A Journey to Bethlehem...a Long, Hard Journey

My grandson called last night and asked me if I would go with them on "A Journey to Bethlehem." I should have just taken for granted that "a journey" meant a journey, and that "to Bethlehem" meant a long, long way. But my me-me heart strings were pulled, and all I thought about was the fact that I have not been able to spend any time with them, and that it would be a help to my daughter. Besides, my grandson reassured me that they could push me in the wheel chair. What could a little ride hurt?

We donned our heavy clothes, (we were warned that part of the journey was outside) grabbed a blanket and headed to the local church that was hosting the "Journey to Bethehem". Somehow I should have connected the idea that someone who has to park in handicap parking to get into the church, ought not be heading on a journey to anywhere...but that slipped right on by me too.

At the check in table, we were all given passports. (Another missed clue: you only get a passport for long, long trips.) We were told that we must keep our passports with us at all times, and that at any time, we could be required to present them. I did ask for a wheel chair for my daughter also, as she was rather weak, and I am so glad I did. Perhaps one of the greatest blessings of the evening, was that they provided men to push the wheel chairs, or chariot drivers as they called them. So three grandkids, mom and daughter, and Laura began their journey to Bethlehem.

First we were led (some of us pushed) into the church sanctuary to listen to a few Christmas carols. Then we began our passage in a Jewish home, where we meant the family, Ghadel and his wife Naomi, and their two children. We soon found out they would be traveling with us. When they were welcoming us to their home, Roman soldiers, with real armor and spears burst through the door, grabbed Ghadel and shouted commands that he must take his family to Bethlehem to pay taxes. We were commanded to stick together, keep our passports in hand, and beware of soldiers, thieves, and rough roads on the way to Bethlehem. Our group of about 20 was then herded down a dark hallway, and then after a brief stop at the carpenter's shop to get directions, we stumbled out the door and into the darkness. Immediately after heading into the dark, the two (wheel chairs) chariots were turned and backed down a steep hill.

Now, I was beginning to worry. My daughter's chariot was more like a Mercedes, and mine was similar to a bug. Hers had a wide seat, big chrome wheels, steel foot rests, and seemed to glide more easily over any terrain. She also had an experienced chariot driver. My "bug chariot" had smaller black rubber wheels, plastic foot rests, a smaller seat, was lower to the ground, and I had a driver who had never driven a chariot anywhere.

The Roman soldiers on horse back, kept circling back with special chariot instructions. I was stuck in sand once, nearly dumped out of my chariot twice, my leg was rammed twice, I was stuck in ruts, grabbed by my hood by my chariot driver to prevent me from falling, rattled to bits, shivering severely and completely exhaused before getting to Bethlehem. We were told that it was a five or six day journey, but it seemed like one long night with only one rather low star in sight.

As our journey progressed, we were attacked by Roman soldiers, herded by horses with more soldiers, we stopped to rest by many campfires (one minute rest stops), came upon camps of other travelers and their livestock, overtaken by thieves, saw an angel declaring the birth of the King, were verbally abused by an ornery census taker (startling my grandson before declaring that he was legal and could pass), and then finally permitted to enter the town of Bethlehem.

The journey through the town of Bethlehem was not much easier. The shops were open, the livestock was being sold, the meats were cooking upon open fires, and everyone was busy. We arrived exhausted at the inn with no rooms and of all things, no ramp. From there we were led to the manger and were among the first to see the Christ child and hear the salvation story.

Believe me, after this long, long journey over forty rough acres of church property, I was ready for the treat of hot chocolate at the end. I just could not find that part of the Christmas story in the book of Luke.

Later, home, with my iced leg propped on pillows, I had a new appreciation for all the characters in Christmas pagents...especially the chariot drivers. I also was deeply concerned about the fact that I could not keep up with the horsemen or the chariots in anyway. However, my weary body fell asleep refreshed knowing that though some may trust in chariots, I will trust in the name of my God. (Psalms 20:7)