A surrendered December: Holding What We Don’t Yet Understand
I didn’t expect Luke 2 to sound anything like my own life, but lately it does.
Not the manger scene or the sky full of angels — just the quiet, trembling way Mary holds joy and uncertainty at the same time.
The older I get, the more familiar that mix feels.
Because Luke 2 doesn’t simply tell us Jesus was born.
It shows us a young woman receiving a gift she couldn’t yet explain — a story unfolding faster than her understanding could keep up.
The shepherds came with their wild story of angels and glory.
And Mary — exhausted, displaced, holding a newborn in a place she never expected — didn’t try to make sense of any of it.
She just held it.
“But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.” – Luke 2:19
Not because she had the answers.
But because she didn’t.
Sometimes the holiest posture we can take is to stop trying to solve the story
and simply hold what God has placed in our hands — even the parts that still feel mysterious.
When Longing and Fulfillment Sit Side by Side
Every once in a while, I still think about a version of myself from what feels like another lifetime —
32 years old, sitting alone in my tiny house on a Saturday night.
Just me and my little eight-pound shih tzu, Gracie, curled against my leg.
A kind of quiet that didn’t feel peaceful… just empty.
I remember the ache of those evenings.
The wondering.
The longing for a family to share even the simplest pieces of life with — grocery runs, unremarkable Saturdays, the small ordinary rhythms I prayed might someday be mine.
I carried promises from God.
Ones I believed were real.
Whispers that motherhood would somehow be part of my story.
But the life in front of me looked nothing like what I held in my heart.
All I could do was sit inside the space between —
what was true in my hands,
and what I hoped was true in His.
Seven years later, that old ache still flickers sometimes when I look into the blue eyes of my three kids — not because I’m longing anymore, but because I remember what it was like to wait without understanding.
And now a different kind of pondering fills that space:
Who will they become?
What will God write into their stories?
What moments am I treasuring now that won’t make sense until much later?
Even the fulfilled prayers still carry mystery.
Still hold wonder.
Still stretch beyond what I can see.
And in that way…
I think I understand Mary a little more.
Treasure Doesn’t Require Clarity
For years I thought Mary treasured and pondered because she understood something others didn’t.
But now I wonder if she treasured because she recognized what was holy
even when she didn’t recognize the whole story.
Her spirit responded before her mind could catch up.
And that’s usually what it feels like when God is growing something in us we can’t fully name yet —
when joy and uncertainty arrive together,
when long-awaited gifts still leave room for questions.
Luke 2 reminds us:
treasure and tension can share the same heart.
Wonder and worry can sit side by side without canceling each other out.
And sometimes the most faithful thing we can do is simply… ponder.
Pondering as a Way of Trusting
Mary didn’t rush to define her story.
She didn’t scramble for certainty.
She didn’t demand a timeline.
She held what she had been given —
the miracle,
the mystery,
the weight,
the wonder —
and she pondered.
Sometimes pondering is its own kind of trust.
A quiet, steady way of saying,
“Lord, I don’t understand all of this…
but I’m paying attention.”
Maybe that’s our invitation as we move deeper into December:
not to solve everything,
not to perfect anything,
not to silence our questions —
but to notice the small, sacred things God places in our ordinary path.
The things that soften us.
The things that stir us.
The things we tuck into our hearts because something in them feels holy,
even if we’re not sure why yet.
A December of Quiet Treasures
Here is the prayer I’m carrying from Luke 2:
“Lord, help me slow down enough to notice what You’re doing in the middle of my real, everyday life.
Teach me to treasure what is beautiful,
even when I don’t understand why I’ve been asked to hold it.
Help me ponder instead of hurry,
receive instead of grasp,
trust instead of control.
Let this December be shaped not by clarity,
but by the quiet things You’re forming in me.”
Because He is still Emmanuel —
God with us —
in the longing that once ached,
in the gifts we now carry,
and in the mysteries we’re still learning to hold.
This is Week 2 of our 2025 Advent Series. You can find Week 1 here.
