I had an inaccurate and romantic view of Mother Mary’s birth story. When I think about it now, I realize it wasn’t so comfortable.
I dedicate today’s entry to my grandmother, whom I love more than any other grown up in the world. And whose relationship with our Mother Mary is unique, special and direct.
Mother Mary’s Birth Story, Unsweetened
Let’s put this in perspective.
I live outside of Boston. Let’s imagine that in my ninth month of pregnancy, my husband Kris finds out that we have to go back to New Jersey or else we’ll lose our health insurance, or something of equal importance. We have to go.
After packing up our things, our donkey pulls up out front. I, nine months pregnant, mount it, prepared to ride for days to reach Kris’s hometown. Except, his parents no longer live there, and he has no friends or family left there.
We know nobody.
As we set off for my husband’s place of origin, my faith- though not unshakeable, is strong. So is his.
After a long and tiring journey, we finally arrive. I am medically exhausted. It was too much for my pregnant body, and it requires rest. Not necessarily out of chivalry, but out of compassion, and because he is my partner, my husband searches for a place where I can get the rest that my baby and I need.
My abdominal muscles, back, and legs all hurt. I am having that ninth month of pregnancy pressure in my pelvis, and I am in tears because I just need to lie down, take the pressure off my body and sleep.
Each door that my husband knocks on provides the same answer: “We have no room for you. We have no place that your pregnant wife can rest.”
My husband becomes more desperate as he sees the pleading in my eyes, hears it in my words and feels it from my body. Finally, he comes back to me as I wait on the mule and says, “I have found us a place to sleep for the night. It isn’t the most comfortable of accommodations, but it will have to do for tonight.”.
Now, what I have been suspecting for the last several hours is undeniable. I am in labor.
A tired Mary lay on a “bed” of hay or dirt, surrounded by animals that were dirty, and smelly, and who urinated and defecated all around them. I’m certain though, that when Mary first held her baby, like all of us mothers, her surroundings were irrelevant.
I wonder if understanding that her child was the Son of God made her feel greater emotion. As a mother, I suppose not. I imagine that she was filled with the exact same emotion that I felt when Owen and Sydney were first put into my arms, and your children into yours.
I suspect that she looked at her beautiful baby Jesus, and wondered how she could be so blessed to have such love delivered to her life, and how grateful she felt that the man standing beside her was faithful and brave enough to protect her and her child so significantly.
I suspect that it was at least hours before Mary felt the itch of hay against her legs, and once more became aware of the smells of the animals; that the swaddled bundle in her arms provided only a temporary analgesic from her surroundings.
I can’t fathom Mary’s “birth story” having delivered my two children in a beautiful maternity unit with wonderful caregivers in attendance. I have always imagined, or understood, that Jesus’ birth was serene, and lovely.
I probably believed this because songs like “Away in a Manger” are sung by angelic voices and accompanied by the finest musicians playing perfectly tuned instruments. More so though, I know that this belief stems from the results of this birth. Results that were indeed beautiful, and awesome.
So this Christmas, when I sing I “Away in a Manger”, I will sing it as beautifully as I can. I will reflect on the images surrounding the birth of Jesus and the emotions that his mother must have felt.
This event, this birth, deserves not only my praise and gratitude, but also my admiration from one mother to another.
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