a pack of hyenas, her instincts telling her to run or fight. She felt a warmth in her belly, like there was a comet slowly driving inside of her. Perhaps it was a result of a good omen. Dreams had meanings, many of them from God. She had no idea what this one meant, but she sensed that answers would come if she was patient.

She could not go back to sleep, so she sat down in the courtyard, looking up at the clear starry sky, her hands resting on her flat belly, hoping she would see a comet, like the one she felt inside her. 

***

As the month wore on, Maryam was beginning to believe in the reality of what she had promised in her vision. She had missed her period. At first she didn’t know what was happening, then when it wore on, she became worried. But a whispering in her heart reminded her of the dream. The words of the angelic figure came back to her. This was a gift. 

What greater gift is there than a child?

And yet her heart sank. She knew no one would believe her. People saw her piety and simplicity as stupidity, but she knew what everyone would say, what they would think. What would Yusuf think? Dread filled her at the thought of him rejecting her, his soft eyes turning cold and hard. All her life she paid little mind to what others said or thought about her, focusing strictly on her devotions. But then she met Yusuf, and he became the only person whose opinion truly mattered to her, the one she had pledged herself to, the one who had devoted his very being to her. She never thought she could feel so strongly about anything in the world, yet she did. 

There was a knock on her door. 

“Come in,” she said.

“Mary?” Yusuf stepped in. “You summoned me?”

“Yusuf, I-yes. I want to talk. Please sit down.”

“Is something wrong? Do you need anything?” 

“Yusuf, my monthly impurity has not happened for a long time…”

“Isn’t this something you should discuss with a woman instead?” he asked awkwardly. “I’m sure your mother can help…”

“No. You don’t understand. I’m pregnant. I know I am.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “But…that’s not possible.”

“It should be. But I am. And I know why. I had a dream, Yusuf. A messenger of the Most High came to me. He said that God willed that I bear a son, a pure boy who would bring spirit back to the law. I have to nurture and protect him. But I can’t do it alone.” Maryam looked into his eyes. “I need your help.”

Yusuf simply stared at her for long moments. “I need to think,” he got up.

“Please. I need you!” She went down on her knees, hugging his legs. “I can’t bear it if you turn away from me!”

“I need to think!” he snapped in frustration.

He walked out the door, and Maryam began weeping.

***

Yusuf stormed through the streets. He was not an angry person by nature, but now villagers swerved out of his way as he walked through the street. He walked out of the town gates and kept walking a half hour deep into the desert until he came to a collection of palm trees, a place only he knew about. It was where he would go to seek solitude. 

How could she do this to me? 

His pride, something that was never an issue with him, was wounded. But more than his pride, his heart was broken. And yet he still could not believe it in his heart, she was too focused, too perfect. She did not like to touch wine, and she was almost never alone with any man, save for tonight. Until this day, the closest Joseph had to being alone with her was delivering food, and even then it was out in the open at the entrance of her little prayer hut.

And she was Maryam! The purest of woman in all of Judea! The answer to his prayers, a gift from the heavens granted only to him, a bride whose beauty could not be contained within a body, the light of her soul more blinding that the desert sun. 

Am I holding her in too high a standard?

But he could not help it. If he could not trust in her, then he would not be able to trust anyone again. If she was not holy, then nothing was holy. And he simply could not look at her and see anything even close to capable of deception or betrayal. 

And so an even more painful thought came to mind. What if some man had hurt her? He had heard of such stories in the Torah. Mary was never alone, but she was not surrounded by guards either. His imagination took him to terrible places. The images of a burly man dragging her into a barn assaulted his mind, and he felt anger pulse through his veins.  

Why didn’t she tell him? Perhaps she was ashamed. Perhaps…

“Yusuf?” said a shaky female voice from behind him.

“Maryam?” He turned to see her. Her face was streaked with tears and her cheeks and eyes were puffy. Her lip quivered as she looked at him. 

“Do you hate me now Yusuf?” she whimpered.

“No,” Yusuf wrapped his arms around her. He wanted to wait until marriage to embrace her, but now he felt she needed him, his protection. 

“Who hurt you?” he whispered into her ear. “Who did the unthinkable?” He stroked her head. “My poor beloved Maryam, my light.”

