Pregnant at Christmas: Mary’s Story and My Own

9.3.25

Pregnant at Christmas: Mary’s Story and My Own

It was the Sunday before Christmas and the atmosphere was all lovely, warm and lively. Being pregnant I couldn’t help relating to Mary, the mother of Jesus. She was also pregnant at this time of year, but her journey was far more extraordinary.

Picture a Pregnant Mary

As I sat in church, surrounded by the warmth of Christmas songs and the joy of the season, I couldn’t help but think of Mary. I felt a deep connection to Mary. She carried not just a baby but the Saviour of the world, navigating a journey filled with uncertainty and yet rooted in unwavering faith.

I also felt grateful. Grateful for this new life growing inside me. Grateful for Mary’s example of faith and surrender. And most of all, grateful for Jesus, whose birth changed everything.

And I pictured Mary.

I wonder how Mary would feel at the moment, seeing all the mothers walking in her footsteps. She said yes to God’s incredible plan, even when she didn’t have all the answers. Her journey reminds me that motherhood—whether we’re birthing children, ideas, or dreams—is always a partnership with God.

I pictured Mary giggling like the girl she was when the baby in her belly kicked and rolled. I pictured Mary, large and uncomfortable, asking Joseph to help her strap the sandals around her swollen feet as they got ready to make the 90-mile trek to Bethlehem.

I pictured Mary telling Joseph they had to stop so she could pee . . . again.

I pictured Mary tossing and turning at night, wadding up extra linens to support her sore back as she tried to sleep.

I pictured Mary feeling the first contractions, knowing it would soon be time.

I pictured Mary, slightly panicked as the pain intensified and the alarms in her brain started going off, her voice tense and choppy between contractions, pleading with Joseph to find a place, any place, they could stop.

I pictured Mary telling Joseph the stable was fine, telling him to hurry, telling him it hurt-so-bad.

I pictured Mary moaning in pain as her sweaty body rocked back and forth with the back-to-back contractions.

I pictured Mary feeling the telltale pressure, eyes wide with fright, pain, and excitement as she gasped to Joseph, “He’s coming.”

And oh, I pictured Mary, human as I, grunting with the guttural, instinctual cry of physically pushing life out into the world.

I pictured Mary pondering these things in her heart.

I pictured all that and more.

I showed Kachi a picture of us from this exact time last year.

I thought we could recreate it since we happened to be wearing the same outfits as last year.

He agreed.

And viola!

December 2023 vs December 2024. It feels almost prophetic.

Christmas is a season of waiting—waiting to celebrate the birth of Jesus and the gift of hope He brought to the world. This year, I feel that waiting on a very personal level. As I prepare to welcome my son, I find myself caught up in the sacredness of this season.

"Mary, did you know that your baby boy will save our sons and daughters?"

While my son won’t save the world, I know that he carries a purpose written by God Himself. Being part of that purpose, as his mother, is both humbling and beautiful.