The Quest for Christmas

Chapter 3

"Yeah, Geneva replied, "We already know we're... Wait, did you say were not lost?"

"That's, like, what I've been totally trying to tell you, man," Hal was calmly talking to us from his relaxed position seated on a stump, "Listen to me, bro, we, like, came here on an old game trail man. You can't tell it's, like, a trail or nothing cuz it's overgrown, but the animals are digging it.

"How do you know," Geneva asked, "It's not like you're an expert tracker or anything?"

"Actually, back in my surfing days, I was, like, totally a Boy Scout. I kinda quit at First Class but I caught the tracking vibe, if you know what I mean."

"OK," Geneva voiced a concern all of us had, "What if you're wrong?"

"Chill, man, I'm never wrong."

"Oh yeah," I asked, "What about the yeti? You said it exists and we proved you wrong. Don't forget the zombies either."

"Dude, zombies and the yeti totally exist." Hal chuckled, "You just don't get it."

"Wait," Geneva perked up, "Where did Isaac run off to?"

We looked around and saw no one. "Isaac, where are you?" I called.

"I'm right here," a faint voice from down the trail replied, "Hal is right, I remember this trail fork. Right about now we're less than ten minutes away from camp, I think. At any rate, we're not lost anymore."

"Bro, what do you mean," Hal questioned, "As far as I, like, remember, we were never lost. You guys were totally way too pumped to listen to me though."

In the distance a resonant bell sounded. It was only audible to us for a moment, but I recognized it.

"Let's go," I shouted, running toward the "trail", "That's the meal bell. Last one to dinner washes dishes!"

Once we got back to camp we explained the whole story to Mr. Augustus. The four of us then enjoyed a wonderful dinner of chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, sweet corn, green beans, and Mrs. Wellingsworth's signature, fresh-baked, chocolate chip cookies.

That night, after dinner, we roasted marshmallows on a campfire, told campfire stories, and discussed ideas for our Biblical retellings. Hal had chosen Aaron in the story of the golden calf. Isaac had chosen the crucifixion as recorded in the gospel of John. Geneva made a decision to choose the story of Esther through the eyes of Mordecai. I couldn't decide.

After the campfire I casually asked Mr. Augustus, "Do you have any suggestions on what Biblical story I could choose for my re-telling?"

"There are so many stories in the Bible that you can choose from. Why not choose something familiar. What about the Christmas story?" he suggested.

"But I hardly know anything about the Christmas story," I protested

"You've been in church all your life, your dad is the pastor and you hardly know anything about the Christmas story?"

"Well, um, I think I know a little bit about Christmas. I mean wasn't Jesus born to Abraham and Sarah and he ate wild locusts and honey and talked to burning bushes and prophesied in a whale and was taken up in a chariot to heaven and-"

"Wrong story, or should I say stories. That's Isaac, John the Baptist, Moses, Jonah, and Elijah. Remember, during Christmas the birth of Jesus is usually emphasized, not his whole life"

"Oh."

"For a sixteen year old who throws the most popular and extravagant Christmas parties in the city of Golden, and maybe the state of Colorado, you know very little about the true Christmas story. Maybe this will help." Principal Augustus fetched an old, black, leather-bound Bible from his tent, blew the dust off of the cover, and opened it to the first chapter in the book of Matthew. "Read this," he advised, handing me the book.

Once in my tent, I began reading the book to myself. "This is the genealogyof Jesus the Messiahthe son of David, the son of Abraham: Abraham was the father of Isaac, Isaac the father of Jacob, Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers, Judah the father of Perez and Zerah, whose mother was Tamar..." I managed my way through the first chapter, filled with boring genealogy; read on to the second chapter, just as dull; yawned; and almost closed the book, which hadn't gotten interesting even in the third chapter, when a voice in the back of my mind told me to turn to Luke. However as soon as I turned to the first chapter of Luke, the words on the page blurred, I began to feel dizzy and then I blacked out.

When I awoke, I was lying on the side of a long, winding street. The street was dirt-packed and the sky was dark. I stood up and looked down at my watch to check the time when I realized that I didn't have my watch. My camp clothes had been replaced. Instead, I was wearing an ancient tunic, toga and pair of sandals. The short-sleeved white tunic, which resembled a t-shirt, was smooth and comfortable, as if it was made from a type of linen. The white toga, which looked like a long-sleeved skirt, was rough and felt similar to canvas. On my feet were simple, leather soled sandals that were semi-comfortable. The outfit wasn't exactly luxurious, but it would do.

I guessed it was probably close to midnight. The moon and the stars illuminated the night sky. The temperature was probably in the upper 30s, but the cold, harsh wind made it impossible to tell. I was thankful for my toga, no matter how uncomfortable, to keep me warm. Despite the stars, I could not see enough to determine my location.

Just then, an reallly pretty athletic girl in her mid-teens sprinted up the street towards me wearing nothing but a loose white tunic that barely went past her knees.

"Joseph, Joseph," she called, "I've been looking all over for you."

"Ok," I thought, "so I'm supposedly this Joseph guy from the Bible. I must have been transported over 2000 years into the past for some reason. I guess I'm supposed to be Joseph for a little while. But who is this girl who claims to have been searching for me?"

"Um, hello, what's happening," I tried greeting her, however I cringed at my poor choice of words.

"Joseph, you won't believe what happened today," she seemed to ignore my bad introduction, "An angel of the Lord came and told me that I'm pregnant with the Son of God through the Holy Spirit. I know this all sounds crazy and isn't good news before the wedding, but you have to believe me.

"Hold on," I thought, confused, "my future wife is saying she is pregnant through the Holy Spirit and she doesn't want me to call her crazy?!" However, I decided to play along for the time being.

"Um, you're pregnant through the Holy Spirit," I started, "Well, that's cool and all, I guess the Holly Sprite, I mean, the Holy Spirit works in mysterious ways, right?"

"Thanks for believing me. I wish we could talk more, but I have to return home." She kissed me, waved goodbye, and ran back down the street, her tunic flapping in the wind. Like an oncoming train, it suddenly hit me that the girl was Mary.