In the middle of the typical chaos of this retail season, there has been a move, and there has been anxiety and grief over difficult business decisions. It's been one of the more challenging months in recent memory, and I have, in many moments, felt literally sick over it all.
But there's this verse I've obsessed over since I was a kid -- a quiet kid who tended to keep a lot of things to herself. It's found in Luke 2, at the end of the famous passage Linus so memorably recites in A Charlie Brown Christmas. It's a brief verse, often overlooked due to the famous words that come before it. We witness the shepherds and the angels and the birth of Word-made-flesh, and then there's this phrase quietly tacked at the end: "But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart."
I've always loved that.
Chaos is swirling around her, and she's now suddenly mother to the Son of God, but Mary remains quiet. She doesn't rant at Joseph or rage at the wise men or cry to the heavens. (Not that we know of, anyway.) Instead, she looks at the scene set before her, and she thinks about it. To herself.
I am living a season where I'd really like to say some things. And I'm saying some of them, to friends I love and people I trust. But mostly, I'm trying really hard to embody Mary. I'm trying to be content in the messy-in-between and to keep things to myself, not in a repressed sort of way, but in a what's-really-appropriate-or-necessary-to-say-out-loud? sort of way.
And you know what? 2019 has made that really hard.
The world expects -- almost requires -- an explanation for the decisions we make, our reaction to every news cycle; deep-felt thoughts once considered private or personal are now made consumable for the public. I'm guilty, too. I started blogging back in 2008 and have been sharing my words on the internet in some form or fashion ever since. Despite my introversion, I am, in many ways, especially when asked, an open book. I offer my opinions and thoughts pretty easily, particularly if I'm comfortable with my audience.
But somehow, I always come back to Mary.
Even when I'm typing out Instagram captions and filtering through thoughts for this newsletter, I wonder: What do I ponder aloud, and what do I keep to myself?
In a world that values instantaneous thoughts and supposed authenticity, what do I share? Who do I trust with my words and my story?
This season, I have tried hard to ponder things in my heart, to hold my thoughts close, even when asked to do otherwise. I have not always succeeded, but I am trying, and I am trusting it will be enough.
There is, of course, so much to admire about Mary, but as advent comes to a close and light promises its presence around the corner, I am mostly in awe of her quiet. I am praying it over myself, and I'm praying it over this world we dwell in, too. I think we need it more than we can begin to know.
