Their Story

By Jing Villamil

THIS story is oft-told, so many times occurring. A constant replay. Surely, there is such a story in your neighborhood. There may even be such a story in your family.

The population in their barrio was not so big, that everybody was familiar with almost each and everyone. Thus, all of the barrio folks knew that if ever there was one from among the young marriageable girls who fitted to a perfect T the image of a future ideal wife for a son, she would be May – pretty, polite, industrious, obedient to her parents, devoutly religious. She was so “masimpit”, and she always had a shy, sincere smile for a greet. Bachelors from the barrio and from surrounding districts troop to her parents’ doorsteps to ask for her hand.

Josh had watched May grow from a frail little girl to a beautiful young lady. He was older by more than a few years, but age mattered not when one’s heart had spoken. For his heart had spoken, and it spelled out her name. May was his first, his one and only love! He wished for no other.

To be fair, Josh was not a bad catch. He was nice-looking, though a little too thin. He was an artist, a very introspective man. He was respected by the elders and his clients for the excellence of his craft and the trustworthiness of his word.  Single women circle around him, casting wistful glances, hoping that from among them, Josh would choose his bride.

The barrio echoed the sound of hearts breaking when word got around that Josh had already made his heart’s choice. Actually, Josh need not made known her name. He was too apparently obvious. You see, he worshipped May with his eyes!

She must have cared as much for him, too. When he asked for her hand in marriage, there was no objection – from her parents, from May.  Preparations for the wedding went underway at once.

Then, heaven’s lightning struck. Josh was told May was with child. And the child was not his.

The explanation given would have made an ordinary groom-to-be pack up his bag for the record disappearance of all times. Really, quite a lot of guys out there actually must have done their turn – disappear and not show up at all at the altar. Or pledge “I do!” but flee soon or a little later. Or marry the girl, but make her life so miserable she would wish they did not marry in the first place, or wish she had gone on with the deception that the child was his.

No. Josh did not do any of the above. His heart had spoken, and he was a man who listened to his heart. His love and respect for May remained as steadfast, maybe even more.

Oh, the village must have talked! This would be the kind of hotstuff trending around tables between mouthfuls – “Antam, amay asawaen nen kien, onya manaya . . . !”

Their marriage vows were made. Immediately thereafter, Josh took May away that they may begin a fresh life together – for her welfare and for the coming child. 

When the infant boy was born, Josh took him into his arms. He took him into his heart! Looking down into the infant’s eyes, Josh saw the infant’s eyes looked up full into his eyes. And their eyes held a conversation all their own.

Josh saw the world unfolding in those very eyes! And Mercy of all Mercies! He saw himself enfolded unto the infant’s beautiful self!

As Josh had worshipped the mother, so he had worshipped the child. He loved him as much. And he brought him up as he would his own son. His heart was big enough to have room for two. His heart even had room for the rest of the world!

Josh died ahead of May. He died quietly in his sleep. It was a gift to a good man, this kind death, of quietly slipping away. A soft whisper, a gentle sigh.

A death for a saint. Josh is St. Joseph. May is Mary. The infant is Jesus.

May you discern the lesson/s in Their Story. May you have a Christmas most meaningful!

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