Christmas in Perspective

Recently my husband had lunch with a friend and discovered that she and her husband are expecting a baby. My husband was thrilled and effusive with his congratulations. This being their first child, he was also more than happy to share some advice: Go to the movies. Read books. Go out to dinner. Cherish every moment as a twosome because in a few months your world is going to change forever.

This being the week before Christmas, I got to thinking about another newlywed couple expecting their first child. It’s hard to imagine any of Mary and Joseph’s friends imparting that same advice as they prepared for the birth of their son, Jesus. Joseph was a carpenter, so perhaps he fashioned a cradle for the baby. But before Mary could choose paint colors for the nursery, they were commanded to make a trip of more than 100 miles to register in Joseph’s ancestral home, Bethlehem.

What’s 100 miles when you can just slide into your heated leather seat, kick back to some tunes on your satellite radio and enjoy the winter scenery? 100 miles is a mere two-hour trip. Unless of course you are nine months pregnant and have to walk the entire way over unpaved roads with no convenient rest areas or Dunkin’ Donuts nearby. Or better yet, ride a donkey. That way you can really feel every jostle and bump of the journey.

I know most of my friends didn’t dare venture far from home during the final weeks of their pregnancy. Imagine how frightening it would be to go into labor in a strange place, not having the comfort and support of your favorite obstetrician, the familiarity of your local hospital or the network of friends and family to surround you with love and hope. Still, you’d have to make the best of a bad situation, calling the number on the back of your insurance card to be sure that the hospital nearby is considered “in network”, and then going through the most intimate moment of your life surrounded by unfamiliar faces. It could be worse.

You could be delivering a baby in a small town by yourself, with only your husband to help. You could find yourself with no Courtyard by Marriot in which to recover from your labor, just a stable full of animals and a feeding trough for your child’s bed. I checked the 7-day forecast for Bethlehem, and on Christmas Eve it will be clear and 40 degrees. Not nearly as chilly as our neck of the woods, but not a temperature you’d want to endure in a drafty stable with a new baby in tow. No North Face jackets, no Carter’s sleep sacs, just some strips of cloth for your child and perhaps a woolen wrap for yourself.

My husband’s friend will soon make her list of “necessary” items for her child which is likely to include a Boston Baby crib with matching changing table, Diaper Genie, Baby Bjorn, Peg Perego Stroller and a Graco car seat. I remember that list well from my first pregnancy. You see, you always want the best for your child. It’s part of being a parent. Because our children are precious. They are special. In our eyes, they are the hope of the world.

In that aspect, I’m sure Mary and Joseph were no different. However, there were no bouncy seats or Exersaucers in Bethlehem, no crib monitors or even cribs for that matter. Just a mother and father’s love for their newborn son and the willingness to do whatever necessary to keep him safe and protected.

On Christmas Eve, gather your children close and remind them that they are special and precious and the hope of our world. And then say a prayer of thanks for that other child born more than 2000 years ago, who is precious and special and the
savior of our world.

Merry Christmas.