The mother of Jesus

³⁴ Then Simeon blessed them, and he said to Mary, the baby’s mother, “This child is destined to cause many in Israel to fall, but he will be a joy to many others. He has been sent as a sign from God, but many will oppose him. ³⁵ As a result, the deepest thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your very soul.” Luke 2:34

This year, I’ve been thinking about Mary, the mother of Jesus.  Actually, I probably think about Mary every year at Christmas.  I remember when I was in high school and probably close to Mary’s age, I related to her in the fact that she had to deal with an inexplicable pregnancy.  I was definitely the good girl growing up – not as holy as she, I’m sure – but I definitely wasn’t sleeping with boys.  If God had come to me at that point in my life and asked me to carry his child, my first concern would have been about my reputation and dealing with the social stigma of being pregnant and not married.  When I was pregnant with Daniel last Christmas, I remember thinking about Mary again.  How hard it must have been for her to ride on a donkey for a long journey while big and uncomfortable and likely having contractions.  How difficult it must have been to give birth and try to recover alongside a man with whom she had never been intimate and likely didn’t know very well.  I hope God provided support for Mary in ways the Bible doesn’t mention.  In his great provision, I feel like he probably did.  But, still, my heart has always gone out to her.

This year, as I hold my own son, my firstborn, I think again about Mary.  I know Jesus was her Savior.  I know that in the end, if not all along, she knew that, too.  But I wonder if more often than her Savior, he was just her little boy – her baby.  You see, this Christmas I have learned that there is absolutely nothing like a mother’s love.  I love my family, I love my husband, I have friends I love like family, but none of that compares to the way I love Daniel.  My love for him is full of awe and wonder and a fierceness I have never felt before.  This love is also absolutely full of sacrifice.  I have given almost everything to be Daniel’s mother.  I’ve sacrificed my cute figure and, while I’m gradually getting my waist back, my body has changed in ways I know will be permanent.  My relationship with Andy has grown in many ways but has also changed in others – we no longer have dinners completely focused on one another.  In fact, many nights, one of us shovels down our food to go bathe the crying baby in the room and put him to bed.  My days are all about Daniel.  I structure workouts and cleaning and time with friends around his nap schedule.  I don’t go to the bathroom in peace anymore, and I often use the toilet with a baby standing on my knees or crying outside a door.  I rarely find time to do my nails or curl my hair or take a long bath – all activities I enjoyed before having Daniel.  When I fall into bed at night, it is usually with the exhaustion of giving all I had to give, and with the knowledge that I will get up at least once before morning with my sweet boy.  And honestly, even on the worst days, I’m thankful every minute for the opportunity to make these sacrifices.

I have no doubt that Mary also knew what it was to be a mother who makes sacrifices for her children.  Mary didn’t only sacrifice her bathroom privileges and her alone time.  She sacrificed her entire reputation.  I come from a small town, and I know what it is like to have everyone know everything and know it forever.  I have no doubt that in her tight knit Jewish community, the whispers must have followed her:  “That is Mary – you know she was pregnant before she got married.  Mmmhmm… with the oldest, Jesus.”  That time she and Joseph spent in Egypt may have helped, but I’m sure it didn’t clear memories.  It probably added fuel to the fire for some: “Yep, they moved away for a while – probably hoping to spare her family the shame.”  Furthermore, Mary was not only a mother to Jesus.  We know that Jesus had four brothers and an unspecified number of sisters.  I am sure she knew what it was to sacrifice her wishes and desires to care for all her children. 

As mothers, we are wired to give everything for our children.  I truly believe that God created in mothers a natural inclination to be willing to sacrifice – we start giving from the very moment of conception.  I know that Andy would lay down his life for Daniel, but his love is a love that pushes Daniel to become independent and self-sufficient.  My love is a love that protects at any cost, and I think God designed it to be that way.  So when I think about Mary watching her baby carry a cross for her sins, my heart is heavy.  You see, I doubt she saw a King of Kings under that weight.  I bet she saw the glittering eyes of a toddler who loved people and whose dark eyes filled with light when they passed strangers in the market.  When she saw the hair matted in blood, and pricked by a crown of thorns, I bet she saw the soft baby tresses that she once combed with her fingers as she rocked him to sleep – on those nights when he was the only baby in her home.  When she saw the bulging muscles lifting the wood from his lacerated shoulders, I bet she remembered the teenage arms that slowly became big enough to wrap her in a bear hug – the little boy who started to tower over his mother.  I bet she remembered laughing at how quickly he was growing and about how he was eating her out of house and home.  When he passed her, and she saw the torn skin of his back, I wonder if she caught a glimpse of his birthmark – a small design on his lower back that she kissed every time she changed his clothes.  A mark most didn’t know existed now exposed to the crowd.  As his feet staggered, I wonder if she was reminded of tickling his little toes or watching him take his first steps or seeing those same feet run with his brothers in the yard as they played.

Jesus was Mary’s Savior, but I don’t think she always thought about that when she saw him.  I think she thought of him as the son she loved.  The son who sacrificed for her when she was so accustomed to sacrificing for him.  Don’t get me wrong, I truly believe that in moments of quiet reflection and definitely after his death, Mary knew Jesus as Savior.  Jesus’ brother James became the leader of the Jewish church.  Who Jesus was always meant to be must have become clear to his family and likely brought comfort, but I also wonder if, as she was surrounded by her family, Mary had moments where she was consumed by the empty chair in the room and the absence of her first born. 

This Christmas, my heart is full for Mary the mother of Jesus and for the sword that pierced her heart.  I type this blog with my sleeping son lying next to me.  I look at him cuddled around his paci in his footie pajamas, and I can’t imagine having to watch him walk the path to Golgotha.  I am so thankful God didn’t choose me.  I am so grateful that I was not asked to be the mother to the Savior of the world.  And this Christmas, I am forever thankful for the great sacrifices Mary made that allowed Jesus to pay the price for my sins.