The Giver Is the Gift

Advent Around the Table: Week 2, Peace

“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” Isaiah 9:6

“You are the most peaceful mother I’ve seen in the NICU,” my son’s respiratory therapist said gently. I allowed those words to settle in my heart and wondered if they fit—as if I were trying clothes on for size.

I did not feel particularly peaceful.

Each night I collapsed into bed with one prayer on my lips, “Lord, let him live.” One worry tumbled into another as my son’s life floated in liminal space. He was the only baby in the NICU, and except for the dissonant beeps of various machines, the room was quiet, giving the façade of peace.

My eyes gazed at my son’s naked body under the incubator’s warm light. Tubes and wires were attached to each limb, and one was inserted down his throat—breathing for him. His translucent skin gleamed, his tummy was distended, and his neck was dry and wrinkly. He looked more like a frail old man than a tiny baby. My mind wandered.

Only nineteen months before, I birthed my daughter at the same small private hospital in Belize City, Belize. I did feel peaceful, then. Everything went perfectly—the nurse’s warm personality, the bright room filled with sunshine, the picture of Jesus on the wall, the kind anesthetist who, when I said I was cold, covered my upper body with a special tent-like blanket that surrounded me in delicious warmth, and the safe delivery of my second child.

None of that happened when I went in for my son’s birth; things seemed sterile and cold. I laid on the table—my heart disquieted, anticipating the surreal pressure of the first incision, and begged my husband to recite any Bible verse. Then, my delivered baby did not cry. Then, he was not breathing. Then, I was put to sleep. I woke up in a large supply closet. My husband told me the troubling news. We were faced with the possibility of his death.

No, those moments were not peaceful. My husband and I huddled together in a dark hospital room a day later as the doctors intubated our baby and we prayed to God to save his life. My husband’s soft and strained voice formed the words I could not: “We trust your plan.” At first, my heart resisted the prayer—I did not want to relinquish control. I felt like we had been in free fall for three years in Belize with one disaster after another and were waiting for God to catch us. I wanted it all to stop. Would he take our son now, just when I needed him to be my safety net? As the turmoil in my heart raged, light fought through, too. I remembered how God graciously cared for us during each hardship, and ultimately, I could not deny him my trust—I realized he was our only source of peace. After that, I resolved to be a calming presence for my son in the NICU. I brought my Bible each day, and I whispered Psalm 139 “…all my days were written in your book and planned before a single one of them began…”— I read those words as a desperate plea to my Lord, the only One who could give me true peace.

This time of year, I like to consider Joseph and Mary’s circumstances: the pregnancy that probably no one believed was an immaculate conception, the week-long journey to Bethlehem on the back of a donkey, the village so crowded there were no beds to be had, the filthy stable for labor and birth, and the murderous threats of a jealous Herod. No, their circumstances were not peaceful—but the God they served was. He told them, “Fear not.” He did not snap his fingers and remove them from their surroundings, magically placing them in comfort. Instead, He encouraged them by sending people from near and far with miraculous stories of angels and constellations. God provided them with warmth, resources, and a warning. We see the fruit of God’s peace in Mary through her song of praise to God—she begins with, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior” (Lk. 1:46-47). God’s glory overshadowed her meager circumstances, and she treasured these things.

When I notice the turmoil and injustices around the world, the political unrest in the USA, and the issues my local community is facing, peace feels as elusive as it did for me that morning when I checked into the hospital for my son’s birth. But when I could not change my circumstances, the Prince of Peace granted me his peace to rule in my heart (Col 3:15).

I often remember that day in the NICU when the respiratory therapist mentioned my peaceful spirit; it was the day I recognized how important it is to have the Holy Spirit alive and active within me. She saw in me the peace of God, even when I felt like I was lacking. As I gazed at my son fighting for his life, I said to her, “If you see peace in me, that’s only because of Jesus.”

“The Kingdom of God can’t be detected by visible signs. You won’t be able to say, ‘Here it is!’ or ‘It’s over there!’ For the Kingdom of God is already among you.”

Lk. 17:21