Spying the Marvelous: The Miracle Behind the Thump
I will never forget a simple comment that Luke made the day before Hannah’s birth. It was a brisk November afternoon and we were curled up on the couch reading books. Though normally, I love the cozy pastime of reading to my children, on that particular day, the experience felt far from magical. I had no lap left on which my son could nestle, and no matter how hard I tried to snuggle with Lukas as we read, my one-day-from-due-date stomach insisted on being the uninvited guest.
Every time my five-year-old leaned in to get a closer look at the pictures in our book, he received a prompt THUMP from the tiny foot hiding beneath my bulge. As our story time proceeded, I grew more and more irritated by the uncomfortable boxing match in my belly. Lukas, however, was enjoying the vivid reminders of the life within me.
Knowing that in just one day the doctor was planning to “help mommy get the baby out,” Lukas turned to me after one particularly aggressive THUMP and said, “Oh, Mom! I can’t believe it. Tomorrow I’m finally going to SEE those feet that have been kicking me for so long!” Then, with eyes agleam, he added, “I can’t wait to count all those little toes!” I kissed the soft hair on my firstborn’s head, wiped a few tears that had slipped out of my tired eyes and begged God to keep me aware of the toes beyond the THUMP.
Too often, I approach the Christmas season much like I approached those last days of pregnancy. I grow weary with the boxing match between my limited time and my waning energy. The very things that are intended to increase my anticipation often add to my holiday discomfort. Like a full-term belly, my holiday schedule bulges with activities and to-do’s until the miracle behind the madness has been reduced to a mere series of THUMPS rather than an unparalleled gift of grace. Only twenty shopping days left (THUMP); the neighbors have already hung their lights (THUMP); the Sunday school class needs twelve more shepherd
costumes by the end of the week (THUMP). And so it goes right up until Christmas day when my Savior’s birthday catches a tired me by surprise.
My son was not caught by surprise when many months of THUMPS emerged as ten tiny touchable toes. Long before he held the wiggly pink feet in his arms, he had anticipated with joy their arrival. Our response to the Christmas child’s birth could be radically transformed if we, too, would approach his arrival with the heart of a child. Rather than being annoyed with the THUMPS of preparation, we could begin each day with the Apostle Paul’s prayer, “Open the eyes of my heart” (Ephesians 1:18) and ask for vision that spies the Sacred beyond the scheduled.
This Christmas, instead of getting irritated with the THUMPS of preparation, I want to remember with delight the Feet for whom I’m preparing. The reason behind each obligation on my holiday list is a Bethlehem baby whose footprints to Calvary have changed my life. Those shepherd costumes I’m working on might not look much different than a spruced up version of Casper the Ghost, but my life looks radically different because of the Good News that was delivered by God’s own feet on the very first Christmas. When the eyes of my heart are wide open, I can’t help but echo the sentiment of the prophet Isaiah: “How beautiful…are the feet of those who bring good news” (Isaiah 52:8).
