Delia is an author and consultant in Christian education and is the owner/founder of Faith Discovery Ministries. She has written curriculum as well and books for Christian Educators as well as leading seminars, retreats, and workshops for educational ministry professionals.

Photo of camel "Bartholomew, come and tend this camel!"

Dropping his cloth on the table, the boy ran out the door. He stopped beside the innkeeper, his curly brown head at the innkeeper's waist. Bartholomew was small for his nine years, and Naaman's massive body made him feel even smaller. He waited quietly, pushing the courtyard dust with his bare foot.

Naaman spoke to the traveler. "You're fortunate that I have a room. The family from Gaza left this morning, or I would have had nothing at all."

Bartholomew sneaked a quick look at the visitor who stood beside his camel. A large gold ring with a bright green stone caught the boy's eye. The man must have great wealth to wear such a ring, he thought. As he looked beyond the man, he saw several animals and servants. Bartholomew knew that he would have other animals to care for besides the camel.

The guest spoke. "There's not a room in Bethlehem. If you had not had this one I would have had to spend the night in the peasant camp on the edge of town with my servants."

"I didn't know that so many people had ancestors from our city," the innkeeper said. "Rome's decree for everyone to register has put life into little Bethlehem. It has certainly boosted my business!"

The innkeeper gave Bartholomew a push. "Move, boy, and take care of those animals! They will die of starvation with your speed."

Turning to the guest he said, "You have to push your help all the time to get work out of them. The boy should be happy that I took him in when his parents died at my inn six years ago. They were passing through Bethlehem. I didn't know where they came from, and no one seemed to know them. Rather than let him starve to death or beg in the streets, I keep him for his work. It's been a push and he tends to be a dreamer, but he does mind when I threaten the whip."

Taking the reins of the camel from the man, Bartholomew led the animal around the inn to the stables, dug into the hill. He clutched his small coat about his shoulders as he walked. Some of the guests at the inn had spoken of the dust storm brewing, and the piercing wind told him that they were right.

Bartholomew thought about the families camped on the edge of town. The dust storm could make a mess of their camps. He had seen tents fill with dust, even with the door tightly closed. The best tentmakers could not keep the tents completely dust free. The fine silt went right through the fabric itself.

Bartholomew approached the cave-like stables dug into the lee side of the hill. He was thankful for the protection, because it was his duty to care for the stables. A wind through them would have blown the straw right out the entrances.

Photo of desert The boy felt at home around the stables. Here he could talk to the animals. In the inn there were loud voices and so many people pushing that he felt closed in. Among people he walked with his head bowed most of the time, but when he walked through the stable doors he lifted his head to meet the grateful eyes of the animals he loved.

The rich guest's camel looked tired, with droopy eyes. The dust from the trip covered his body, causing his hair to hang in big, bulky clumps. The boy reached a tender hand to the camel's neck.

"Don't worry," he assured him. "As soon as I bring the rest of the animals to the stable I'll brush some of this dust from your hair. Then you'll feel better. Here, have a long drink of water at the well."

The stable was the only one in the city that had its own well. Every other stable keeper had to take the animals to the city well each day or haul large jugs of water back from the well. Bartholomew was thankful today that he did not have to lead the animals through this dust storm to water. As he tied the camel near the well to drink, he decided to take time for a drink of the clear water himself.

Carefully he loosened his belt and slipped a battered tin cup from it. He dipped the cup into the water and drank quickly. The water washed the dust from his lips and quenched his thirst. After stringing the cup back on his belt, he gave the camel an assuring pat and returned to the inn for the other animals.

When all of the animals were settled in their stalls, Bartholomew went back to the well. "You are my favorite," he said to the camel as he untied the reins. "I like camels better than any other animal."

The camels' majestic height attracted the boy. With a lofty gracefulness they moved about their tasks. It was as if they were not concerned about the troubles of the day. They were given a load to carry, and they went about their job with a mind apart. Whether they walked or ran, or just stood waiting, they seemed to center on something within themselves. Men could make them work, but Bartholomew was sure that camels had control over their thoughts at all times, and that whatever went on inside their minds gave the animals satisfaction. The only time that camels really seemed aware of their surroundings was when they were combed and brushed, and spoken to lovingly.

