Lilies of the Field

From the moment we found out we were pregnant and then calculated the due date, I have had this deep dread. I dreaded that December 22 could likely mean December 25. I dreaded that my poor child would be thrown into the hustle and bustle of the holiday season never to be truly celebrated. I dreaded that he would miss out on a “real” birthday and non-shared birthday gifts. I dreaded the sadness that he would feel because everyone would be too busy to celebrate his day.

It was around June, however, when I feel like the Lord spoke to my heart about the opportunities that being pregnant during this time of year provided me. As we have gotten closer to the season, I have often thought so carefully about Mary. Yes, Mary, Jesus’ mommy. In no way do I compare myself to her or pretend to contend with her or the baby in which she was chosen to carry, but if all dates were accurate and for the purposes for which we know this season, I do feel like I have the timing right on target with when she was pregnant with Jesus.

I have read the book Christ the Lord Out of Egypt twice simply because of the manner in which it portrays Mary’s sweet relationship as a mother, a regular mommy, to her son. In fact, it changed my whole perspective of the two of them. Never before had I truly thought about the fact that she’s not just the Mary that we see in Christmas cards or in paintings or in Sunday School. She’s not just a Bible character. She is the mother of my Savior. The one who was worried about Him while he was in utero. The one who pondered what he would look like. The one who felt his every kick and turn within her own womb. The one who wondered how on earth she had been chosen for such a task. The one who faced persecution and ridicule because she had been chosen. The one that birthed him in a barn, nonetheless, and felt the pains that we as women have been chosen, even as a curse, to endure for the sake of our child. The one who rubbed her tummy for nine months. The one who wondered if he was moving too little. The one who longed to feel that first butterfly flutter. The one who loved him unceasingly from the moment she knew he was in existence.

I shall never forget once our sweet boy was in my arms holding him on Christmas morning, playing him Christmas music as we rocked, and weeping at the mere thought of ever giving him up. It is through his existence that I have a greater understanding of the incredible sacrifice that God the Father and Mary made for me. What a true blessing our Christmas baby is.