Before He Came THOUGHTS AT CHRISTMAS

It has been 16 Christmases since the first time I saw a negative pregnancy test. And in these years of waiting, longing, hoping, I have experienced every emotion you might imagine: sadness, anger, grief, bitterness, jealousy, desperation, despair, frustration, shame, loneliness, the list goes on. 

It hit me the other day as I was thinking about Christmas how the barren woman holds such imagery for the nation of Israel in the years leading up to the coming of the Christ. The Hebrew people held this promise in their hearts for a Messiah, but had zero idea of when it would come to pass. The longing was tangible. The need was dire. The waiting was long. 

I know the feeling. Even this month leading up to Christmas I had the “Maybe...what if it’s this time...” in my heart again. It’s been there almost 200 times now. I start imagining what it would be like to make an announcement. I start to paint a canvas with the look on my husband’s face. All too soon the tiny, little, flickering candle light of hope in the dark forest of probability is snuffed out again. 

I used to wander in that dark forest during those moments. I used to grope through the woods with heaving sobs, blinded by the unbearable heaviness of the unknown. Where am I? How did I get here? Will I ever find a way out? Now I just curl up into a ball and fall peacefully asleep. Not because I have fewer questions, but because I’ve been here so many years and I’ve come to realize I’m not actually in the dark alone. God is with us. Emmanuel.

And sometimes we forget an entire nation felt this way for centuries. When is our Messiah coming? In the same way a barren woman can’t explain the power of the longing and why it is so painful, there probably aren’t appropriate words to express their own desperation. It had been so long ago that the promise was made. Surely every person faced doubt, wondering about these prophecies, and trying to imagine what this glorious appearing would look like. Generation after generation spoke of these days, hoping and praying it would be in their time. But generation after generation passed away with fresh hopes for Messiah left on the lips of the living. 

Let’s not forget that it was not just that they waited; it was how. In these centuries after the first specific prophecies of the Messiah, those that survived the complete destruction of their nation (including Jerusalem and the temple) lived in a foreign land during the Babylonian exile. They came home 70 years later with permission from Persia, rebuilt their temple, rebuilt their walls, went through the fall of Persia and were handed off to the Greeks (who were terrible). They were attacked by Syria, fought for their own independence, and finally (temporarily) reigned over their own country once more. It didn’t last super long, because they began to suffer poor leadership internally and ultimately fell into the hands of mighty Rome. 

Pax Romana. They came promising peace, and they brought death, idolatry, immorality and intolerably difficult economic policies. A man worked and wearied himself to the bone to provide for his family, only to face tax extortion, heavily regulated trade, and only a tiny chance of ever comfortably distancing himself from the poverty line. They were subject to “kings” that were not even their own people and Roman governors who could care less about the One True God. Their leaders consistently disregarded their laws and customs while lining their pockets with taxes. They had been, were, and it seemed always would be desperate. Waiting. Longing. Hoping. And without any real idea of when He would come. 

And then one day, out of the blue, a promise comes for Elizabeth. She is barren and old. She probably no longer dwells on this loss, although she still feels the shame and the reproach. In fact, when the angel appears to Zechariah, he laughs. They must have decided long ago that this would not, could not happen for them. 

But it is the miracle of Elizabeth conceiving against all odds that is actually Mary’s positive pregnancy test. Think about it. The angel tells Mary what is about to happen to her and that her relative, Elizabeth, is pregnant. This is all humanly impossible. All of it. She’s a virgin and Elizabeth is old and gray. So, she rushes to Elizabeth’s house. Can you imagine her eyes openly staring at the pregnant belly of her dear, elderly relative? This impossibility is now the only tangible evidence she has that what she saw and heard during those heart- racing moments conversing with a being not from this world was actually true. It really could only be from God Himself. Elizabeth’s barrenness-turned-pregnancy was Mary’s proof that she was already carrying the Messiah. 

A nation has waited for centuries and a Messiah is finally on the way, but still they must wait. He is born, but the King is jealous of his power. He has even killed off his own wife and three of his sons out of fear of usurpers. He is crazed with paranoia. He is determined to destroy all who would lay claim to his throne. Even hearing rumors of a baby Messiah and he murders an entire town’s infants. But before all this, Mary and Joseph had a baby shower with shepherds, angels and wise men. 

