I have carried three babies. I remember over 30 years ago the first flutter of movement with my very first child. It was like a paint brush stroking the inside of my abdomen. A light swoosh of movement, that until you feel it, you don’t know it. Until you experience it, you can’t explain it. It grabs your attention.
As she grew inside me, I could begin to detect her head and her knees and her feet. Small knots protruding under my skin. She could kick. Her brothers could too. I loved to lay on my back or sit real still. My movement kept them rocked comfortably. But let me be still and they wiggled. Feet would always stretch to push against my taut skin.
I am thankful for those memories. I am thankful to have known their presence before I could see their faces. I knew them. They were part of me. They were attached to me.
Elizabeth was a little older than I was during pregnancy. Well, she was probably much older. Blessed with one that had been promised. Blessed with one that would be a leader. Blessed with one that would be radical in his day. Blessed with one that was already aware of the presence of his Savior while in the womb.
I can get so wrapped up in the two mothers here. Maybe because I am a mother. Maybe because here, two women, very different ages, very different life circumstances, both very pregnant, both carrying a man-child that would proclaim good news. One a forerunner to lead the way and prepare the fertile ground for planting seeds and sowing them ahead of the One that would come to finish the work.
I think John was getting ready in the womb. He was already doing push-ups and squats. And apparently, from what Elizabeth said, he was jumping. If you have ever been pregnant, you know what she means! But I have to think that was a little more significant than seeing baby feet imprints on a swollen belly.
This boy leaped for joy. It was a holy moment. It filled his mother with the Holy Spirit. It caused her to cry out loudly. She had no way of knowing about Mary’s condition. Mary’s mom didn’t have a cell phone. And neither did Elizabeth. But Mary showed up unannounced. And when she did John went wild.
Joy. He was excited. He wanted to reach out and touch Jesus. Imagine a little tiny hand desperately wanting to reach his Savior through his mother’s skin. Jumping, leaping, hands raised high, praising the Messiah. A baby in the womb.
Does your joy look different than John’s? Maybe your joy is an inner peace that exudes throughout your chest and fills your senses with silent anticipation of all is well. Or maybe your joy is a smile across your face even when times are tough. Is it raising your hands in worship, no matter where you are or who you are with?
Where are you recognizing your joy? Do you recognize it?
Are you so wrapped up in the wrapping paper and countless events of the season that you miss the joy of it? The season of expectation. The season of hope. The season of joy.
Take time to be aware. Recognize the presence of joy. Realize the source of joy. Worship the Messiah this season.
Will you share in the comments a moment like John experienced? Or like Elizabeth? An overwhelming sense of awe and worship? Share with me?
