Poor Mary

I love The Christmas Story. I love to think about Baby Jesus and His humble birth and contrast that with the King he actually was. I love to think that the stable is alight with a warm glow and that everything is so peaceful. The visitors come and bow down, quietly contemplating the Savior before them. They just know that before them is no regular baby.

But there's a part of me that knows this story has been romanticized, and I feel that sentiment now more than ever. The other night, I just couldn't help but think about Mary and how pregnant she was on that trek to Bethelehem. How uncomfortable she must have been, how painful labor had to have been, how exhausted she had to have felt. We hear none of that in The Christmas Story. Perhaps for a reason, but I'm not here to discuss that.

I just can't help but feel a deep appreciation for what she must have gone through. Although I am due January 14, as far as we know, the doctor is going to induce on January 7. It's hard to get up off the floor, let alone to get out of chairs. I have to roll out of bed, and my arms help pull me up because my legs just aren't working like they should. My hips hurt, and I just. . .feel. . .old. The other night, I went to hang out at a restaurant with some girls from church, and we sat on hard barstool-type chairs. I was there for a little more than 2 hours. Boy, did I pay for that the next day.

So I can only imagine what Mary experienced. Poor Mary.*

*As a side note, as any mother will tell you, and I'm sure Mary will too. . . It was all worth it.