Ever since my harrowing, whirlwind birth experience four and a half years ago, involving an emergency C-section that had me asleep on the table, my husband in another room, as a doctor I didn’t know pulled my firstborn son from my womb, I have felt a strange kinship with Mary.
In the following hours and days as I recovered, gazed upon my healthy, beautiful baby, and tried to make sense of what had transpired, one phrase kept returning to me over and over again: “But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart” (Luke 2:19). I found that I, like Mary, could only sit and ponder and treasure it all up.
Mary had her own unexpected whirlwind of a birth story. She likely was laboring as they went from home to home in Bethlehem, perhaps becoming more and more desperate as they tried to find a clean, warm place to rest. To land in an unfamiliar space surrounded by animals must have felt less than ideal even as she was grateful, yet she delivered a healthy, beautiful baby boy, her firstborn—the promised Messiah.
How can you try to make sense of it? When your heart is bursting and your body is exhausted, when the first big hurdle of motherhood is behind you but you don’t know what the future holds, when all you can do is thank God for his providence and trust in him for whatever comes next, and when you look around with astonishment on where you have landed—there are no words to describe it. I picture Luke asking Mary years later, “What were you thinking after giving birth to the Son of God?” I picture her smiling and shaking her head. How can you explain? The fullness in your heart as your mind tries to make sense of it all? “I just treasured it all up and pondered it in my heart.” What else could she say?
Mary performed a task that was both herculean and completely ordinary: she gave birth. Childbearing is surely the embodiment of the words “living sacrifice.” Then, not too long afterward, a host of dirty shepherds showed up wanting to see the baby and sharing a wondrous story of God’s confirmation that she was not completely crazy (at least that’s how I would have taken it). What a gift, to be reminded that God was with her in the dangerous world she was living in.
This peace in Mary’s story is a comfort. It is the sign of a mentally healthy person that she took time to simply take it all in, soak it up, and ponder over it all.
I think Mary has a lesson to teach us at Christmas and beyond. As our noisy world tries to take away our hope and the circumstances of our lives feel overwhelming, may we get quiet, meditate on God’s goodness, and ponder our place in God’s world. May we listen for God’s voice and watch for his reminders that he is with us.
When I look back on my own experience, I remember the whirlwind, the sense of loss and fullness, and I remember the quiet wonder afterward—the pondering and treasuring up. The world right now is not only frenetic and constantly moving, it’s also terrifying—just as Mary’s certainly was. Yet her story is a gentle reminder to take the time to stop, treasure up the beauty of life, and quietly ponder it all, resting on the promises of God even when the world is full of danger and heartbreak.
About the Author
Sarah Heth Sundt is the associate editor of The Banner. She is a member of Calvary on 8th in Holland, Mich.
