This is another letter by my Mom from Aimee's birth. EnjoyI am starting to feel like I'm locked in a weird time warp where we think entirely too much about when we poop, and how much and what color, and when we ate, did we eat?, will we get more than an hour of sleep at a time? Is there life outside the nursery, and if there is, who cares anyway. Just let me have that sweet bundle of yowls, or mews, and pull up the rocker, and let me gaze into God's almighty power.
It does make you wonder how allowed His only son to come and go through all this with mere humans. It is messy, and wondrous. It is fragile, and yet so powerful. As in every birth, there was so much room for error, and He chose to do it anyway, for us, to give us new life and hope beyond this life here on planet earth. I thought a lot about that first Christmas time birth while watching Mandy go through it. Mary was so young, someone's daughter, away from her mother. Did she get a midwife? Was it just Joseph helping? My Joe was wonderful, I'm sure Jesus' daddy was even more tender and attentive. But he was tired too, they had traveled a lot. Joseph didn't know what he was getting into. He didn't ask for this, as Joe did, it was thrust upon him. He didn't live in an age where births out of wedlock were accepted, he got gossiped about, and criticized. My Joe is young, and learning responsibility, he gets critiqued regularly, it's hard on a
guy. Joseph had it harder!
Mandy wanted a clean, sweet, little nursery all organized and complimenting. Mary got a smelly barn. Did she organize the hay bales? Did she order the cows and sheep where too stand and whether they could make noise, and smells while her labor pains made her grouchy and sensitive. They don't let moms today lie flat, well, how did Mary lie? Did anyone send her to birthing classes and teach her how to breathe?
Then there's the baby Jesus; both God and completely helpless little man. Was it like watching himself as a human from the outside and also experiencing it in the flesh? Knowing he could just get up and dust himself off, and yet submitting to the frustration of waiting for his mother's milk to come in, and her awkward attempts to figure out how to nurse. Pooping himself, with that tarry sticky goo, that just doesn't want to clean up easily. Wanting to nuzzle longer, and suck and suck, and yet knowing that Mama needs to rest and sleep.
Having watched it all now, well, its hard to believe He put himself through it! He is my glorious savior, and I am so thankful He came, lived, died, rose again on my behalf, so I can be saved from my sin - I don't deserve such love, and yet He loves that much. I am ever so glad I trusted him and accepted him as my savior so long ago! And more thankful yet, that even though I haven't always lived up to His ideals, he keeps on loving me back. His arms are always open. I can nuzzle in as long as I want!
Merry Christmas to you and yours,