I didn’t think I had any Advent stories. I didn’t grow up attending church, and since I’ve been a believer, my December church attendance stats have never been impressive. I’ve got presents to wrap, cookies to bake, Christmas cards to write, parties to attend, and slopes to ski. Plus, we spend Christmas with my parents and church isn’t a part of their tradition. While you’re singing “Silent Night”, I’m hanging out on the secular side of the season getting giddy about Santa’s arrival. Since my love language is gifts, it’s not hard to imagine that my focus is on presents more than the birth of baby Jesus.

But then it hit me. I do have an Advent story and it’s been sitting in my lap for twenty-one years! Oh, Lord, I am so human, missing the signs you throw in my face time and time again. Thank you for helping me see it now. 

My Advent story isn’t big; it’s a very small story that arrived on October 3rd, 2002. Our daughter was due on December 26th, but she came three months early, a micro preemie weighing one pound seven ounces.

In the days leading up to her birth, while I was fighting for my life and pumped with steroids that would develop her lungs a wee bit more, our families gathered and we waited. My brother sat at the foot of my bed for hours, with his hands on my feet, praying silently for God’s will to be done. 

Doctors gave us daily life and death details. How could a baby so tiny and so early possibly live? No one knew it, but I planned a funeral in my head.  

And then she didn’t die. Anna grew and grew in the NICU. After five days, I finally got to hold her. In a few weeks, I helped the nurse give her a bath. Both times I cried. My husband and I fell into a rhythm and routine of daily hospital visits and endless hours of kangaroo care. We both felt God’s presence even when nurses would speak truth bombs like “She’s doing well today, but she could die tomorrow.”

But she still didn’t die. In fact, she grew so big (a whopping three pounds) that the doctors finally said we could decorate the nursery. On Thanksgiving, she was moved to an isolette that didn’t include breathing assistance. Deep into December, doctors said she’d be ready to come home when she maintained her body temperature and oxygen levels, and weighed close to five pounds. 

Finally, that day came. December 24th. People, our miracle baby came home on Christmas Eve! Light the candles. Sing the carols. Forget about unwrapping presents, our baby came home on Christmas Eve!

Ron and I were so scared that day. We were barely ready for a baby, especially one still so tiny. We’d spent three months dreaming of this day, and now we were scared to leave the hospital. We spent hours waiting to be discharged. Our parents waited. My brother and his family waited in the parking lot with my three-year old nieces. For hours and hours. All of us anticipating Anna’s blessed homecoming.

My brother, the one who laid hands on me, prayed again. He told me that God had a hand in Anna coming home on Christmas Eve. “This isn’t an accident, Lorrie. This means something.” I wanted to believe it, but I still couldn’t shake what I’d seen in the NICU. The babies who didn’t come home. The parents who sang last lullabies and drove home empty-handed. 

I still don’t understand why we were spared, but I do have faith that God has a plan. I lived for a reason. Anna lived for a reason. For twenty-one years, I’ve been scared to layer lots of Jesus meaning on top of Anna’s Christmas Eve homecoming. I think about all the babies who didn’t come home and I’ve wondered if it’s wrong to claim this as my big Advent story. 

But God doesn’t always call us to have perfect understanding. I’ve come to believe that my lack of understanding is actually a gift, a constant reminder that I need a Savior while I wait patiently in the fullness of faith for His guidance. 

Joseph and Mary knew this down to their bones. An angel of the Lord visited Joseph and told him not to break his engagement with Mary. The angel spoke of a virgin birth and a baby who would redeem the entire world. He must have wondered, “What does this mean?” But, no. He did what the angel of the Lord commanded. 

When it was her turn to chat with an angel, Mary did the same. “Here I am, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”

Their bold faith is astounding, but I can imagine that Mary and Joseph had moments of fear and doubt like most new parents. They weren’t just keeping any ole baby alive. Their baby was God with us, but also fully and vulnerably human like all of our precious children. That’s a lot of pressure.

So Mary and Joseph win. They have the biggest Advent story! While they knew Jesus would be the Redeemer of the world, they didn’t know their baby’s entire story. They surely didn’t imagine death on a cross and resurrection. I think we need to take that to heart.

Even though we celebrate Advent each and every year, we don’t know what the season will bring. While we wait for the ultimate ending—Jesus to return for complete redemption— we don’t know all the beginnings and middles of our stories.  And we certainly don’t know what all of our stories mean.

But we can rest easy in the waiting. We can lean on the tried and true rhythms and routines of Advent—like lighting candles, gathering in church, and singing carols we know by heart. We can bask in the words of Bible stories we’ve heard over and over again. And wait for what’s next in the fullness of faith.

Lorrie Tom loved reading Properties of Thirst, Shark Heart, and Go as a River this year. A childhood Christmas gift she’ll always remember is her Easy-Bake Oven. One of the ways that Lorrie connects with God is by writing haiku because the process makes her slow down, look up, and notice our Lord’s creation.