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Christians believe that God chose to enter the world as a defenseless baby boy. In doing so, God showed his great love for all people, embraced us in all our smallness and vulnerability. He was born to a poor, disgraced mother who “pondered all of these mysteries in her heart.” (More than once I wondered: Did Mary have the baby blues?) God knows better than I do the griefs and cruelties of the world. Despite them, he chose to be with us, to take it all on anyway in boundless love. That’s what we celebrate at Christmas. As I pondered my own bizarre, visceral sorrow, it was this belief that carried me through those first few weeks.
Last year, days after the birth of my own son, Christmas held new joys – and new sorrows too.