Merry Christmas Birthday
On Christmas Day, 36 years ago, a child was born. No, that THAT child, although I realize the original birth story of Christmas is pretty great. The Christ child set the stage, after all. He definitely owns the post-birth ripple effects that continue to change the world.
The child I’m talking about is my son, Matthew. Still, after all these years, I think about the gift of him. I may not remember where I put my glasses, but I remember that Christmas Day like it was yesterday.
It all started the night before while at a family gathering on Christmas Eve. As my husband and I packed up our two small children, my swollen feet told my almost 9-month pregnant body it was time to go home. My mother-in-law stopped me as I was literally out the door and said, “I think you’re going to have this baby tomorrow.” No way, I thought.
I mean, who would ever believe such a perfect gift could be bestowed. Birthing a child on Christmas Day? THAT story belongs to Mary and Joseph. Biblical and quite dramatic accounts chronicle a confused couple who made the formidable journey despite having to reconcile a very unlikely pregnancy. Nearing birth, they eventually nestled into the safety of a manger where makeshift straw beds became a birthing cot. Instead of proud grandparents awaiting news, there were only animals providing radiant warmth and comfort for the strangers who randomly need shelter. I think about Mary laboring and birthing without the support of other women. That alone makes her a superhero. Little did anyone know there’d soon be angels, travelers from afar, and bright stars leading the way towards hope personified. You don’t need me to expand upon the marvel of this story. Songs, sermons, sonnets and reflections about the birth of Christ abound.
My Christmas birth didn’t change the course of history, but it changed me. Imagine labor contractions beginning at 6 am. I called my mom. We woke our two children to squeeze in as much Christmas morning as possible. “I don’t think we need to take our time,” I instructed our kids as they ran down the steps ready to tear open the sparkle wrapped gifts. My belly was tightening. “I don’t think we need to capture each moment on the camcorder,” I said to my husband with a clinched jaw. I think my voice was probably rising in volume with each stronger contraction. In other words, we needed to make haste to the hospital.
Fast forward a few hours, and the greatest gift was placed in my arms. With a scrunchy face and a head of dark hair, we met our Christmas miracle wrapped in a stocking. Santa Claus even showed up offering a congratulatory candy cane.
I share my Christmas birth story in tandem with many others who experience the birth of a child during this season. Welcoming the promise of a new baby is awesome at any time, but this time is extra special. Christmas is about hope; it’s about trusting in what you can’t see or putting faith in what you can. I can think of no better manifestation of such hope and trust than to greet the promise of a child.
After 36 years, Matthew remains my greatest Christmas gift ever. He’s learned to indulge me over the years. I’ve been known to be a bit over the top regarding his birthday. I stand in solidarity with all mothers who have Christmas stories that include a little one wrapped in hope. And I’m already smiling for those expectant moms who just might find themselves immersed in a Christmas story that will gift them for all time.
Photo by Chuko Cribb on Unsplash