A front row seat

Every year at Christmas I think about this. Well, at least for the last 20 years.

I can’t begin relate to Mary in her pregnancy in the idea that she was carrying the Son of God. But I was pregnant and not married. We did have that in common. And my brother did threaten to stone me.

This year as I thought about pregnancy and childbirth and child raising milestones I was struck once again with the difference. Even in Mary’s time Jesus birth was unorthodox. But now it has taken on the feel of a children’s story and the reality of it seems to get missed.

From the beginning, Nate has never left any doubt that he was here. From knowing I was pregnant from two weeks on (that makes for a looooonnnnnngggg pregnancy) to taking the home pregnancy test that said the indicator would turn any color of pink to purple and mine turned so dark purple it was almost black. The doctor said at 8 weeks he would try to get the heartbeat but that was really soon, but there it was beating right along, strong as could be.

Mary didn’t have home pregnancy tests or ultrasounds. She didn’t get to hear the heartbeat. But she never doubted she was pregnant either. Angels visited her. She knew more about her baby than I knew about Nate. She knew it would be a son. She knew he was the Messiah. And she knew he was born to die on a cross years later.

I wonder if that made her pregnancy, already traumatic with being unmarried at conception and telling people he was the Messiah even more traumatic? She was a scarlet woman, people thought she was crazy because she believed he was coming to save everyone including her, and that he would ultimately die because of HER sins. She was giving birth to her Savior.

I wonder if in the pain of childbirth it crossed her mind that he would feel pain, so much more pain; physical, mental and spiritual in his life then what she was feeling and had felt?

When Nate was born my mom was in the delivery room. I asked her to leave. She wouldn’t. I wanted to have her removed. I wanted to be alone. When Whitney was born, the delivery nurse asked who could be in the room with me. I told her just Steve. So the idea that Mary gave birth to Jesus with just the farm animals is the kind of privacy that I would like. Maybe a little more sterile…

The fact that he was Jesus didn’t make his birth less painful, his childhood less enjoyable for his mother. Mary was a real person who felt the pain of childbirth. She was a real mom with real feelings of love for her children, just like me.

I think about how proud I am of Nate. How proud I’ve been sitting in the stands of his life watching. How many tears I’ve shed because I’m proud of the man he is. How many times I’ve jumped up and down and screamed and yelled and cheered for him. How many times I’ve done it internally because it wasn’t appropriate to yell, like his senior awards day.

I cannot begin to imagine the pride Mary has felt for her son, and will feel when she sits on the front row of the stands in Heaven and watches Jesus come for us. (I wonder if they will get a five minute warning in Heaven before the trumpet sounds, just to let them get into place to watch???) And then when she watches him finally defeat Satan. I can see her leaning forward in her seat, hands clasped in front of her, all the confidence in the world on her face, her grin a mile wide as she looks at him step out. “Come on Jesus, you got this. YOU GOT THIS. Let’s go, Son. Whooo hoooo!!! Yes, that’s it, ALRIGHT JESUS! YES!” (high fives the other Mary sitting next to her) “Boo Yah! And that’s how it’s done!!! That's MY boy.”

My mama’s heart cannot begin to fathom what she will feel. If she was not already in her perfect heavenly body, I’m afraid her heart might actually explode.