The Journey Home

We travelled back in a great rush telling everyone we met along the way about the child, everyone that is except Herod.

Some scoffed at us when we told them. Not because they didn’t want it to be true, for they were among those who had been waiting, counted themselves among the promised stars.  No they didn’t believe us because, they said, God wouldn’t have told us before them.

But we had seen, seen the light radiate from his face.  We had seen the love pour out of his eyes.  We had felt our bodies know deep peace when we were in his presence.  We could have stayed, it would have been easy to stay, yet the urge to tell others was greater.

We had been away from home for over two years and we wanted to get home and tell the others.  Those who had sent us on our journey, those we had left behind, all of them should know of the wonders we had seen.  Yes, over two year since we had gathered together that night pouring over maps searching for when the star had been mapped before.  Over two years since we had pulled out ancient charts covered in dust and still found nothing.  Over two years since someone; just who was it?  Japhiel, Damyera, no it was Taku; who had discovered on a crumbling scroll the declaration about a king who would rule the earth, and that the heavens would declare his birth.  They, and the others, would all be waiting for news.  Over two years since we picked those three gifts and packed the caravan and headed west.  We had scratched new maps on rough skin during those years and now they journeyed back with us to help tell the story.  The story of not just a new king but the King, of that we were sure.

The nearer we got to home the fewer people seemed to know about what had happened, and fewer people had been waiting for the birth of this king for generations.  We told our story whenever we could, we felt compelled to even when people rolled their eyes and said we had eaten some foreign food.  Claiming it had brought about hallucinations and made us hear voices, but we knew otherwise.  We should have gone back to Herod and claimed our reward, they said.  Wise Ones, more like Foolish Ones, they scoffed.  We were glad we hadn’t though, we had heard many horror stories about Herod on our journey, we knew the angel and voice were real and rejoiced we had done as they commanded.  Even more so after the rumour of Herod decreeing that male children should be killed reached us.  At first fear struck us we thought of turning back, but then we felt that peace of being in his presence again and knew, somehow, he was safe.

One night, only a few days into our return journey, we met a Wise One from that land.  He said that, he too had seen the child’s glory. He told us he was making his way back to his home town.  There, he said, he was going to die in peace, his life, his faith, his hope fulfilled.  He told us, with a tear in his eyes, he hadn’t thought he would see the day.  He also thought, the skies would tell of the child’s death when it came to pass.  We told him we would keep watching. And we will, although I hope that day never comes, for that will surely be a day when the sky will be dark with sorrow and no star will shine.

We left our costly gifts but we are bringing home something even more precious – I doubt our lives will ever be the same again.

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