As we hear the story of Christ's birth over and over in this season, I am thinking of Mary, the mother of the Son of God. This is story I wrote several years ago. I want to save it for Maddie, Ella and Sam.
He cried softly. Mary sighed and raised her head. Smiling, she rocked the Son of God in her arms.
As he began to scream, she thought, "Why did I say 'yes' to that angel? Where is Gabriel now? Where are those shepherds and kings? What am I doing in this smelly, dark place?"
Then as she fed him, Mary reflected, "I am blessed among all women--I am the mother of a baby unlike any other child--one truly come from God, and here he is in my arms: red-faced, squirming, hungry." She asked herself, "How can a mere girl like me guide this God-child?"
Like all mothers, she pondered in her heart what would become of him. She anticipated his growth in mind and body. What would be his first word? When would he walk? Would he be a good student? Will he be tall and handsome? Will he have my eyes and nose? What will others think of him? How would he and Joseph get along? Would he become a carpenter or a rabbi? Her heart catching, she thought, someday, he will leave my house for the last time. She did not know that one dark day his dripping blood would stain her robe as she stood at the cross.
Weary of thinking, Mary bowed her head and whispered, "God has done mighty things for me. Holy is his name." Stroking the hair of Jesus, she yielded herself and her baby to God his father.