There was no panic, no screaming. We just watched while my daughter walked slowly up and down the hallway of the hospital’s maternity wing. There we were—the midwife, my husband and me, and the rest of the family—all patiently awaiting the arrival of the new addition to our clan.
“Her brow is furrowed,” said the midwife. “She must be in transition.” We all smiled. My daughter agreed it was time. Into the room we went and before long—with no fuss, no muss, just a little yell followed by a long sigh of relief—we welcomed our newest grandchild into the world.
I often imagine that is how it was for Mary. Yet I know it’s not realistic. Still, the story never grows old for me. I don’t think it does for any woman. Somehow we connect with Mary. Our shared experience and our femininity help us understand her. Even women who have never given birth appreciate the joy of a newborn child.
I’ve been privileged to be at the deliveries of all six of my grandchildren. Although I’ve been anxious to hold them and cuddle them as soon as they’re born, there is something else that happens when I’m there. All I can think about is my babies, my daughters—not their babies! Strange, isn’t it? We never stop being mothers. While everyone else is off to see the new little one, there I am, making sure my daughter is comfortable, holding her hand and stroking her brow, waiting with her afterwards while she gets ready to hold and feed her newborn child for the first time. This maternal instinct can be very strong.
I wonder who was there for Mary. We all know what men can be like in the delivery room. One father I know never put down the video camera! I love it when my husband is there for support, but I also like having another woman around. Was a woman there for Mary? Someone to understand and guide her through her first delivery? She was so young, probably just a teenager. Here she was among strangers, in a strange place, giving birth to her first child. The conditions were unsanitary. They were surrounded by farm animals. Would Joseph have known what to do? He was a carpenter. His was a world of rough hands, hard work and dirt.
What a contrast to today. We give birth in sanitary hospitals with doctors, nurses or midwives to help us. Usually there is a husband or family member there for support. Even for those who have no one else, labour-room nurses and social workers help fill in the gaps.
When our latest grandchild was born, the family came to visit. We marvelled at how tiny she was—her little hands and feet so perfect. The other children were surprised at the big round eyes looking at them, taking everything in. Spellbound, they checked out every detail.
People came to visit Mary, too—shepherds, Wise Men from the East. When they encountered this Baby, they knew. At the temple, Simeon and Anna knew. They could tell this was the One, the long-awaited Messiah who had been foretold.
One tiny Baby changed the world. God with us—Emmanuel. And the miracle of that birth still touches us today. We see just a small glimpse of it when we experience the birth of a baby. We experience it when we receive life—new birth—in Jesus’ name.
This time of year we look around and see all the tinsel and the hustle and bustle of the season. Some think it is commercialism. But it reminds me that something special is taking place. For those who love the Lord, we know what that is. It reminds us of that day so long ago, when a Baby was born and the world was no longer the same.