She was going to be married.
Things were probably going along as they generally do in the weeks and months before a wedding. She was a little nervous. Her mother was probably excited. Maybe her father was wondering just how he would pay for everything.
Then something happened.
Something kind of strange.
Something kind of confusing.
She didn't know what to think at first.
Then she did.
And she waited.
He was a nice guy.
A hard worker. A good provider.
Everybody thought he would be a good husband, and a good father, too.
But the news she had really shook him up.
She was going to have a baby.
He didn't know what to think.
He didn't know what to do.
But he was kind. He could have made a real fuss over what had happened, but he decided to keep quiet, even though he didn't think he could marry her anymore.
Then he had a strange dream.
And his act of kindness became an even greater act of faith.
He married her.
He would raise the child as his own.
But just before the baby was due, they had to go on a long journey together.
It was a hard trip. And once they got there, they had no place to stay, even though it was almost time for the child to come.
It seemed like nothing was going right for the young couple.
Then everything did.
Their baby boy was born.
Our baby boy was born.
Two thousand years later, here we are.
We hustle and buy and cook and clean just to celebrate his birthday.
We string lights and sing songs and give each other gifts.
And we tell the story. The love story.
And we still believe.