A baby. Soft, warm, snuggly, precious. When a baby is desired, when a safe delivery happens, the resulting joy fills parents’ hearts with unconditional love. In those first few moments of new life all that matters is celebration and delight in this child.
In Bethlehem a baby was safely delivered and welcomed into his mother’s arms. His father, who’d moments before acted as husband and midwife, gazed in awe at this tiny baby. Jesus was born.
When I was six months pregnant with my son Austin, I slipped and fell on an icy porch, resulting in a placental abruption. My tiny son was too young to survive the complications and died inside of me. Still birth. Silent child.
I labored, only to bring forth an absolutely quiet son. His father, present in the room, groaned in agony. I wept. These were the sounds of our manger.
Where is my wonder at Christmas? When I buried my son in the cold, dark days of December? How do I greet this season, a time of celebration and happiness, when my heart has emptiness?
When December arrives, so do my memories. I can’t change events, knowing with certainty that all that could be done was. Then I read Matthew’s story of the first Christmas and of the brutal deaths of innocent babies.
Is it strange that, as a mother of three healthy, living children, I relate so much to this piece of the narrative of Jesus’ birth? After all, the entire focus of Bethlehem is on the night of divine Emmanuel.
When I was eight, my two-year-old sister died. It was a tragic accident. Giggles and play were interrupted abruptly with tears and anguish. It was June. I don’t remember that December’s Christmas. My parents must have struggled to provide joyful celebration. The crib, along with its assortment of soft blankets and musical stuffed animals, was put away.
In my journey toward wholeness in Jesus, I have encountered loss. These left scars. Unseen but always present. Nothing I do can change the narrative. What’s done is done. And so it is with Matthew’s telling of loss. Bethlehem, like me, knew gain and loss. Intertwined, they are reality forever. All my longing to change the story is useless.
Jesus’ birth dwells beside his death. Gain and loss. I can relate. Emmanuel understands. He brings genuine, authentic, compassion to those of us burdened with grief scars. It was not his fault children died in Bethlehem and it is not his fault children die in our city.
Because Jesus gave his life for me I am promised eternity with him. Heaven is a place where innocence is restored. Heaven is a place where innocents are reborn.
This narrative contains birth, rebirth, and new life. Death is no more.
Christmas is our forerunner of goodness and joy forever. Merry Christmas!
Christie Shine is a mother, a grief survivor, a longing-for-reunion believer in resurrection, and an individual who continues to be grateful for the wonder of life.