Treasuring and Pondering

Ryan and I are leading a small group through Erica Wiggenhorn's study Unexplainable Jesus. Last night we had Christmas in September, because we studied Luke 2 and 3, about Jesus' birth and boyhood.

If you study the Bible much, you might know Luke 2:19, which says, "But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart."

Maybe, like me, you've always had an idea of what you thought that verse meant. I wrote about it when I wrote my Advent study years ago. To me, it's always meant that Jesus' birth was so sacred to Mary that to write about it or speak of it would in some way violate an intimate trust. Those moments were hers and hers alone, and she treasured them.

I still think that is probably true for many moments Mary lived alongside Jesus, but Erica had an additional angle of thought on this that I'd never considered. She said, "We have no reason to believe anyone accepted Mary's claim of an angelic appearance at this point...The term treasured up is the Greek word syntero. Mary attempted to perpetually keep these things in the forefront of her thoughts. She intensely guarded these memories."

Until I did this study (along with the Gospels study I'm doing all year long) I never really thought about it before. In the crowd of people who did daily life with Mary and Joseph, did anyone besides Zechariah and Elizabeth ever really believe their story? At least until after the resurrection...did anyone stop to consider they might actually be telling the truth about this Baby? I have a feeling that on most levels, no matter what Mary ever said or did, she was probably always the good-girl-turned pregnant-teenager who gave birth to a fascinatingly odd child.

Treasuring was probably better than sharing, because it all mattered to her. And if no one around her was going to believe her - or worse, if they ridiculed her for her words - why would she share them?

Today marks 31 years since my little nephew - the one who made me an aunt in the first place - bypassed life on earth entirely and went straight to Heaven. He was stillborn in the early hours of a Sunday morning, and I have written about him many times on this blog and shared about him often in my speaking.

I do it because his life matters. I do it because his life marked me. I do it because his life shaped my faith journey.

I probably won't ever stop talking about him, just like I don't stop talking about his sister, who was born just over a year later. Her life matters. Her life has marked me. Her life radically shaped my faith journey. (And she has the cutest little girl of her own now, and they both live way too far away for my liking.)

But I will tell you something. Losing Ryan's mom earlier this year has also marked my life and shaped my faith - and my grief - in new ways. There is something about grieving a person whose life linked with yours through marriage that is far different than grieving a person whose life linked with yours by blood. The feelings of hurt and loss are no less intense, but the feelings of freedom to share those thoughts are far different, because she belonged to others more closely than she belonged to me. And I often feel that the open sharing needs to be reserved for them, and I shouldn't take over out loud.

So I don't. I write the thoughts down. I treasure and ponder them in my heart. (And my heart includes my journal.) They're captured and preserved, but not in the same way.

In her study on Luke, Erica also said, "The shepherds only witnessed the wonderful. Mary had become wounded while carrying the wonderful."

The legacies of my nephew and my mother-in-law are wonderful, each in their own unique way. I honor and remember them in unique ways. I treasure and ponder them in unique ways. And I have been wounded in unique ways while carrying the wonderful that their memories provide. If you've ever grieved, you know what I mean.

So today I treasure and ponder. I'm grateful for all the lives - those still moving around me and those who have been stilled here on this earth - who have shaped me. I'm grateful for all the lessons they've taught. And even though some of the wounds are still fresh, I'm grateful for the wounds and scars some have left (accidentally and on purpose) because they, too, have shaped me.