Joseph (I Was Not His Father)

He was working late one evening
With the wood he knew so well
When she thought she recognized him,
Though at first she couldn't tell.

As she humbly begged his pardon,
A strange sadness swelled inside
When she asked, "aren't you the father
Of the Man they crucified?"

Then the carpenter repeated
What he'd said so many times
He said, "I was not His father,
He was mine."

Then he humbly went on working
With his worn and calloused hands.
Though she did not ask more questions
He knew she didn't understand.

So he asked if she would help him.
He saw her answer in a glance.
She did all the chores he asked her,
And she was grateful for the chance.

Then they talked for hours of Jesus
And how he knew He was divine.
He said, "I was not His father,
He was mine.

For how could one so foolish and so flawed
Ever hope to raise the Son of God?"

Then he spoke of the misgivings
He had had a thousand times,
And how Jesus found the tender moments
To let him know he'd done just fine.

Then the carpenter recited
The greatest truths he'd ever learned
And testified they came from Jesus
And then her heart within her burned!

They embraced as she departed.
Joseph told her one more time,
"Tell them I was not His father,
Tell them He was mine.

No, I was not His father,
He was mine."