by Jennifer Wright, Developmental Editor

“Ummm, Tony? My water just broke.”

That was me at midnight the night before Easter. My husband reacted as many husbands do—he started getting everything together, made sure we had childcare for our toddler and drove me to the hospital—all with just a little bit of panic in his voice.

Our son was born less than 11 hours later—during the Easter morning Mass we had planned to attend. We had been waiting with expectant hope for months and we brought home our healthy son with joy and celebrated Easter more joyfully than ever.

Only eight months later, I’m reflecting on this experience during Advent. Since I’ve become a mother, imagining the events leading up to the first Christmas has taken on new meaning. Reflecting on Mary’s journey with Joseph, so close to the end of her pregnancy, brings me more empathy than ever. I can understand now what it is to be close to delivery and have many things to worry about, in addition to how labor will go, whether my baby will be healthy, and if I will be able to care for and provide for my child.

Add in the uncertainty about where a child will be born, the physical toll of travel, and the anxiety of settling into a new place (perhaps far from family), expectant hope can easily turn to fear and dread.

But Mary and Joseph had support. They found someone who made space for them in their poverty so that Jesus had a manger to lie in. They had joyful shepherds who celebrated, spread the good news, and glorified God. They had wise men who brought gifts (although wise women might have given more practical gifts…) and protected their new child.

Thanks to you, new mothers have the support they need to bring their children into the world too.

I love the liturgical calendar because it gives me set times during the year to reflect on individual parts of salvation history. Advent is a time when I remember the expectant hope of our faith—expectant hope like that of waiting for a child to be born. But it also reminds me that, for many in our movement, it’s always Advent.

It’s always time to help a woman make room for, provide for, and protect her child.

I’m eternally grateful for this movement of wise men and women, joyful shepherds, and generous innkeepers who walk the steps of Advent with women every day.

When you next find yourself overwhelmed or sorrowful because of a client’s decision or story, remember that while you may find yourself in an eternal Advent, Christmas—the most wonderful mystery of salvation history, when God becomes man—is coming. You can wait with expectant hope, knowing that we will have a time of celebration.