If cows could talk (a Christmas reflection)

Being 8 months pregnant was not conducive to "properly" observing the wonderful and wondrous season of Advent (or maybe this is just an excuse). I barely made it to an Advent reconciliation service and kept up with my normal prayer routine, which isn't much at all.

One thing that has really stuck with me this Advent, however, is being pregnant as Mary was pregnant with her son. Although admittedly the focus of my "waiting" and expectancy is directed towards the birth of my own child, I cannot help but mix it up a little with the "waiting" and expectancy of the coming of Jesus and the great gift and responsibility young Mary was carrying.

What a mind job.

I have high hopes for my son, health-wise and cuteness-wise, but he is not the Savior of the world. And I am not 14 years old.

Something Fr. Mark spoke to in a Christmas Midnight Mass homily a few years ago struck me last night as I approached the nativity scene at church. I forget his exact words, but the idea was that the actual Nativity of our Lord was not this pristine, soft, lovely scene that is depicted in our churches and homes to commemorate the occasion. The Son of God incarnate entered the world in a hut of basically farm animals and their sh*t.

What the what.

Over the past couple months, I've been fussing about which hospital I should choose in which to deliver our son. It's not an unimportant consideration, and it is not unreasonable for a parent to want what's best for her child. Plus, for me personally, I'd rather labor for potentially 20+ hours in as nice and comfortable a place as possible.

Mother Mary did not have that luxury.

Can you imagine? Poor Joseph went from inn to inn, home to home, asking people for a room so his poor wife, whom for all we know was already in labor, could rest and deliver her child, the SON OF GOD. And all people could say was "NO ROOM!"... to a laboring woman!!!

I'm sorry, but I drop a piece of paper in the Inglewood Costco and a stranger passing by will pick it up for me. I roll a cart of groceries out to the parking lot, and the cart gathering attendant will load my groceries into my trunk without my even having to ask. Most people of good will I've encountered since my belly has been bulging have been nothing but accommodating and helpful. All because I am with child. And I imagine that if I were to suddenly go into labor, people would help me out too. At least call for help!

No room! No room! No room!

The priest at 백삼 last night (gosh, I don't even know his name! he's new from Pusan) described this ordeal, and it struck me. A part of me was devastated that we as human beings would refuse to help a mother trying to give birth to her child... any child, let alone the Son of God!

Las Posadas has new meaning for me.

I guess I wouldn't want a stranger to just come into my home and give birth. It's messy. It's inconvenient. It's a little weird if it's a stranger.

But still! At least make sure she gets to a hospital!

Of course, I am thinking from my 21st century American perspective (and position with greater convenience) here.

Back to the hut of farm animals as one's birthing center though...

No midwife, doula, ob-gyn, nurses... not even one's very own mother! Yikes.

And afterwards, no LDRP or private postpartum recovery room where you can have skin-to-skin time with your newborn and breastfeed in peace.

Just cow poo and feed. Maybe some hay.

And then shepherds who have been staying up all night and probably don't bathe often.

I wonder how Mary REALLY felt. I mean REALLY.

Yet, it is still glory to God in the highest.

All the mothers I've talked to say they don't really remember the pain or the laboring. Once the child is born, it all just melts away and all you are is MOM.

Does that happen even when you give birth next to pile of poo?

This Christmas, I'm just grateful that I will most likely (although who knows?) not be delivering our son next to a pile of poo. And I pray ever fervently for a healthy, happy, and even holy baby who will follow in the footsteps of the Son of God--joy, peace, suffering and sacrifice, love and all.