Sitting here on the Eve of Christmas Eve with laundry swishing around in the washer, one child sound asleep in her bed, the other engrossed in a game while resting, and the littlest calling out “Mommy” because he doesn’t want to sleep, all I keep thinking about is their birth-mothers.  Odd, I know.  I should be wrapping last-minute gifts, and getting everything “lined up” for Christmas morning, but my mind just keeps stirring about them.

On this Eve of Christmas Eve, I wonder if they are wondering about their children…their babies…to whom I am mothering.  There is a small measure of adoptive parent guilt.  It may sound strange, but unless you are raising a child to whom you did not give birth to, you may not understand it.

I did not really earn the gift of children. Who really earns the right to raise children to whom they did not birth?  

On this Eve of Christmas Eve, my mind ponders about the many mothers who are raising children to whom they did not give birth to.  Sure, there are numerous celebrities who are adoptive parents.  Yes, they are celebrated, get book deals, and featured on major media outlets, but you know something?

The vast majority of adoptive parents are just simple, ordinary folks whose journeys have been marked, perhaps, by barrenness, struggle, heartbreak, patience, prayer, sustenance, and joy.

Wrapped up in all of their journeys is the steadfastness of humble, yet hopeful hearts.  Ordinary people, making extraordinary decisions.  Ordinary people who take on the most challenging of situations – men and women who seek out to love, hold, and commit their lives to children.

We did not earn the gift of children. Who really earns the right to raise children to whom they did not birth?  I think about the birth-mothers whose gift of life, and their sacrifice of seeking a better life for his or her child.  I think about those whom were told they could not raise their babies.

And then, I think about Mary, the ultimate birth-mother, carrying, laboring, and birthing the hope of the world.  

On this Eve of Christmas Eve, my mind wanders away to her journey to find a place for His birth.  I visualize her look when she first sees His precious face.  I think about her arms wrapping around Him, holding Him tight, and whispering His beautiful name in His ears.

Sitting here on the Eve of Christmas Eve with laundry swishing around in the washer, one child sound asleep in her bed, the other engrossed in a game while resting, and the littlest calling out “Mommy” because he doesn’t want to sleep, all I keep thinking about is the wondrous gift that children are.

I think about the amazing and incredible experience of raising children to whom I did not give birth to.  There is something mightily powerful about raising children. Each child carries within him or her, the hope and zest for a better life.

And then, I think about Mary, the ultimate birth-mother, carrying, laboring, and birthing the hope of the world.  

I know that of all the pleasures that Christmas brings, the ultimate gift is

Jesus Christ.

Messiah.  

Jehovah.  

Yahweh.  

Emmanuel.  

Redeemer.  

Savior.

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. -Isaiah 9:6