LUKE 1:38
Some things only a mom can do.
Only a mother can powder a baby’s behind with one hand and hold the phone with the other. Only a mom can discern which teen is entering the door just by the sound of the key in the lock. Only a mom can spend a day wiping noses, laundering enough socks for the Yankees, balancing a checkbook down to $1.27, and still mean it when she thanks God for her kids. Only a mom.
Some things only a mom can fix. Like Hamburger Helper without the hamburger. Like the cabinet door her husband couldn’t and his bruised ego when he found out that she could. Broken shoelace? Broken heart? Breaking out on your face? Breaking up with your sweetheart? Moms can handle that. Some things only a mom can fix.
Some things only a mom can know. The time it takes to drive from piano lesson to Little League practice? She knows. How many pizzas you need for a middle school sleepover? Mom knows. How many Weight Watcher points are left in the day and days are left in the semester? Mom can tell you. She knows.
We men usually don’t. The kids are usually clueless. Moms are a breed apart. The rest of us can only wonder, only ponder. We can only ask,
MOM, WHAT’S IT LIKE?
When you felt the foot within your womb,
when the infant cry first filled the room . . .
to think that you and heaven just circled the moon . . .
What’s that like?
And the day the bus pulled to a stop
and you zipped the jacket up to the top
and placed a kiss on a five-year-old’s cheek
and waved good-bye, then saw the trike—
silent and still—
What’s it like?
The first time you noticed his voice was deep.
The first time she asked if you were asleep
and wanted to know when love was real.
And you told her. How did you feel?
Then the candles were lit.
She came down the aisle.
Did you weep? Did you smile?
And when your child with child told you the news,
and in the quiet of the corner asked for clues.
“Mom,” she whispered, “what’s it like?”
What you told her, would you tell us? Indeed, what is it like?
If we’ve ever wondered such thoughts about mothers, how much more have we wondered them about the most famous mother of all: Mary. To bear a baby is one thing, but to carry God? What is that like?
The virgin birth is more, much more, than a Christmas story; it is a picture of how close Christ will come to you. The first stop on his itinerary was a womb. Where will God go to touch the world? Look deep within Mary for an answer.
Better still, look deep within yourself. What he did with Mary, he offers to us! He issues a Mary-level invitation to all his children. “If you’ll let me, I’ll move in!”
Proliferating throughout Scripture is a preposition that leaves no doubt—the preposition in. Jesus lives in his children.
To his apostles, Christ declared, “I am in you” (John 14:20 NCV, emphasis mine).
Paul’s prayer for the Ephesians was “that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith” (Eph. 3:17 NIV, emphasis mine).
What is the mystery of the gospel? “Christ in you, the hope of glory” (Col. 1:27 NIV, emphasis mine).
John was clear, “Those who obey his commands live in him, and he in them” (1 John 3:24 NIV, emphasis mine).
And the sweetest invitation from Christ? “Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me” (Rev. 3:20 NIV, emphasis mine).
Christ grew in Mary until he had to come out. Christ will grow in you until the same occurs. He will come out in your speech, in your actions, in your decisions. Every place you live will be a Bethlehem, and every day you live will be a Christmas. You, like Mary, will deliver Christ into the world.
God in us! Have we sounded the depth of this promise?
God was with Adam and Eve, walking with them in the cool of the evening.
God was with Abraham, even calling the patriarch his friend.
God was with Moses and the children of Israel. Parents could point their children to the fire by night and cloud by day; God is with us, they could assure.
Between the cherubim of the ark, in the glory of the temple, God was with his people. He was with the apostles. Peter could touch God’s beard. John could watch God sleep. Multitudes could hear his voice. God was with them!
But he is in you. You are a modern-day Mary. Even more so. He was a fetus in her, but he is a force in you. He will do what you cannot. Imagine a million dollars being deposited into your checking account. To any observer you look the same, except for the goofy smile, but are you? Not at all! With God in you, you have a million resources that you did not have before!
Can’t stop drinking? Christ can. And he lives within you.
Can’t stop worrying? Christ can. And he lives within you.
Can’t forgive the jerk, forget the past, or forsake your bad habits? Christ can! And he lives within you.
Paul knew this. “For this purpose also I labor, striving according to His power, which mightily works within me” (Col. 1:29, emphasis mine).
Like Mary, you and I are indwelt by Christ.
Find that hard to believe? How much more did Mary? The line beneath her picture in the high-school annual did not read, “Aspires to be the mother of God.” No. No one was more surprised by this miracle than she was.
And no one was more passive than she was. God did everything. Mary didn’t volunteer to help. What did she have to offer? Advice? “From my perspective, a heavenly choir would add a nice touch.” Yeah, right. She offered no assistance.
And she offered no resistance. She could have. “Who am I to have God in my womb? I’m not good enough,” she could have said. Or, “I’ve got other plans. I don’t have time for God in my life.”
But Mary didn’t say such words. Instead, she said, “Behold, the bondslave of the Lord; may it be done to me according to your word” (Luke 1:38). If Mary is our measure, God seems less interested in talent and more interested in trust.
Unlike her, we tend to assist God, assuming our part is as important as his. Or we resist, thinking we are too bad or too busy. Yet when we assist or resist, we miss God’s great grace. We miss out on the reason we were placed on earth—to be so pregnant with heaven’s child that he lives through us. To be so full of him that we could say with Paul, “It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me” (Gal. 2:20).
What would that be like? To have a child within is a miracle, but to have Christ within?
To have my voice, but him speaking.
My steps, but Christ leading.
My heart, but his love beating
in me, through me, with me.
What’s it like to have Christ on the inside?
To tap his strength when mine expires
or feel the force of heaven’s fires
raging, purging wrong desires.
Could Christ become my self entire?
So much him, so little me
that in my eyes it’s him they see.
What’s it like to a Mary be?
No longer I, but Christ in me.