He Cared Enough to Give Us Christmas!

Having an infant gives me a whole new appreciation for Christmas.

I've believed for as long as I can remember that Jesus, the God-Man, came to earth as a baby about 2000 years ago. Now, though, as my own child nears five months old, I realize that at one time, Jesus, the Word of God through whom the galaxies burst into existence, was Himself nearing five months old. (How can the age of the Eternal be measured in mere months?)

His mother was young, younger than me. His world was chaotic and scary.

Was Mary frightened at times, raising a baby? I am. It is a vulnerable thing to have so much of my soul wrapped in such a helpless bundle. I hope the best for her, pray that she will seek the heart of God and be kept far from evil men and women, but I know she will feel pain in some form someday. No wonder Simeon told Mary that a sword would pierce her own heart; her son had a certain future of pain, far beyond what I might realistically expect for little N. (But who ever claimed a mother's ruminations are realistic?)

Every time I read a book or watch a movie where a child is endangered or suffering, I immediately see my child there, feel an inkling of the desperation I imagine I might feel if that were my baby there, going through that. (A vivid imagination can be both a blessing and a curse.)

Or I wonder if I may inadvertently hurt her; there are certainly enough ways to fear doing so. Sometimes it seems there are so many options for fear surrounding a child that it is hard to know which is the lesser: Do I fear vaccines, or do I fear not vaccinating? Do I fear co-sleeping? letting her sleep on her belly? creating a dependency by holding her while she sleeps? risking the health effects of her not getting adequate sleep? (I don't think the "experts" mean to be cruel or manipulative as they encourage parents to avoid or embrace certain behaviors, but it's hard not to hear, "If you don't do as we say, you are knowingly endangering the very life of that little person you love with every fiber of your being . . .")

Sorry if you're tired of my going on about fear lately . . . it's just what is on my mind lately.

I heard a pastor on the radio recently (I wish I could remember which one so I could give proper credit) who said that Satan wants us to live either in the past through our regrets or in the future via our worries, because we can only worship God in the present, and that is the last thing he wants us to do. (Obviously, I've been having more trouble with the one, lately.)

But look at young Mary: she sure had plenty of things she could have feared. She was young, unwed, and pregnant. Her intended was planning to divorce her, which was the better of the two most likely options for her, the other being death. Her world didn't value life, especially the lives of the most vulnerable. Her options as a single mother weren't good, poverty and disgrace at best.

And yet, this remarkable teen chose praise.

"May soul magnifies the Lord," she said, "and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior."
She rejoiced? In her trouble? In her uncertainty? I would have expected her to feel forgotten or even picked on. But instead, "he has looked on the humble estate of his servant. . . . from now on all generations will call me blessed."

Now there's perspective for you. But she wasn't done yet.

"He who is mighty has done great things for me."

Is He mighty? Do I really believe that? Or is He really strong, but just not strong enough for this problem this time? Do I live like I think my problems - or potential problems - might just be the ones that surpass the limits of His abilities?

Yes, He has done great things for me. Why do I keep assuming His works are in my past but not for my future?

Maybe it's because I am forgetting to worship.

After all, this isn't just the God of the universe sitting upon His heavenly throne. He also isn't just the man who touched the untouchables. He is the One who inhabited the womb, the arms, the heart of a young mother.

He knows. He understands. He came with all the frailties and vulnerabilities of the baby sleeping across the room from me now.

Why? Who forced Him into this Christmas thing? What Being with that sort of power would simply hang it all up for the chance to go through diapers, learning language, puberty?

Someone who cares.
Someone who cares a lot.
Someone who cares a lot about me.
Someone who cares a lot about my life and my worries.
Someone who cares a lot about this precious little girl of mine.

Thank God that He cared enough to give us a Christmas.