Bartholomew gently led the camel into a stall in the back of the stable. He always saved the back stalls for his favorite animals. They were the warmest and best keep stalls. Until last year, the innkeeper checked on the animals each day and often scolded the boy for not using the better stalls. But Naaman seldom came to the stable any more. The guests seemed pleased with the way Bartholomew cared for the animals, and the innkeeper never took the time to check.

The traveler's camel seemed to thank Bartholomew with his eyes as the boy brushed the dust from its hair. When the boy moved to the other side, the camel's skin quivered under his brush as the muscles relaxed. Then the camel reached out and gave the boy's neck a nuzzle.

"I'm glad you came today," Bartholomew told the camel. He usually spoke to the animals as he cared for them. They seemed to understand his problems. Like Bartholomew, they lived a life filled with orders. They never knew their family either, since they were sold when they were young.

Photo of sunset "It's going to be a cold, dusty night tonight," said the boy, "and this stall will keep you warm and away from the gritty dirt blowing around outside. There's one more stall back behind yours. I always save it for the very last, because you never know when a prize animal will come."

The camel drew his head back.

"Oh, now, don't feel bad," Bartholomew assured the camel. "You're a prize all right. Didn't I give you the stall next to the back one! See, I saved this one for you. But there's always a chance that God will send an animal that needs it even more than you. You were dusty and tired, but the next stall may be needed for an animal that's hurt or something like that. See, I just keep the best one ready in case God has a need for it.”

With Bartholomew's urging, the camel awkwardly folded his front and back legs and laid down to rest. The boy brushed the top of the animal's back where he could not reach while the camel was on his stilt-like legs. He took the big head in his arms and hugged it for a moment. He knew that he had spent more time than he should with brushing, but even a camel appreciates being rid of dust after a storm.

Before returning to the inn, Bartholomew stepped into the last empty stall and fluffed up the hay. He made a point to loosen the hay in the favored stall each time he came to the stable, even if the stall had not been used. Today he even scattered a layer of new hay, thinking to himself that the dust storm may make this the night that the stall would be needed more than any other.

"I'll be back early in the morning," Bartholomew told the camel. "Once the evening meal's begun I don't have time to come back to the stable. The innkeeper and his wife keep me busy taking food to the guests and cleaning up after them. Then after everyone has eaten they sit and talk until late hours, and I have to keep their drinks and dates and nuts supplied. But I'll be here before dawn in the morning and give you another brushing."

With a final pat to the camel's head, the boy pulled his coat about his shoulders to guard against the gritty wind. As he left the protection of the hill, he turned his back to the wind and walked backwards. The gales were strong enough to lift the dust from the hard packed streets. He knew that it was even worse outside the town.

Pulling his coat up around his head, he managed to keep most of the dust out of his eyes. The town seemed deserted now. At the end of the street a man turned from the door of another inn and walked slowly toward a donkey. A woman sat on the donkey, leaning over the animal's head for protection.

Quickly Bartholomew ducked into the back door of his inn. As he began to shake the dust from his clothing, the innkeeper's wife called to him.

"Bartholomew, get yourself in here. You know that we expect you to help get the meal ready for the guests!"

Photo of mosque To avoid her grasping hand, the boy slid around the corner from the cooking area into the main room of the inn. Naaman saw him come into the room and started toward him with a scowl on his face. Before the man could get across the room, a knock sounded at the door, and he turned to answer it.

Bartholomew moved among the guests, pouring wine into their cups. He was late returning from the stables, and the guests had already begun their meal.

I may go to sleep hungry tonight because of my tardiness, thought the boy. His meals usually depended on how well he served the guests. Rather than feed him from the kitchen, the innkeeper informed the guests that they were to put some of the food from their tables in his tin cup. How well he ate depended on how well he served them.

