The angel replied, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the baby to be born will be holy, and he will be called the Son of God.” … Mary responded, “I am the Lord’s servant. May everything you have said about me come true.” And then the angel left her. [Luke 1:35,38 (NLT)]
When I was young, back in the 1950s, sex education pretty much consisted of some talk about bees pollinating flowers. Married couples on television didn’t sleep in the same bed and husbands always seemed completely surprised when wives announced a baby was arriving. As a little girl, I naively thought marriage (not intercourse) was what produced babies and that God put babies in a woman’s tummy once she was married.
Having been told that “virgin” simply meant unmarried, I understood that God deliberately gave Jesus to Mary before she was married. Unfortunately, I’d also heard whispers of other unwed mothers—girls who got in the “family way” without benefit of a husband. I knew by the whispers that, except for Mary, being an unwed mother was a bad thing. Although God meant to give Jesus to Mary, I naively thought God occasionally made mistakes when He gave babies to other unmarried girls. As a result of my muddled childlike thinking, I would pray and remind God that I wasn’t married so He shouldn’t give me a baby. Fortunately, by the time I was an adolescent, my understanding both of reproduction and theology had vastly improved.
What brought this to mind was a recent rereading of Luke 1. What I didn’t understand as a child (but do now) is that Mary had a choice in the matter. Granted, she was miraculously impregnated by the Holy Spirit but she could have refused her holy assignment. Instead, she obediently accepted it. She may have been young but not so young that she didn’t know life was going to be much harder by her choice. How would she explain such a miraculous happening to her family and Joseph? Who would believe such a fantastic story? She could end up disgraced and rejected by both fiancé and family. Yet, this young humble girl, who really had no idea of the magnitude of what was happening, willingly obeyed the Lord.
If an angel appeared at my doorstep and offered me an assignment, I wonder how willing I would be to accept his task without knowing the who, how, what, why and where of the plan. Mary believed and obeyed; would I do the same? Would you?
“It’s a masterpiece!” I exclaim while admiring my grand’s latest creation before hanging it on the refrigerator. In actuality, it is only a masterpiece in my grandmother’s eyes; to anyone else it is just a toddler’s effort with crayons and stickers. A real masterpiece is a work done with exceptional skill—it’s a supreme intellectual or artistic achievement. “Masterpiece” often describes an artist’s best work. While my grands need to hone their skills before creating a true masterpiece, we, my friend, are God’s masterpieces—His best work.
While visiting family in California, I joined my daughter-in-law and her walking group on their morning hike. The leader advised us that it was about a six mile walk—what she didn’t mention was it was all uphill for the first three plus miles. Although we started off together, the group quickly fragmented. The leader and some exceptionally fit and fast walkers were in the lead. I was in the middle group; unfamiliar with the area, I was not about to lose sight of our leader and risk getting lost. Behind us was another group and, bringing up the rear, were three stragglers who abandoned us within the first twenty minutes. After an hour of walking uphill, we finally reached level ground and heaved sighs of relief. The dozen remaining walkers stopped briefly while our leader explained the rest of the course—about a mile more of climbing before starting the descent back to the parking lot. At that point, mutiny occurred and more than half the group decided to take an easier and mostly downhill route back. Used to the flatlands of southwest Florida, I was happy to join my daughter-in-law in her desertion.
I recently walked by a home that has a large sign at its front door: “Smile, you’re on camera!” We’ve got baby monitors and nanny cams and can see who is at the door with a glance at our cell phones! Cameras are disguised as working clocks, lightbulbs, phone chargers and smoke detectors. No moment is private if a cell phone is nearby and our most embarrassing moments may find their way onto Facebook or YouTube. Police have body cams, cyclists have Go-Pros, drivers have dash cams, drones can watch us sunbathing in the yard, and schools embed RFID chips in student ID badges. We’re even monitored while in department store dressing rooms (an unsettling thought when trying on bathing suits!) Two years ago, hidden cameras were found in a beach house that was rented out to unsuspecting vacationers. Cameras are everywhere and no place is private; this whole surveillance thing is rather disquieting.
In our part of Florida, yellow lights tend to mean “speed up” and red lights are just mere suggestions so no one really expects anyone to stop at a yellow. Although the light had just turned yellow, the elderly gentleman stopped his car. “The #@!% idiot should have sped through the intersection!” said the women following him. Having been tailgating his car, she was furious at having to brake so abruptly. Already late, now she’d be even later. Moreover, the unexpected stop caused her to spill her coffee and drop both her cell phone and makeup. Angry, she laid on the horn, called him a few more choice expletives, shook her fists and even gave him the middle-finger salute! She was in mid-rant when she looked up to see a police officer at her window. He politely ordered her to exit the car. Having forgotten her driver’s license in another purse, she was transported to the police station, fingerprinted, photographed, and finally placed in a holding cell.
Devotions of the Heart 