Sacred and Holy: Being a Mama at Christmas

I love Christmas.

I love being a Mom at Christmas

And this Christmas seems a little extra magical for me.

We were sitting in our living room as a family the other evening. And to be honest, I can’t even remember what we were doing. 

The Christmas tree was lit. The stockings were hung, and the house just felt like Christmas.

Then I glanced at my Itty Bitty #1. She was born at Christmas time.

My very first Christmas as a mother I spent snuggling a sweet little newborn.

I spent a lot of time that year thinking about how similar and yet how different I was from Mary.

I was learning love in a way that I had never felt before. 

I felt overwhelmed by my new responsibilities to care for something so sweet and so innocent. 

There was a peace in our home that I never knew existed.

Physically, I felt terrible. (Though not nearly as terrible as I would’ve if I had to give birth in a stable with no epidural).

Over and over I felt incredibly blessed. Overwhelmingly grateful. And profoundly humble.

I remember those first sweet moments as a mama every year at Christmas, and all the emotions still come rushing back.

After glancing at #1, my eye caught our Itty Bitty #2 who just so happens to be coming up on his 2nd birthday in a few months . . . . roughly the same age that Jesus was when he was visited by the wisemen.

What was Mary thinking when strange men from a land far away visited her and her son with expensive gifts?

Was she overwhelmed with the busy-ness of a two-year old?

Was she amazed at how quickly her boy was learning and processing information?

Had she fallen into the monotony of day-to-day living? 

Was the miracle of the birth on her mind only occasionally?

Did she feel even more love and even more of a connection with her sweet little son who didn’t quite yet know who he was?

And then I wondered, what would it have been like for my baby boy to have men kneel at his feet and worship him?

As I looked at my two babies, it took me a minute to realize that not only do I get to experience this little boy and remember Christmas with a sweet infant girl, but I’m pregnant again. 

I’m experiencing the creation of life like Mary did as she told her family of the miraculous conception and as she feared being “put away privily” by Joseph. 

I’m watching my body grow and change like Mary did when she went to visit her cousin Elisabeth and surely felt a deeper witness and reverence for what was taking place in her life.

And of course, in a few months, I’ll be in a similar place that Mary was in when she was told there was no room for her to deliver her child. 

During each of these phases, Mary must have had so many thoughts and feelings. They must have been so hard to describe. Or maybe they were too holy and too sacred to put into words.

Yet, I imagine that somewhere in all of that she felt awe. And amazement. And love.

At Christmas, I go to that place. That place where I’m just in awe to be in my babies’ presence and realize that they are mine.

My role as a mama seems extra meaningful at Christmas.

More holy.

More sacred.

And when I look at my babies, I can’t help but wonder if this is what the angel meant by “good tidings of great joy.”

Originally Published 12/12/19