The Birth of a Mother

Today, December 10th, six years ago, the time came for my baby to be born. I always wanted to be a mother, and yet I found myself wishing for one more day to own my time, as if something deep inside of me foresaw the many ways parenthood would transform my everyday life in an instant. 

When I gave birth to my firstborn, a son, the snow was drifting against the windowpane of my hospital room. The knots in my stomach tightened as I wondered how my husband and I would manage to nurture this tiny miracle. We were exhausted and hours away from family. My labor had been long—27 hours—and I felt emotionally overwhelmed with the weight of the responsibility cradled in my arms. 

I thought a lot about Mary in those endless, sleepless days at home leading up to Christmas, nursing my newborn baby by the light of the tree. For the first time, I imagined the raw realness of her labor in the rustic setting she found herself in on that special night, the anxiety she could have battled as she felt those early labor pains on the back of a donkey with no place to go, friends and family miles away. I empathized with the loneliness she might have experienced, a young girl, a first-time mother, giving birth without her village, relying on God’s divine plan to get her through. I think about how she was a regular woman, given a very big promise, and I pray for an ounce of her faith to call my own.

As my own son grows, I reflect on those early days of motherhood and feel grateful that I don’t have to face the opposition and loss that Mary did, as her son—God’s son—grew up to save the world. And I breathe deep the realization that all mothers, even the earthly mother of our Savior, have to learn to let go, to allow their children to become who God created them to be. My son is not my own to keep. He belongs to the Lord, and though he is wholly human and imperfect, God wants to use him too, to bring him glory and light up the world with his love. 

Reflect:
What is God inviting you to let go of for his glory?