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It’s 1:00 am and I’m not ready for bed yet. We watched this video during tonight’s Christmas Eve service that showed clips from that Nativity story and I started thinking about the whole thing and came to a sobering realization: I would be a terrible Mary.

Like, the four gospel writers would have been embarrassed to write about me.

I mean, right from the start, there would have been issues.

Gabriel: Mary!..er..Whitney! Do not be afraid! You have found favor with God. You will conceive and bear a Son, and you shall call His name Jesus. He will be great and be called Son of the Most High.”
Me:
(awkward silence)
Gabriel: um, Mar—I mean—Whitney?
Me:
Gabriel: Whitney…I think you’re drooling. Shut your mouth or something.
Me:
Gabriel (to God): Nice pick. She hasn’t blinked in three minutes.
God: Try poking her or something!
(poke)
Me, shaken out of my stupor: You’re…shiny.

Fast forward to my time with Elizabeth. Random thoughts in my head during the time I spend with her, in no particular order:

I don’t want to go home. Everyone thinks I’m a whore. Shoot, is Elizabeth going to make me help with the delivery? I don’t do well with deliveries…crap I have to deliver a baby in a few months. Maybe I should help her for…practice. Ew…look at what that baby has done to her stomach. That is disturbing. And that is going to be me in a few months. Hopefully not since I’m not a century old like she is. (and during the delivery) OH HECK NO! NO WAY! NO WAY AM I GOING THROUGH THIS! ARE THEY KIDDING? I’M IN EXCRUCIATING PAIN JUST THINKING ABOUT IT.

And I spend most of my journey back begging God for some surge of technology to occur that I don’t have to birth His Son like that. Any way but that, God. Or maybe He’ll just appear, like good old Gabe did. Yeah, I like the sound of that. Much less messy. God can’t like messes, can He? Oh, thank You God. I knew you’d have my back—and my reproductive organs.

And then there’s that awkward pre-vision conversation I’d have with Joseph.
Joe: Let me get this straight. Someone shiny came and told you you’d bear the Son of God.
Me:
Joe: And who is the biological Father?
Me: Uh…God. No wait. The Holy Spirit.
Joe: So a Spirit is the father?
Me: Uh..you know, I kind of blacked out by this point in the conversation.
Joe: So you’re not only a slut, you’re blaming your fornication on God. Nice one, Whitney. Classy.
Me:
Joe:
Me: So, about our wedding…I’m thinking purple as the main color?

I think you’re seeing my point. I would be a fail. You still think not? Okay, I’ll keep going. We don’t have to be at Nana’s til 11:00 tomorrow.

Thoughts on our way to Bethlehem:

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. Breathe. You’re just having…donkey discomfort. Yeah, that’s a real thing right? You are NOT about to give birth here. Hold it in, Whitney. Remember how you’d go on trips with your family and if you didn’t go before they left you’d have to hold it in? Just like that. HOLY CRAP WHAT IS THAT PAIN I’VE NEVER FELT THAT BEFORE IN MY LIFE PLEASE TELL ME THEY HAVE EPIDURALS IN 0 B.C.

(that awkward water-breaking moment when I’m still refusing to have the baby on the journey and don’t want to tell Joe about the decreasing time between contractions)
Joe (after seeing the effects of my water breaking): Uh….
Me: Oops, ha ha. Prego women and their bladders, ha. Ha ha. Ha (a contraction starts)—OUCH HOLY MOTHER OF—
Joe: Whitney what the heck is wrong??
Me: GASP—oh—GASP—nothing. GASP—I—gasp—just…..hee hoo hee hoo hee hoo…IT’S NOTHING! I just...in my family…whenever we accidentally pee our pants, we do the Hee Hoo chant. To make light of the situation…instead…of…it being embarrassing…? (Mary I’m sure was an honest person)
Joe: You just..peed? On our donkey? Like, you literally just peed your pants? And..that is a normal occurrence in your family?
Me:
 Joe (in his head): I knew I should have paid that other guy the dowry.

(later on in the journey)

God, even though I still fully trust You are going to have my baby magically pass through the flesh of my stomach into my arms through some form of osmosis, I still would like to have a room please.
And I should really tell Joe that my contractions are two minutes apart. And that I’m having contractions at all. You can still have contractions even if your baby is going to osmosize through your stomach, right? Contractions just mean the baby’s coming—crap here comes anoth—OH MY FREAKING GOSH. AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH.

(later on in the journey)

Joe: Whitney, this stable is our only option. It’s not that bad.
Me: I HATE ANIMALS THEY MAKE ME CRY. WE SHOULD BEG SOMEONE FOR A ROOM.
Joe: Whitney, you don’t look well. Are you okay?
Me: I’m fine when I’m not having a contraction.
Joe:
Me: oops
Joe: WHAT
Me:
Joe: Oh crap.
Me: WE CAN’T HAVE THIS HERE AND I AM STARTING TO WONDER IF JESUS IS GOING TO OSMOSIZE THROUGH MY STOMACH ANYMORE. JOE YOU CAN’T SEE ME…DOWN THERE…LIKE THIS BECAUSE I SAW ELIZABETH AND I THREW UP THREE TIMES DURING HER DELIVERY BECAUSE OF PURE DISGUST. I REFUSE TO LET YOU SEE THE HORRORS OF CHILDBIR—FRICK WHY DO THESE CONTRACTIONS KEEP COMING SO FAAAAAAAAaaaaaa……..
(I black out and wake up with a rock under my head)
And the night would continue with me insisting that Jesus is still coming out through osmosis, begging him to let me deliver Jesus by myself so he doesn’t see the horrifying images of birth-giving. He tries to tell me that the risk of dropping the Son of God on His head are far more weighty than him being disgusted.
I tell him he doesn’t understand.
Joe: Whitney. Just breathe.
He’s standing…down there. Ready to catch.
Me: NO. I’ll catch him! It’ll be easy…like catching a goose…
Joe: Whitney, you’re delusional. We have to. It’s the Son of God.
Me: Will you close your eyes?
Joe: Whitney, think about what you just asked me.

At this point, a cow comes and licks my ear. And then something inside snaps. I am a mad woman. I get up and begin running around, stopping only during the contractions. They insist I lay down, but I tell them Jesus is going to appear eventually…osmosis, I tell them.

And the sad story ends with me ending up in a crazy home and Joe decides to find someone else to take care of the Son of God.

Joe (to himself): There is that girl down the street…Mary. Yeah, she’s a nice girl. I shoulda picked her at the beginning.

Me: Look at those shiny things in the sky!

And I’m pondering everything in my heart because when I try to speak, the only word that comes out is “Osmosis.”