Then with a protective message from an angel, off the family goes to Egypt. The Savior and Messiah of Israel who has finally come is still a young child and is living in a foreign land until the evil king is dead. More years. More waiting. Even after they come home, He simply serves in the family’s carpentry business in Galilee, a small, country town of no importance. Until decades later He’s in Cana for a wedding and turns water into wine. Game on. 

It. Took. So. Long. All of it. 

I have several friends who’ve suffered infertility for years. Many, many, many years. In the past few months, several of them were able to announce their first pregnancies. Finally!!! One of them is very close to me. I have looked into her eyes and seen tears of grief finally become tears of joy and disbelief. Is it really happening? Can something this good really be true? Can something I’ve wanted this bad finally be real? 

Yes. Joy has come.

 I feel it for all of them, and especially for her, my dear friend, with such incredible gratefulness that the Lord has answered their prayers. I still wonder what those words and feelings would taste like coming out of my mouth. I don’t think I could even stand on both feet after this many years. I think I would fall on my face. 

And all of this has made me hear this Christmas hymn differently: 

O come, O come, Emmanuel 

And ransom captive Israel 

That mourns in lonely exile here 

Until the Son of God appear… 

Let’s not forget how desperate they were. Let’s not forget how long 500 years was to wait and wonder. Let’s not forget the generations that passed with the hope of the Messiah still to come. There was so much waiting without many answers. I know those questions so deeply and so personally. When? How? Is it even possible? An entire nation (really an entire world) needing this baby to come—waiting and longing like a barren woman. A woman like me. 

I had a coworker named Jennifer several years ago. She was a delight. She’s the most charming, hilarious, easy-laughing, never- met-a-stranger kind of person I’ve ever worked with. I remember asking her at the table in the break room one day with several others around if she and her husband wanted to have kids. She smiled and said yes, but had a strained, far-away look on her face. I think I asked another question about it, but saw a slight shake of someone’s head from across the table and it got pretty quiet in the room. I suddenly became aware that I was treading on solemn ground. This was well before I’d faced that same question and now I know what she must have been feeling. She shared with me later that she’d been trying for many, many years and infertility had become an incredibly painful part of her story. 

Then one day, Jennifer came by each of our office cubicles to personally tell us her good news. She was six weeks pregnant. I remember her tears. Finally it was her turn. 

Right before she stepped down from her position to be a mommy at home, we all attended her baby shower. She received lots of sweet presents and we played some fun games, but then this moment came that still chokes me up to think about. Someone gave her a little plaque to put in the baby’s room. When she first looked at it, she just sat there and wept. As she cried, we all cried. In a broken voice, she read it aloud to us. It said, 

“Before you were conceived, I wanted you. Before you were born, I loved you. Before you were here an hour, I would die for you. This is the miracle of love.” 

There wasn’t a dry eye in the room. I’d never cried at a baby shower before, but the room was so thick with the depth of what this gift meant. The struggle, the pain, the heartache, years of waiting, loss of hope, clinging to hope, anger, surrender, fear, shame, and finally there was LIFE.

As I sat there, wondering how bad my makeup was smearing and a little annoyed that my nose was running, I had two thoughts. One was Wow, I want this. This feeling, this depth, a whole room caught up in the beauty of a long-awaited and miraculously fulfilled dream. It was like a Frodo-casting-the-ring-into-the-fires-of-Mount-Doom epic kind of moment. 

My second thought was, Well, surely I will never have to go through that. 

As I’ve reflected on those moments at Jennifer’s baby shower over the years, I began to realize how dearly we value the inherent depth of a moment like that, but no one wants to go through what it takes to get there. That type of intense victory only comes from the most intense sacrifice. The Author of our salvation provided us with the greatest story imaginable that continues to grip us with its beauty. In Jesus we have been given the greatest gift, after the longest wait at the highest cost by the God of creation Himself. His own beloved child. 

The story of our Christ is powerful and was before He ever came. Waiting produces heartache and questions, but also depth and beauty. We have a beautiful story. Jesus is our beautiful story. And as I reflect on the story of the long-awaited baby that would be our salvation, it comforts me and helps me continue. I still believe, even for myself, there is hope in the waiting. And ultimately, whether my miracle comes or not, HE is my hope.