All is calm.
Joseph, looking for a place–any place!–to shelter his laboring wife. And then . . .
. . . a woman birthing a baby. In a barn.
Need I say more?
Depends on the inner man, I think.
I remember a day when a number of people in a far-off place were doing their best to add a few more openings to my epidermis, and I took shelter in a culvert. The bullets were chipping away the lip above my head, but they couldn’t touch me, and for a few minutes I had this sense of quiet and almost happy calm. Like finding unexpected shelter in a hailstorm.
Until I realized that they might bring up a mortar, and one of the little people might actually know how to use it.
Glad you are around to calmly tell the story, Andrew.
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