Bartholomew took his tin cup from his belt and shyly placed it on the table. Because of his delay, the guests may not choose to fill his cup tonight.

Through the rest of the meal, the boy ran from table to table trying to please the guests. When he cleared the last plate and picked up his cup, he found it half full. He ate the food quickly, thankful that the guests had given him something, although he had returned from the stables so late.

"Here, boy! Bring me some more wine."

"Don't you have any fresher dates than these?"

"Wipe up this spill, boy!"

The large gathering room of the inn was full to its capacity tonight, and the guests demanded his services all through the evening. On nights that the dust blew, Naaman's inn was popular with the travelers who camped on the edge of town as they passed away the evening hours. The innkeeper's spirits improved with a full house, but he did insist that Bartholomew keep the guests happy.

With the storm howling outside, none of the travelers planned to leave the city the next day. They drank and talked late into the night, and Bartholomew hovered close, trying to make up for his tardiness at dinner.

When the last guest left for his bed, the boy wiped the tables. After he had replaced all of the benches and hung his wiping cloth in the kitchen, he slowly moved to the entry way inside the back door of the inn. He unfolded his blanket and wrapped it around himself, spreading an older, more tattered blanket on the floor. Exhausted, he lay down and thought of the freshly fluffed hay in the stables. He considered slipping out to sleep beside the camel, but he knew he would only be caught and reprimanded for not being in the inn if he was needed during the night.

Even the hard floor did not keep Bartholomew awake for long. The day had been long and tiring, and the boy slept.

Suddenly Bartholomew sat upright. He did not think he had slept long, but the room was filled with light. Quickly he threw the blankets aside, not stopping to fold them. He must have overslept! He had promised the camel a brushing this morning, and now it was light. There would hardly be time to feed the animals before he was needed again for the morning meal. He rushed out the door.

Half-way across the courtyard, Bartholomew stopped. The night was calm; the dusty wind of the day before was gone. Above the stable hill, a star shone brightly. Only the sun could have given more light. It was not dawn yet! The brightness of the star gave an illusion of day. The boy stood for a moment in awe.

Then animal sounds greeted him, and he moved toward the stable. As he entered the cave he heard hushed voices coming from the back stall. Slowly he crept between the stalls, past the innkeeper's donkey and past the rich guest's animals. He paused as he passed the camel's stall.

"See," a woman's voice said. "This is the place for the miracle. God knew we needed a place to stay, and the stall was saved for us. Dear Joseph, you didn't need to worry. God will care for us."

"The whole night has been a miracle," the man said.

Bartholomew peered around the door of the stall. A small lamp blazed in the corner, but the whole stable seemed as light as day. A woman lay in the hay that Bartholomew had fluffed. The man stooped beside her, and they were both looking at something in the hay. Dare he go any closer? Was he intruding on their privacy?

Within the next minute, the boy found himself kneeling over the object in the hay, looking into the sleeping face of a tiny baby. Bartholomew had never seen a child so small. He could not take his eyes off the baby's face.

The father put a hand on Bartholomew's shoulder and looked at the sleeping child. When the baby stirred, the mother soothed him gently, rocking him with her hand.

"Is this your stable?" she asked. "Are you Bartholomew?"

The boy nodded silently, watching the tiny child nestled on the hay that he had fluffed earlier.

"We thank you for such a soft place for our baby to be born," the woman said. "We could not camp on the edge of town with dust blowing into the tent. When we inquired at the inn, Naaman offered the use of the stable. He said that you care for the animals, but that you were busy last night with the dinner guests. You prepared a perfect place for the Messiah. Thank you."

Bartholomew's weariness from the busy night suddenly left him. He wanted to share something with the baby who lay asleep on his fresh hay. All he had was his battered tin cup, hanging from his belt. Without his cup, the guests at the inn might not set aside food for his meals.

Voices at he entrance to the stable startled him. Without another thought, Bartholomew untied his belt, slipped the cup from its accustomed place, and laid it beside the baby. He slid into the shadows just as a group of shepherds stepped into the stall.

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