DECEMBER 22ND | THE NURSERY
Rouault, Georges. “Mother and Child.” 1923.
In the time of Herod king of Judea there was a priest named Zechariah, who belonged to the priestly division of Abijah; his wife Elizabeth was also a descendant of Aaron. Both of them were righteous in the sight of God, observing all the Lord’s commands and decrees blamelessly. But they were childless because Elizabeth was not able to conceive, and they were both very old.
Once when Zechariah’s division was on duty and he was serving as priest before God, he was chosen by lot, according to the custom of the priesthood, to go into the temple of the Lord and burn incense. And when the time for the burning of incense came, all the assembled worshipers were praying outside.
Then an angel of the Lord appeared to him, standing at the right side of the altar of incense. When Zechariah saw him, he was startled and was gripped with fear. But the angel said to him: “Do not be afraid, Zechariah; your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you are to call him John. He will be a joy and delight to you, and many will rejoice because of his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. He is never to take wine or other fermented drink…
When I was a little girl, my mom told me two Bible stories with a certain special reverence; the story of Hannah, and the passage above about Elizabeth. My mom felt very close to these women. She’d been married for 10 years and given up on children before I was conceived. She spoke of the anguish of being a young pastor’s wife in a church community seemingly filled with women having babies. She spoke of Mother’s Days when she left the worship center in tears after all the mothers stood up and received roses and honor while she received none. She spoke of the treasured moments when other women reached out their hearts in sympathy.
I heard it with my head, but until this year I didn’t see anything similar between us. After all, I’m not trying to get pregnant. I’m not married. But here, in my 31st year, still not having found a husband, I understand more than before the ache that comes into your arms when you think how a baby belongs there. The emptiness of a home kept only for yourself, and not a family. The loneliness of a dinner for one, eaten in front of a Netflix series. I’ve cycled through all the layers of emotion you might expect: anger with God, deep sadness and grief, occasional relief when I hear of a family struggling and give thanks for the ease of a life lived alone. But as I sit writing this, in the living room of a home where I’m babysitting, slumbering little ones just down the hall, there is one thing I pray I may always keep. And that is hope. Though the online dating scene is confusing and frustrating, and the single men I know seem not to notice I exist, I still have hope. Though it hurts and heals to hold another woman’s child, I still have hope.
In fact, I realized this week that I can have hope that changing diapers in the church nursery is preparing me to change my own babies. I can hope that enforcing bedtime tonight is preparing my heart to be firm with my own children. I can hope that the longing I feel for a husband and child can be channeled into a longing for my marriage and children to be transformed by the gospel.
I was struck again in reading about Elizabeth’s baby, John. How the main purpose of his life was to “make ready for the Lord a prepared people.” That seems to be what Jesus does over and over. Prepare hearts for present service and future glory. And, most of all, I know that whether I find a husband or not, all this pain and longing is good because it is preparing my heart for His coming Kingdom.
And so, as I read this advent passage about a man who had so deeply given up hope that he could not even believe the words of an angel, and a woman who waited alone at home for his return, and the many long years they longed without hope, I feel great comfort. When I lose all hope, God can still move. When my hope flickers and wanes, He can fan it to life again. I don’t know whether He will grant me this desire for a family of my own while we inhabit this old and sin-filled Earth. But I do know that in Him there is always hope. For He is preparing us for the New Heaven and the New Earth with new jobs to do in a creation that is no longer groaning with the weight of sin. And in that glorious day, I hope He’ll let me work in the nursery.