I’m reposting something I wrote last Christmas {still raw from the loss of Bug} … something that still is so very precious to me.

For at least half of the Christmas seasons I have spent as married woman, I’ve been newly pregnant or fresh-grieving the loss of a babe. I identify with Mary very closely. Except for the unmarried part, anyway.  I keep thinking of her physical feelings, her emotions at being a first-time mother. Closing my eyes and thinking of her in labor . . . in a cave/stable/animal dwelling. The smell, the temperature, the dust . . . the pain. Cleaning, or trying to clean him. Nursing him for the first time. How sweet that moment is. Or scary, or frustrating, or overwhelming. Unwashed teenage boys traipsing in to see her wee man. Was she scared? Happy? Layer that with the knowledge of who her infant Son actually was and . . . words fail. I just love knowing that Jesus had a mommy who did mommy things like nursing, and wiping bottoms, and soothing tears, and swaying to calm Him, and loving His smiles . . . all the while knowing He was never really hers. Can you imagine?

Which leads to sacrifice. The knowing and willing sacrifice of our Heavenly Father. The unknowing, but obedient sacrifice of Joseph, and of His mommy, of Mary. I think about Bug, about H, and I grieve at the unexpected loss of lives not yet lived. I think of the two littles I have now, and how I would move heaven and earth to protect my sweet babes. I cannot fathom the depths of love and grace poured out on me by a Father who would offer up His own Son to save me.  But oh, I am grateful. Breathing in deep my sweet son smell and kissing his sweet face and knowing two thousand years ago His mommy did the same in the knowledge that her Babe was unlike any other.

So, now, as we celebrate again the gift, the sacrifice, the joy … these words speak truth to my heart still … especially as we {our little family} can joyfully announce the {expected} summer arrival of our third little.

~M.