Sweat begins to form on her forehead,

her breath coming faster and faster,

her heart beating faster and faster,

her pain coming faster and faster.

Young and inexperienced,

weary and frightened,

alone and ill-prepared—

she shudders as

labor begins.

 

…there will be no more gloom for those who were in distress…

 

Hands strengthened from his trade now

ache from her grip as she

wrestles with her discomfort,

wrestles with her apprehension,

wrestles with her body.

 

…you have increased their joy, they rejoice before you…

 

Waves of pain overcome her—

waves of fear threatening to undo her as she

now knows that of which

every mother has a terrible tale.

 

…of the increase of his peace there will be no end…

 

There is no rest now—

no catching her breath,

no pulling herself together

as the child descends through her lower regions,

leaving her womb,

his head pressing forth into the night air.

 

…on those living in the land of the shadow, a light has dawned…

 

Her irrepressible cries echo in the darkness,

anguish and agony shadowing her young,

delicate face—

followed by the wail of the newborn, piercing the dark night.

 

…shattering the yoke that burdens them…

 

Trembling and spent,

she gingerly reaches for the tiny child—

putting her parched lips to his blood-stained head—

and with fatigue and love in her voice

she tenderly whispers his name.

 

…Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace…

 

Relief comes to the young mother—

her exhaustion given over to sleep,

her distress given over to peace,

her pain given over to joy—

and she smiles a soft smile as

she cradles

her son

in her arms.

 

…For unto us a child is born…

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