Strangely Similar Beginnings

The graphic design illustrating this poem is used by permission of IN HIS IMAGE: www.hisimage.org

I used to wonder what it was like for Jesus growing up. The Bible doesn't tell us much about his childhood. This poem is, therefore, speculative, but possible in the grand scheme of things. I hope it stirs the hearts of those who read it.

Strangely Similar Beginning
©2004, Janet K. Poludniak

In a little town of Bethlehem,
some two thousand years back,
lived two promising little children
from opposite sides of the track.
Now both of these children were little boys,
born very close in age,
but their destiny's would write for them
a very different page.

One of the boy's deep family roots
were there in that little town.
The other moved there from afar;
‘twas work that brought them down.
Most parents try to teach their children
about the "golden rule,"
and hope that as they start to grow
that they'll do well in school.

These families were no exception
with the decisions that they made:
each parent worked to do their best
to teach the boys their trade.
One dad was a Roman soldier
who served so he could be free.
The other, a simple carpenter,
made beautiful things from a tree.

Is it possible that in the market place
the children could have met?
Did they know each other's name?
Such things we don't forget!
Did they play in the dusty street one day?
Did their eyes and hands once meet?
Did they toddle from time to time, together,
about their mother's feet?

Our destiny can seem so strong
that it shapes our claim to glory,
but what we learn, the choices we make—
these things write our story.
It wasn't long, each family moved:
duty and danger placed their call,
but the two small boys would meet again,
as men in Pilate's hall.

One boy grew in wisdom
and learned from His Father's Word.
He sought to serve, to give, to love,
and obeyed all the things He'd heard:
"The greatest men in all the world
are servants who serve well,
and living a holy life . . . in God . . .
will keep men's souls from Hell."

The other boy grew in wisdom too,
but ‘twas the wisdom of the land.
He became a great Centurion,
and he thought that his life was grand.
He'd earned his rank, he had served well,
brushed shoulders with the best.
There wasn't much he could not do;
his strength stood every test.

Many questions cross my mind,
for part of their lives were the same.
Boys love to play with a carpenter's tools;
but each played at a different game.
One would acquire a compassionate touch . . .
that would mold and change a life;
the other would follow a stormy path
using force to settle the strife.

From a strangely similar beginning,
the boys grew far apart.
Both were strong and did their best
to be true to their own heart,
but the path that each had taken
was all destine by Another:
one to serve an earthly throne:
and One who'd serve His Father.

Once again, standing face to face,
did the soldier remember His name?
Did he recall a childish touch
that seemed his heart to claim?
When the man laid down upon that cross,
the Centurion knelt beside.
He drove the familiar nails once more,
but this time he broke and cried.

He ordered his men to finish the task,
one he could not bear to do.
The cross was hoisted into place.
The terrible job was through!
The eyes of the Man that hung there . . .
His memory could not erase:
for they had played with hammer and nails
back in the carpenter's place.

Hours passed. The sky grew dark.
The Man on the cross had died.
The Centurion's eyes were riveted
on the One he had crucified.
He spoke softly with a trembling voice,
"Surely this was the Son of God."
And as he gazed upon the Man,
he pondered the path he'd trod.

Story ID:	3789
Written by:	JANET KESSLER POLUDNIAK (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Organization:	JUST ME
Story type:	Poem
Location:	Cayuga NY USA
Year:	2004
Person:	The Saviour of Christmas