I’ve been forced to feel like Mary thrice in his season. First, through the anticipation of carrying a new child who’s unknown to you and the world with the potential for so much light and goodness, and feeling unworthy or unequipped to follow through on forming them. Second, the anxiety and fright of a lost (unhealthy, runaway, scared, disappointed) child, there’s no more paralyzing feeling than not knowing what’s going on with your kid. Third, when he came back to life and I remembered the promise of a child who God undoubtedly is with.

In the black of an almost winter morning, I woke up on my living room floor. Having to remind myself that the cause of sleep outside of our bed was back pain that only a hard floor can relieve, I simultaneously scrambled to make sure I didn’t oversleep. My body woke itself up, as if it was anticipating something.