“No one hurt me, Yusuf,” she insisted. “I told you, God gave me this child. God has protected me. No evil has touched me. “I just want you to believe me. Please, I need you. Please…”

He knew then she was telling the truth, for no lie or manipulation has ever been uttered from her petal-like lips.

“I will take care of you,” he said at last, holding both sides of her face. “You are to be my wife. You are my responsibility.”

She leaned her head against his chest, crying tears of relief. 

***

Before her belly started to show, Yusuf built Maryam a small hut to live in at the little oasis, regularly bringing food and supplies for her. She felt more grounded to the things of the earth than ever before, as if heaven were breaking into the mundane world and sanctifying it in a wholly new way. She looked forward with great anticipation to the moment when this precious life growing inside her would be brought forth, and she would hold him in her arms. She found her thoughts often distracted by speculation. What colour would his hair be? What about his eyes? She marveled at the thought of seeing herself in this singular gift from God. 

The months passed, and her time drew near. Yusuf was busy in town, and Maryam sat beneath a palm tree, tired from walking about the desert. She had heard once that the more fit she was, the better it was for the little one inside her. It kicked her as she sat beneath it, such a strange sensation.

And then there was pain, as if she were having cramps from her period, something that had only rarely happened during her months with child. She touched her belly, felt the child kick within. Then sighed with relief. Another wave of pain. Another cramp. She felt the baby kick. Good. It did not matter what pain she was in, as long as her precious child was safe. And then her skirts became wet. Frantically she checked if it was blood, only to find it as something more akin to water. The child was coming. There was another cramp, and then even worse pain, so overwhelming she cried out. 

“Oh Lord, I am alone,” she whispered. “Am I going to die?” 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be inside her hut, with Yusuf by her side, holding her hand, giving her water, talking to her and soothing her as it all happened. But she was outside in the middle of nowhere, alone with the sun beating down over her under a tree that barely gave shade. She was completely vulnerable, a hyena or wild dog could easily come at her, and there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t even run.

There was another contraction, and she screamed. And when it was done, she found herself sobbing. She knew another one was coming, and then More and more. She wondered if she had the strength to take it. She was so thirsty. She moved her hand to find water bubbling up from the sand beside her. Strange. She did not remember it there before…

She gave it little thought, bringing the cool liquid to her mouth, panting as spasms slowly built up in her. She moaned as her whole body began to shake.

“Please, ease the pain,” she prayed, “or strong me strong enough to endure it.”

Then her brow cooled as the shadow of the palm tree was cast over her. A gentle wind stirred softly over her, cloaking her body as a mother soothed a child. A sense of peace filled her heart. The pain was temporary. The joy would be eternal. 

It seemed as if one of the branches had lowered itself just for her, and grabbed a date off the tree. She had everything she needed right here. She closed her eyes. She would cry out still, but not as loudly, letting the pain undulate without any fixation on it. Her heart focussed on the child within her, this living comet with it’s bright light and shining tail of light, this shooting star. Humanity went their whole lives wondering what God had intended for them, what God’s gifts truly were. But she knew, and she would endure.

She didn’t remember what happened, or how many hours passed. But the contractions ended, and she heard the cries of her child.  When she lifted him up, he stopped crying. He recognized her.  It knew her smell and her heartbeat. She had heard babies did not see very well after being born, but he seemed to gaze at her as if he recognized her. She did not know where she gained the strength, but she carried her child back to their shelter, and found a knife to cut the umbilical cord.  She winced from the pain of moving so soon after birth, then sat down on the bed. The baby patted her lightly with its hands. 

Then there was a surge within her, a new vitality. The parts of her body torn and injured from childbirth had been mended. She put the baby down and parted her clothing to look at her belly. The skin once loose had tightened, her belly flat as if she had never been pregnant in the first place. Then she laid down on her cot and brought baby Isa’s tiny mouth to her breast. He latched on in a strong and healthy manner. And as her beloved baby boy fed, he looked up at her with love.

He healed me, she thought. Perhaps that is a gift bestowed upon him from the Almighty. This gift must be shared with the world.

She stood up and headed back for town.