For the Love of Baby Jesus

It’s that time again: Christmas.

For the past couple years, the holiday season’s approach should’ve been announced with the Jaws’ soundtrack.  Duuum, duum, duuuum, duum.  The impending doom would have been more apparent then.

Not to belabor a point, but celebrating as an incomplete family is hard enough (I said *exactly this* in my seasonal post last year).  But when you are desperate to be pregnant/have an infant in your arms AND THE HOLIDAY IS ALL ABOUT A BABY, it’s a little much.

“What child is this, who laid to rest, on Mary's lap is sleeping?”

“Hark the herald angels sing, ‘Glory to the newborn king!’”

“Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, the little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head…”

I could go on, but you get it.  We get to sing a whole lot about babies (Well, one particular baby) in December.  And as someone who has struggled through infertility and is currently waiting a short eternity to adopt her daughter, it is hard.  Can we admit these things without being sacrilegious?  I hope so (although I have probably proven that your worst assumptions about me are true).  Perhaps God could have been a smidge more sensitive when He crafted the Christmas story, taking MY future feelings into account (Okay, this getting closer to blasphemy).  I realize these thoughts are not my spiritual peak or shining glory, but they do sneak into the back of my brain while slogging through some of those hymns.

I, of course, did the “mature” thing and confronted Jesus about this the other day.  To be clear: I didn’t question little baby Jesus (Because if the carol can be trusted, “No crying He makes…”  Not really a fair fight there ;) ), instead I pictured my risen, adult Savior.  Also sometimes, depending on the situation (Like sibling squabbles when I was younger), I prefer table-flipping, righteous anger Jesus.  Regardless, the grown up HE is the man.  So I approached Him with what I’ve just told you: How I love Him dearly, but feel incredibly hurt and sad during this season.  I confessed how difficult it is to sing and hear about Him as an infant.  How I wish that the Christmas story was more relevant to me, what I am going through.

And I heard nothing for awhile.  Silence.  As in, “siiiiiilent niiiiiight.”  But eventually there was an inkling of something.  Something that sounded a lot like, “Stop trying to put Christmas in YOUR box.”  Ouch.  That’s when I know it’s not just my own internal dialogue.  Because I simply DON’T disagree with myself or attempt to deflate my own ego, but God has been known to (need to) do that from time to time.

But alongside that well-placed jab, there came a different level of understanding regarding Jesus’ parents and their circumstances.  It was a perspective I had never considered before and I hope I can relay it to you without mucking it up too badly.

Mary.  Here is a girl whose “family planning” certainly wasn’t what she originally had in mind.  In fact, people probably hounded her with questions and formed all sorts of assumptions based on this twist of events.  Did these outsiders’ opinions ever get to her?  Did she wonder whether she could even be a good mother?  Divine promises nonwithstanding, the stress of all these factors on her young marriage must have been HUGE.

Joseph.  These unforeseen developments left Joseph reeling as well.  He didn’t expect his new life with Mary to begin this way.  Most likely people were whispering about BOTH him and his wife behind closed doors.  Did he feel powerless, frustrated that he couldn’t “fix” the situation?  Having his family first forced into the census and then made to flee to Egypt MUST have rattled the “protect and provide” aspect of his masculinity.  Because as a loving husband, bringing his uncomfortable wife into a BARN on Christmas Eve wasn’t exactly what he had planned either.

Wow, wow, wow.  Let me tell you, this revelation was massive.  Infertility raised many similar issues within David and I’s relationship.  I’d never considered that Jesus’ parents might have faced inner difficulties or dilemmas comparable to mine.  I tend to think of them as flannel board pieces or statues in a nativity scene rather than living, breathing humans with emotions.  Obviously this was my misconception; one I’m so glad Jesus pointed out.

So with that, I thought the Christmas deliberation featuring Laura versus the Divine was over.  Especially since I don’t like losing AND one spiritual epiphany a month is usually my limit.  But as Anne Lamott says, “If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.”  And sure enough, He wasn’t done with me yet.

A couple days later, I was driving home after dropping Elijah off at school.  Then there was this supernatural statement, clear as a bell, that pierced my mind:  “Where was MY son at Christmas?”  Oh God.  Where was your son?  “I was separated from my child too.”  I almost had to pull my car off the road.  In adoption there is this seemingly endless list of things keeping you from your child: Paperwork, government regulations, distance, time.  Apparently, God had a handle on a few encumbrances Himself: For one- He exists beyond the fabric of time and space, but released His only son into the tremendous confines of those structures for my benefit.  Yeah, I’d say He’s a member (if not the founder) of the club.  This knowledge left me breathless.  I cannot comprehend….yet I can.  Because at Christmas, God was literally a world away from His child.  And I know exactly what that feels like.  It feels like sacrifice.

“God sacrificed Jesus on the altar of the world to clear that world of sin.  Having faith in Him sets us in the clear.  God decided on this course of action in full view of the public--to set the world in the clear with Himself through the sacrifice of Jesus, finally taking care of the sins He so patiently endured.  This is not only clear, but it’s now--this is current history!  God sets things right.  He makes it possible for us to live in His rightness.” --Romans 3:25-26 MSG

A world away.  Elijah mapped out the route from Maryland to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia on the wall map in his room.