My parents have graciously kept the Rowdy boys at their house since Scarlett’s birth. I had planned on them coming home this weekend, but since they both have coughs and runny noses, we decided that a couple more days at Meme and Poppy’s would probably be the best option to give Baby Scarlett a fighting chance of not getting their germs. So they are on their way back to the Hobson Homestead before lunch today, just in time to utterly destroy a clean house right before Christmas 🙂 Of course I miss the boys like crazy, having never been apart from them for more than two nights at a time, but this time has given me a chance to enjoy my tiny newborn and reflect on the miracle of birth.
So often I take for granted the precious gifts of life I’ve been given. I get caught in the hustle and bustle of this season of life with little ones. I leap from day to day in a flurry of meeting the constant needs of my kids. And though I wouldn’t change my life for anything, I admittedly often forget to slow down and count my little blessings. I neglect thanking God for these little lives for which I’m responsible.
But with Christmas just days away and an unusually quiet house that leaves me alone to hear my own thoughts, I’ve had the time to soak in the awesomeness of new birth, not to mention immaculate conception. With a baby born so close to Jesus’ birthday, I have tried to put myself in Mary’s shoes to imagine her perception of the birth of her Son.
I remember how everything was harder as a first-time mom: How I learned by trial and error; how it took me a couple weeks to get my confidence as a new mom; how it was still unfathomable that this tiny being came from my womb.
And Mary, years (admittedly decades) younger than me, faced this new experience without the support of many, and instead sometimes extreme judgement. My heart goes out to her. Because as most first-time moms will tell you, it’s hard enough when things are going perfectly, much less when life throws you curveballs.
And then I think ahead to 33 years later, when her once tiny babe died, willingly, to save the world. And my stomach lurches with a wave of nausea and I’m left speechless, unable to truly perceive such reality. The mom in me is heartbroken for her beyond words, and yet the mom in me is also grateful beyond measure that there is a hope for the future for my children.
So this Christmas, as we celebrate the birth of the Savior, I’m also gravely aware of the weight of it all…of the depth of sacrifice on so many levels and of a mother’s broken, yet obedient heart.