When I was still in the stage of life where the Lord would ask me if I were open to a baby, it was very, very easy to meditate upon the Annunciation.
It was so simple to imagine myself in a small home in Nazareth, fully open to conversation with an angel. “Well then, Lord, this is the ‘yes’ you ask of women: to be open to life — to conceive, carry, bear, and raise holy children for the glory of God. Yes! I want to do that.”
And now, more than 35 years after the Christmastime conception of my first baby, I still want to do that. I’m learning that motherhood is a lifetime gig. And I’m learning that “yes” is required in a myriad of ways, nearly every moment of every day. The Blessed Mother’s consent was not just about conceiving the Christ child, but about embracing a journey of radical trust. Each trembling “yes” she would whisper — in the stable’s darkness, during the flight to Egypt, at the foot of the cross — was a profound act of surrender.
Motherhood, I’ve learned, transcends biological boundaries. It is a vocation that calls us to nurture life in its most expansive sense. Like Mary, we are each invited to bear Christ — not physically, but through our actions, our compassion, our openness to bringing divine love into the world. And it all hinges on our willingness to surrender.
It is Mary who offers the best yes, because it is only Mary who can offer it from a spotless heart. We have the privilege of spending a lifetime asking for more grace and offering again and again our imperfect yeses to the Lord who can redeem and perfect them. The beauty of Advent draws us closer to God, closer to the young girl and the angel, closer to a more perfect yes. Now, as then, God does not demand; he invites. Just as the angel Gabriel waited for Mary’s consent, divine grace stands at the threshold of our days, gently requesting partnership. Our hesitations, like Mary’s initial wondering, are not signs of faithlessness but of profound reverence. We recognize our limitations, and we have a sense — however limited — of the magnitude of what we’re being asked to carry.
The Christmas story reminds us that holiness often emerges in the most unexpected circumstances. A young girl in an insignificant town. A faithful man doing his level best to find a safe harbor for precious cargo. A child born among animals. Shepherds and wandering stargazers as witnesses. God’s grand design unfolds not through power and might, but through radical vulnerability and humble consent.
Our “yeses” need not be perfect. They need only be sincere. Mary’s immaculate heart does not condemn our imperfect offerings but instead encourages us. Each tentative, trembling consent is gathered into the divine narrative, transformed by grace beyond our understanding.
As another Christmas approaches, I am struck by how every moment remains pregnant with possibility. The spirit of the nativity whispers: surrender, trust, believe. Whether we are in a season of bearing physical life or nurturing spiritual dreams (or both), we are called to the same profound act of receptivity, the same willingness to bear fruit.
Every breath is an opportunity. Every heart, a potential manger.
Foss, whose website is takeupandread.org, writes from Connecticut.
