Relax, everything’s going to be all right; rest, everything’s coming together; open your hearts, love is on the way!
- Jude 2

On this eve of 2010, as I sit with Jason and tend to Jude (who happens to be aching with new teeth and a scratchy throat), I can’t help thinking about the gifts given to me in 2009.

The precious gift of Jude Adam. With his laughter, his smile, his wiggles, his words, even his tears, Jude has turned my black-and-whites into technicolor, made me a momma, and taught me what unconditional love really looks like.

The unwarranted gift of Grace. In her quiet and determined way, Grace stayed close to me on this leg of the journey: in every moment, every turn, every tear of joy, every cry of pain, every unsaid prayer, every question, every doubt, every whisper to Jason, every song sung to Jude, every sleepy day, every tired night, every common cup, every page of the story. All along the way, she kept casting a knowing smile at Mercy and reminding me that even the failing is good.

The supreme gift of Love. I have never given or received or seen such fierce love as I have this year. From my precious, above-and-beyond husband. From my sweet and strong son. Even from my own inconsistent heart. But, ultimately, it’s been the fiery and consuming love of my Abba that has captured me this year.

The enduring gift of Courage. Courage gave me what I can only describe as my life’s purest moment: my beautiful, unmedicated, magical labor and delivery of Jude. It has paved the way for a strength and joy and identity I never knew was possible.

The priceless gift of Brokenness. The changes. The newness. The unexpected. The failures. The gray. The mess. The contradictions. The singing off-key. The missed dance steps. The weariness and work and rest. The not-knowing. The unknown. The fight. The loss. And the falling. There’s something freeing about realizing you were never in control to begin with. And that the breaking is good.

2009 brought me closer to so many things. Closer to love and grace, courage and truth. Closer to my truest identity as Abba’s daughter. In those few and rich quiet moments (and more often in the chaos), more than anything else, this year found me praying a prayer that I’ll carry with me into the new year and always: Abba, I belong to You.

(Thanks, Brennan.)

…the Sunrise from on high will visit us, to shine on those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death…
Gospel of Luke 1:78-79

Blood and water covered a crying baby boy and smeared his momma’s chest as she held him close to her heart in a moment of pure exhilaration. Joseph helped her wrap him in the tunic he wasn’t wearing. The young girl said, “Yeshua, Yeshua,” again and again, her cry of joy echoing in the air as angels tended and sang with her.

Mary held the Messiah tightly as she pushed once more, delivering the placenta that had fed Jesus while he lived inside her as a fetus. She rejoiced in the relief of having brought forth her son, God’s son, in wholeness and health. Then she leaned back in the hay with Jesus, who searched her face. She stared into Jesus’ bright eyes and whispered, “Bless you, Yeshua. Bless you.” He breathed quickly, the way infants do, and moved his head toward her breast to feed, content at hearing the voice he’d learned in the darkness.

Yes, it was a holy night. No doubt about it. Angels. Stars. God with us. The miraculous, glorious scene. But there was also something quite human about the whole thing. About Jesus. About this teenage girl and her betrothed.

Deeply human. Infinitely divine. The mystery and glory of the Christ.

Jude was asleep in the car seat as I pulled into the parking lot this morning. In a spot of sunshine, I would wait for him to wake up in time to make it to my stroller-mommy workout.

I listened to him breathing deeply, his fingers gripping a teething ring. As I watched his motionless face, his eyes closed so tight and his mouth open in surrendered slumber, my mind traced a random line back to the final days of my pregnancy.

It was a beautiful, whole and healthy pregnancy that I loved and would do again in a heartbeat. But those last few days of waiting were torture. You see, I had it in my head that Jude would come early (so much for motherly intuition). So when he still hadn’t come by his due date, I was angry, sad and a little worried.

In the waiting days, Jason and I did all sorts of things – some crazy, some sane – to pass the time. We made rosaries and painted model cars. We took walks. We blew up an air mattress and slept in the living room with all the windows open for nearly three weeks. We watched movies and ordered gluten-free pizzas. We did our best to keep our minds off the waiting, but as each day passed without a sign of Jude’s arrival, I couldn’t ignore the growing ache.

I knew I couldn’t be pregnant forever, but as 41 weeks of pregnancy came and went, I began to wonder if I may be the world’s first perpetually pregnant woman.

For me, Advent is something like that. There’s so much promise. So much beauty. So much good just on the horizon. But it can seem to stretch on and on and on as we wait for what’s coming. And we really don’t know exactly what’s coming. We think we know. But we really don’t. And no one can tell us entirely. We just have to wait. And see. And we do all sorts of things – some crazy, some sane – to pass the time.

But there will be a birth. There must be. We – all of us – and creation cannot groan forever.

Jude Adam Barmer - Born on 07.08.09 at 7:47 a.m.

“Imagine the ecstasy, the cry of joy when God makes a person in his own image! When God made you! The Father gives you as a gift to himself. You are a response to the vast delight of God. Out of an infinite number of possibilities, God invested you and me with existence.”
~ Brennan Manning, The Signature of Jesus

Jude Adam,
May you always know that all heaven and earth, along with Father, Son, and Spirit, breathed a sigh at your life today. And the sigh echoed your own first breath. It is the name all creation speaks with every breath.

YHWH.

Cold glass of water.

DVR episode of Late Night with Jimmy Fallon.

And the silent rhythm of pre-labor contractions, my breath and the life inside.

We’re getting close, little Jude. Just a few things left to do. Your birth day is almost here.