Christmas Makes Me Cry

Our house looks perfect. The ribbon in the living room matches the tree in the dining room and wreath on the front door. We have a new 8' snowman standing guard over our yard and a rather large Christmas sock monkey to keep him company. If you come to my house right now, it is clear I have this Christmas thing under control. Heck, my wrapping paper even matches my tree!

So with all of this togetherness, you may be surprised to learn that Christmas makes me cry.

That's right, from Christmas songs on the radio to the pageants and concerts at church, I spend most of the Christmas season weepy and teary-eyed.

I should preface this story with the fact that I am not Catholic. Nor is my heart for Mary based in religion, though I may have come to my understanding of her later than my Catholic friends.

My son was four month's old for his first Christmas in 2002. While as a first time mom I was consumed with cute Christmas outfits and pictures and perfect gifts, at some point I was hit with a deep conviction I had never experienced before. It brought me to sobbing tears and changed how I would see Christmas from that moment forward.

You see in my mind, the Christmas story had always been about God's gift to us - a celebration of gifting. I reserved deep thoughts on faith-focused topics like sacrifice and sorrow for the Easter season.

But this particular Christmas, for the first time, I experienced this season from the perspective of a mother to an infant son. I FELT Mary's heart. And Christmas took on a far deeper sense of sacrifice and sorrow than I ever imagined it could have.

When Hunter was born, the minute he was born in fact, I said a thousand prayers for his future. David and I were filled with all of the hope and happiness in the world. This little bundle of joy could do anything, be anything. He was Potential personified.

I imagined Mary, sitting cold, in pain, afraid and feeling pretty alone in the world, having a very different experience.

First, Mary officially gets the award for the bravest woman in all of history. She listened intently to angels - who by all accounts can be pretty intimidating. She told her fiance the truth of what she'd heard, even though she had to have thought he would have her hauled out and stoned. She got on a donkey and rode cross country, with no thought of shaken baby syndrome or accidental inducement. She just kept moving forward. I don't care who you are, that's incredible bravery.

But, more importantly, she moved forward and gave birth to and raised her little boy KNOWING. She had been told - there was no mystery or imaging in this birth. His path was clear. His life was going to be hard. And he would have to be incredibly brave himself.

I don't know about you, but if an angel had come to me before Hunter's birth and told me that my son would face any of the challenges he faces today, I'd have at least thought twice about bringing him into this world. If I had known for sure people would be mean, life would be too hard and circumstances wouldn't let him grow up to be whatever he wanted to be, I would have paused.

While the Easter season is a clear demonstration of painful sacrifice, I am completely overwhelmed at the Christmas season knowing that this time is a clear demonstration of courageous sacrifice.

Whether Mary knew how her son would die some 33 years later is unclear. As a mom, that thought is unbearable. But she knew enough to know that this child, her child, would be set apart in a way that couldn't be easy for any of them. And she quietly carried herself and her family through the rest of what would be one of the most beautifully tragic stories of all time.

So Christmas carols about a baby in a manger, or the first noel, make me cry. I thank God that my son was born a blank ball of potential and I don't have to bear the responsibility of KNOWING the way Mary did. And I grieve for a mother that had to make such brave choices and changes to let Love come into our world.

In our house, Christmas is as much about sacrifice now as it is about gifts. He may not understand why, but Hunter is compelled to sacrifice some of his gifts each year so that children less fortunate than he can know Christmas happiness too. We spend more time talking about what we will give away this holiday season than what we're getting. And I tear up. Because he won't have to wait until he has his own children to understand the amazing sacrifice in Jesus' birth that was made for him.