When I grow up...

Ever since I could remember all I wanted to be when I grew up was a Mother. I remember thinking at one point in my adulthood (before I met Hubs) that I wanted to be a Mother so badly but that it might not happen so easily for me. I don't know why I thought this, but I don't ever remember thinking it again, in fact I had totally forgotten that I had this thought until after many years of Hubs and I trying to have children of our own. This road of infertility was very painful. But at Christmas it seemed to hurt the most, almost unbearable. Even thinking about that pain right now brings me to tears, because it is still so close to the surface.

And here we are this Christmas season waiting for the most wonderful gift that we could ever receive. And the best part of waiting for our little one during this season and getting to celebrate Christmas with him, is being able to reflect on our Saviors birth also. It brings a whole new light on that most wonderful day more than 2000 years ago. It all feels so overwhelming, the miracle of it all, of our Savior being born to Mary and the gift of his life. And also to be thinking about our baby boy being born to our beautiful, selfless birthmother, who will be giving him life, not once but TWICE.

I have often thought why can we not have the blessing of children in our home, and now all I can think about is why are we so blessed to have the gift of adoption in our home, and to be blessed with a beautiful baby boy during the most wonderful time of year.

As I was reading this talk on someone else's blog, all I could think about was our birthmother. I seriously don't know how to express what I feel for her. And it is really hard for me to think that there will never be a way that I could adequately thank her for the gift she is giving to us and more importantly her beautiful son.

"Christmas doesn't come from a store"

Jeffrey R. Holland

Again, I’ve thought of Luke’s careful phrasing about that holy night in Bethlehem:

“The days were accomplished that she should be delivered.

"“And (she) brought forth her firstborn son, and [she] wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and [she] laid him in a manger” (Luke 2:6–7; emphasis added).

Those brief pronouns trumpet in our ears that, second only to the child himself, Mary is the chiefest figure, the regal queen, mother of mothers—holding center stage in this grandest of all dramatic moments. And those same pronouns also trumpet that, save for her beloved husband, she was very much alone.

I have wondered if this young woman, something of a child herself, here bearing her first baby, might have wished her mother, or an aunt, or her sister, or a friend, to be near her through the labor. Surely the birth of such a son as this should command the aid and attention of every midwife in Judea! We all might wish that someone could have held her hand, cooled her brow, and when the ordeal was over, given her rest in crisp, cool linen.

But it was not to be so. With only Joseph’s inexperienced assistance, she herself brought forth her firstborn son, wrapped him in the little clothes she had knowingly brought on her journey, and perhaps laid him on a pillow of hay.

Then on both sides of the veil a heavenly host broke into song. “Glory to God in the highest,” they sang, “and on earth peace, good will toward men” (Luke 2:14). But except for heavenly witnesses, these three were alone: Joseph, Mary, and the baby to be named Jesus.

At this focal point of all human history, a point illuminated by a new star in the heavens revealed for just such a purpose, probably no other mortal watched—none but a poor young carpenter, a beautiful virgin mother, and silent stabled animals who had not the power to utter the sacredness they had seen.

Shepherds would soon arrive and, later, wise men would follow from the East. But first and forever there was just a little family, without toys or trees or tinsel. With a baby—that’s how Christmas began.