My birthday is six days before Christmas. Growing up, other kids would express their sorrow for me, assuming that I must have been forgotten in the holiday rush. For me, my birthday celebrations served as a sweet prelude to Christmas.
Mom and I decorated the tree on my birthday. It appeared to me to be a part of the celebration and I looked forward to decorating almost as much as Christmas. We didn’t host many friends for birthdays, the days were simple and special.
As I got older, I grew to appreciate the spiritual gift of being born in the Advent season. The scriptures which are read on this day in every Catholic church in the world focus on the conception of John the Baptist, cousin of Jesus and prophet who prepared the way for the Lord. Each year, as I reflect on these scriptures, I am reminded of God’s call in my own life to bring the light of Christ to the world.
When I turned 21, I decided to spend the night before my birthday on retreat in a monastery in Connecticut, not far from where I grew up. My dad used to take us to the monastery as children. It’s there that I first experienced the gift of contemplation, watching Dad in prayer and experiencing the presence of Jesus in the beautiful chapel.
The overnight retreat in the monastery marked a change in my birthday celebrations. I decided that, although I enjoy a good party, I’d begin my birthday celebrations with the One who created me, gleaning insights from the past year and vision for the year to come.
My birthday retreats varied slightly with the season of my life, sometimes at home, sometimes away at a retreat house. Whether my arms were filled with a nursing baby or empty waiting outside an operating room for good news to come, I’ve always marked the day by taking time to ponder God’s blessings in my life.
This year, I had hoped to go away. It’s been a long a difficult year with the grief of losing my sister heavy on my heart. Shortly after Thanksgiving, my mom suffered a stroke and has been recovering in a hospital in Connecticut. I spent one overnight with her in the beginning of her stay, but deadlines and doctor appointments at home have made it difficult to visit.
I waited to plan my birthday retreat, not wanting to burden a retreat house community with my vague schedule. Friday morning, I woke with a clear plan in my head which included visiting Mom and staying the night in the monastery in Connecticut.
But when the nuns at the monastery explained they couldn’t take me because there was “no room in the inn,” I chuckled and decided to pack an overnight bag, head to Connecticut to visit Mom and decide the rest of the plans from there. I just needed to see her and spend some time alone.
To my surprise, Mom was much brighter and stronger. The nurse even remarked that if she continued the trend, the isolation plan would be removed and they would move towards getting her home for Christmas.
Mom and I spent a lovely afternoon chatting about nothing and everything. Most of the conversation surrounded what Mom treasures the most: her children and the generations of grandchildren. To date, my 91-year-old Mom has eight children, 21 grandchildren, 25 great grandchildren, with one on the way, and one great-great grandchild. That’s a lot of treasures and I’m sure it’s her secret to longevity and the sparkle in her Irish, blue eyes.
In the midst of our mother-daughter banter, our eyes met often as we read in each other’s faces the pain of the loss of her daughter and my sister, less than six months before. I marvelled as I watched over my mom, her body frail, but her spirit strong, and wondered if I could bury two daughters and a husband in less than 30 years and still be talking about the beauty of family life. Her strength compels me.
As the sun set, in the view from her window on the world, Mom made me promise I would leave when her dinner arrived. She was concerned that I had a three-hour drive home after a tiring day of travel. After dinner, I kissed her goodbye as she made me promise again to drive safe. I assured Mom, as I read her eyes telling me she couldn’t lose another daughter.
As I drove from Connecticut, my husband encouraged me to check into a hotel for the night to rest and spend the eve of my birthday alone in reflection and prayer. But I kept driving, finally landing in my own driveway. As I pulled in, the candles sparkled in the windows and Christmas lights glimmered from garland and trees outside and inside the house. It was good to be home.
My husband was working on finishing decorating and my daughters were cooking a late dinner. I had a bite to eat and sip of wine and then closed myself in bedroom to enter my at-home retreat. Retreating at home has its own comforts and I quickly drifted off to sleep.
I woke before dawn and slipped into my prayer room, lighting candles around the empty manger and the figures of Joseph and a pregnant Mary traversing their way to Bethlehem. I knew I was right where I belonged.
As I prayed, my mind and heart still with my mom, I reflected on Mary’s quiet, yet central role to this Christmas miracle. There is little written about this young mother in scripture, but in the few words, salvation history unfolds. From her ordinary life, the extraordinary gift of God came to earth.
I read about her “yes” to the angel Gabriel’s announcement that the Messiah shall be born in her womb, “I am the handmaid of the Lord let it be done to me according to your word”, as she inspires me to trust that “all things are possible for God.” (Luke 1:37-38)
When shepherds and kings gathered at the stable to adore her newborn Son, with stories of angels and stars to guide them, I marvel at Mary’s humble response: “Mary treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart.” (Luke 2:19) In this passage, the Mother of God teaches me how to reflect and treasure the gifts God’s given me.
Mary teaches me to face my anxieties and turn towards the Lord, rather than cowering in fear, as she searches for Jesus through crowds and miles, finally finding Him in the Temple.
Jesus’ first miracle was performed at the bidding of His mother, who told the servants then as she tells generations to come, to follow her Son and “Do whatever He tells you.”( John 2:1-5).
And finally, the Mother of my Savior teaches me to endure the crosses in my life to the end, always believing in the hope of the Resurrection. Her belief and her faithfulness remind me in the manger and at the cross, that “Blessed is she who believes that God’s Word will be fulfilled.” (Luke 1:45)
With my earthly Mom who is here for a time and my heavenly Mom whom “all generations shall call blessed,” (Luke 1:48) I learn the greatest gift of Christmas is Emmanuel, God is with us. On retreat and at home, the gift of God’s love is present to us all, if only we believe.
I wish you all a very blessed Christmas season filled with hope and rejoicing at the blessings we have received.
Eileen Benthal is a writer, speaker and wellness coach with a B.A. in Theology from Franciscan University. She is the author of Breathing Underwater: A Caregiver’s Journey of Hope.
Eileen and her husband Steve live in Jamesport and have four young adult children. Their youngest, Johanna, is a teenager with special needs.
Eileen can be reached at CareforaCaregiver.com.
