I bet the Virgin Mary started out with a birth plan. It may have been simply: 1). Send for midwife when it’s time. 2). Survive. 3). Name the baby Jesus. I'm sure she would have liked to add a few details. If I were Mary, I probably would have tried to finagle some reduced labor pains out of God. “I am carrying Your kid. Is taking the edge off too much to ask?” But she knew she could do it because, well, either you did it or you died. She’d watched her mom do it, along with sisters and aunts. Her cousin Elizabeth had just had Baby John. It was scary, but God had chosen her, so surely the path ahead was prepared for her, right? He would provide? Then, eight months along and feeling like her tiny teenage torso was about to pop, Joe tells her they have to go on a 70-mile (one way!) trip on foot for some stupid government census. Seriously??? I mean, it was a long trip to begin with, but she’d far rather deal with the hemorrhoids, back pain, and frequent peeing at home, thank yo...
Thoughts on God between folding laundry and building cup towers