Treasures of Our Very Own

When I became a mother, the Christmas story changed for me. It’s a story centered around birth, after all, so my experiences now play into my understanding of it. With two little boys of my own, I often wonder what Jesus was like at their age. Was he a precocious, chatty preschooler, or was he more quiet and observant? Was he an early walker? A good sleeper? Did he, like my boys, boast constantly-scraped knees and sticky fingers, evidence of childhood adventures? 

Every Advent season, as I make my way to familiar passages in Matthew and Luke, I find myself wishing we had more stories about little boy Jesus. Three entire decades of his life, virtually undocumented; surely there’s much we could learn from those years. 

I was pondering this recently, wishing we had a snapshot of Jesus as a snuggly toddler or playful student or insightful teenager, when I noticed something in the Christmas story. It comes toward the conclusion of the birth, buried deep in Luke 2: 

“But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart” (Luke 2:19).

While others were sharing stories about angels in fields and guiding stars and a baby in a manger, Mary was quietly committing her own experiences to memory. It was a posture of humility and awe, one that reflects perhaps greater understanding of what was actually happening than the louder, more public responses. 

Jesus’s birth wasn’t the only time Mary reacted in this way. In fact, we see this exact line repeated again in Scripture, directly following the only story we do have from Jesus’s childhood. Twelve-year-old Jesus had been separated from his parents during their travels and after spending three days (!!!) searching for him, Mary and Joseph discovered him in the temple, doing the very Jesus thing of discussing and debating with the religious leaders. At the end of the story, Luke 2:51 says, “And his mother treasured up all these things in her heart.” 

And that concludes what we know about Jesus’s childhood. Thirty verses, bookended by a mother’s reverence and commitment to planting seeds of remembrance deeply within her. 

Mary’s relationship with Jesus was unlike any other; how amazing it must have been to encounter him in such a real, intimate way. She scrubbed the dirt from his little boy feet decades before he would wash the feet of his disciples. She served dinners of fish and bread to the One who would take that same meager meal and feed thousands. She said bedtime prayers, holding the hands that would heal broken bodies and make blind eyes see and bring life where there was only death—hands that would bear the scars of sacrifice so that she, herself, could find redemption. 

Every step of the way, she treasured these moments—these unique encounters with Jesus—sealing them in her mind and heart so that they could sustain her in the years to come. 

It’s almost as if Mary knew we’d need permission to stop—to lay down the to-do lists and the calendars and the social media pressure. And so, she went first. In the midst of all the hooplah—the crowded inn and visiting shepherds and wise men with camels and gifts—she chose to pause and ponder. To trust that something doesn’t have to be shared to be significant. She witnessed firsthand the truth that when we experience them alongside Jesus, normal, hidden moments become holy things worthy of our attention. Treasures. 

By the power of the Spirit, we can follow Mary’s lead and choose to encounter Christ in unique and personal ways this Christmas season. It’s easy to assume we all experience Jesus the same, draw the same conclusions, or glean the same lessons; after all, we’re coming around the same story, reading the same verses, and meditating on the same monumental event in history. And while it’s true that Jesus is unchanging, we forget that there’s another factor in our experience of him: us. When we come into the Advent season, we meet Jesus there, with our own distinct contexts and curiosities in tow. It’s there that the gospel—the good news of God humbling himself to save the world—becomes more than just a story; it becomes a treasured truth that ministers to our specific needs in this particular time and space. 

We don’t have stories of Jesus as a little boy. Those were reserved for the one he called “mama”—hers to savor and keep and look back on when life became heartbreakingly difficult. As a mother myself, this feels right to me; one of the best parts of motherhood is the honor of keeping the stories that mark our kids’ growing-up years. It’s fitting that Mary should have that privilege, too. And, while we may feel like we’re missing out on peering into that part of Jesus’s life, we’re offered something better: our own Jesus stories. To cherish and tuck away, just as the Psalmist described when he wrote, “I have stored up your word in my heart” (Psalm 119:11). Jesus, after all, is the Word. 

And so, this Christmas, let’s open our Bibles to the same story, determined to see it in a new light. Let’s walk into Advent expectant and confident that the Holy Spirit will bring this story into our stories, yet another miracle of heaven coming to earth. And as we experience Jesus in our own everydays, let’s plant those treasures deep in the soil of our hearts, that we may be sustained throughout the coming year. When things get noisy and busy and the festivities of the season threaten to drown out its meaning, may we take our cue from a young mother in Bethlehem, who—in quiet obedience and humble appreciation—testified to the very nature of her son, Emmanuel. God with us—then, now, forever.