Before the heavens filled with angelic choruses—“Glory to God in the highest”—there was a dark, lonely stable where Mary labored in the shadows to bring forth the Light of the world.
Before she cradled Him to her chest, her heart had carried the weight of His presence, the weight of divine purpose—unseen, misunderstood. She had grown Him in silence, under a veil of suspicion, as eyes around her pierced with pity or burned with contempt.
Uninvited.
Unwanted.
Even Joseph, her betrothed, had wrestled with the thought of leaving her behind, until the voice of God called him to stay.
She bore the ache of being misunderstood, the sting of rejection like stones thrown in secret. How often she might have wanted to cry out, to explain the impossible truth—that she was chosen to carry the Savior, the One who would save even those who scorned her.
But she didn’t.
She let them.
She let them think what they would.
She let them whisper in corners.
She let them shake their heads in disbelief.
Because she knew.
She knew Emmanuel was with her. God was with her. And when God is with you, the rejection of others cannot strip you of your calling.
So she carried Him—not just in her womb, but in the quiet strength of her soul, as the world cast her aside. She may have been forgotten by men, but she was chosen by God.
And on that night, when the angels tore through the heavens and the glory of God illuminated the earth, all her pain, all her loneliness, all her rejection melted into the background.
He was here.
Emmanuel.
God with us.
So let them. Let them doubt. Let them misunderstand.
Because the King is here, and the only thing left to do is bow before Him.🤍
Comments