The last month of pregnancy was always the hardest for me, as I’m sure most moms would agree. By that point you are beyond yourself in so many ways. Your bladder is the size of a pea, and you’ve officially started living out of your husband’s extra large t-shirts. (Or is that just me?)
You can’t get comfortable and you can’t fall asleep. The only physical comfort is the chocolate and peanut butter you are scarfing every time you walk through the kitchen as if you might run out of fuel before the next time you pass through.
With every new morning you tell yourself today is the day. With every kick, your heart flutters in anticipation. Not just with the idea that your body may someday feel normal again, but with the thought that this baby will soon be in your arms. You will touch their silky smooth head and feel their tiny fingers wrapping around yours.
In this window of time it feels as if life is standing still. So long as the days pass, the content is immaterial. The hubbub of society and politics is inconsequential. All that matters is the gentle buzz of your nest and the arrival of this new life. Floating on hope. Optimism for the future, faith, plans, and daydreams.
I can’t help but imagine Mary being a little aloof to all the politics surrounding their journey to pay their annual taxes. Sure it was required and it had to be done, but in her own little world it was just her growing body and this baby. Financial and political stresses were going on all around them. Enough to keep her awake at night. But I imagine her body and her mind were consumed with hope.
Hope that she could walk with ease again. Hope that she could go longer than fifteen minutes before asking Joseph to pull the donkey over to let her empty her bladder. Hope that this baby would arrive soon. Hope that she would be strong enough to bear Him. Hope that He would be healthy. Hope that He would be loved to her best ability. Hope in a hope He would bring. Hope that he would save the world…and still remember his mama. Hope of a Messiah.
This month will fly by and will more than likely be filled with many inconsequential nothings unless we pause and allow ourselves to be filled with this hope. Mary’s hope. Jesus Christ. Our Messiah.