It’s 2:30 am. I’m tired. I want to be in bed. I should be in bed. I’m not.
I just finished comforting X. and I’m waiting to see if this time will be the charm, if this time he’ll actually go back to sleep. We’ve cuddled, rocked and sat together for quite a while now. I’m not sure what’s the problem but tonight he needed some love so I’m trying to be patient. We’ve addressed all the usual issues and tonight it hasn’t helped. All I can do is hold him. I’m a little confused and tired. I really would like to be asleep. He seems to have different ideas.
As I sit here I marvel at how tidy we’ve made the birth of Christ. I don’t know if the silent nights we sing of this time of year are possible. From the moment a child arrives they make their presence known. I can’t imagine the night being anything but charged with energy, excitement, enthusiasm and perhaps little fear on Mary and Joseph’s part. I would bet that Jesus would want to let the world know he had arrived. I can almost see his little fists balled up tight as he cried his very first cry in his mother’s arms.
Tonight Mary seems more real to me somehow. Mary is a Mom. She’s not just that serene figure you see in Nativity sets. Mary’s a woman trying to raise a child in an uncertain world. Throw in the fact that Jesus is the son of God and you’ve got a complicated case on your hands. As Jesus grows and becomes more aware of who he is, what happens to their relationship? When her son questioned her, how would she react? What would she say when he refused to do his chores? Did she even realize what Jesus was capable of?
Tonight the whole story seems bigger somehow and Mary feels more real to me than ever before. Jesus was born a baby and grew into a man. Somehow along the way he became who he was with the help of his family and the love of a mother. Jesus grew into a pretty amazing fellow, he must’ve had a pretty good Mom.