But do not think for a moment that the animals acted purely out of kindness. Animals are animals and they were hungry for the golden food of the Divine Child. The stars too ached for an infusing of new light. And the shepherds had come because they had heard rumors of treasures being brought to the Child, and being poor shepherds, they would ask for a cut in the goods since they stood guard at the door while the baby was born.

Now before you start panicking at the image of the Holy Child being eaten by the animals, remember, according to your own traditions, that the Holy Child came to be eaten every Sunday. And do not think for a moment that He came to only be eaten by people. He came to be ingested by the world—most especially the animals that live within us all. And it is by nibbling the Holy Child with kisses that the animals are nourished. And the Child simply laughs for His body and His energy are inexhaustible, wildly lavish, and never ending. They are like all good bread—warm, golden, sweetened with honey, and fortified with the richest of grains.

And so after the Child was born, Mary and Joseph slept in each other’s arms. And as they did the shepherds stuffed their sacks with left over gold, and the stars inhaled huge bellyfulls of light, and the animals gathered around the manger bestowing big, wet, full-lipped kisses on the Child, much to His delight and laughter. And as they partook of Him, wings formed in their backs and their front legs became arms and hands, and their backs straightened, and they began moving in a circle around the Child as music streamed through the room like an audible wind. And they danced, a heavenly host of angels singing praises as their animal shadows danced along with them on the walls of the stable.

Then Joseph, always a light sleeper, opened one eye and peeked at the divine, rollicking dance. And he gently rose so as not to rouse the sleeping Mary and stepped into the circle, taking the hands of the angels on either side of him. And he danced and he wept for the sheer joy and exhaustion and the worry and the fear and the shame of those last few months. And all of his pent emotions were released from his body as he whirled around the manger in the circle of animal angels. Whoever this Holy Ghost Father was, Joseph was just happy to be asked to raise the Child. And as he danced he knew then that he must teach the Child to build with wood, to use His hands to be gentle and strong and healing, to fashion useful and beautiful tables for families to eat at and talk about their day. For not only did the animals and the stars and the people need the touch of the Holy Child, but so did the trees and the hammers and the saws, and the nails.

And then, as the angels fell back to all fours and their wings folded, neatly tucked into their shoulders, Joseph patted each animal on its large, solid forehead and then turned to go back to sleep with Mary, who for her part, had woken too, but being too tired to dance simply watched her dear Joseph dancing with the animals and wept for gladness at having such a wonderful man.

And as Joseph turned to go back to the straw covered floor, he looked at the Beautiful Child smiling up at him from the manger. He bent low, looked deeply into the Child’s eyes of sky and of stars, and kissed Him. Joseph was taken aback with a shock by the sweetness of the Child’s skin. The flavor coursed through him like warm apple cider on a crisp, cool autumn day. And the Child reached up and played with Joseph’s tear-soaked beard and said, “Thank you. Thank you for listening to your dreams. They were my first gifts to you and you honored them by sharing them with Mary and the donkey. So thank you. Thank you for opening your heart to me.”

And as Joseph lay back down, taking Mary into his arms, he wept some more. For there would be more dreams. And some of them would be dark, blood-filled dreams; dreams of Herod and of pyramids; dreams of bird-headed beings and jackel-headed beings, and someone called Osiris; and a goddess—Isis–was to come to him in a dream and beckon him to bring the Child to her land. She would promise protection and safe passage beneath Nut, goddess of the stars. And then there would be other dreams— dreams of frantic searches for the Holy Child in crowded streets; dreams of wine flowing at parties and Passovers; and reoccurring dreams of a symbol he did not understand—two beams of wood forming a cross. Those dreams would both trouble and enliven him the most, and it would be years before he understood why; and there would be dreams of the dead rising, dancing from the grave as flesh flew back to their bones; and there would be dreams of heavenly cities of gold descending from the sky; and lovely, lovely wood-scented dreams of building tables with the Holy Child while laughing, singing, and looking into each other’s wonder-filled eyes.