Mrs. Mary O’Connor was due to have her baby on December 20. It was now Christmas 

Eve and the child, her first, remained perfectly content in the womb. As for Mary, she felt no pain and no anxiety. In fact, her mood was one of joyful anticipation, despite the delay. Mary marveled at the life within her.

The O’Connors lived in Bethel, an old mountain town of gravel roads along the banks of a river that frequently flooded. In the small O’Connor home was Mary, her ailing mother, and her husband, John, a woodworker. Theirs was a happy marriage despite their poverty. John worried more than his wife about the financial difficulties that the child would bring to the family, and he was far more upset about the comments coming from their neighbors. For the past nine months many of the townspeople had told them, in rather direct and shameless ways, that they were too poor to have children and how on Earth would they provide for a child if they could barely provide for themselves and that  they were being so irresponsible. Mary often reminded her husband that the people commenting now were the same ones who had said, during their short courtship and engagement, that she was far too young to be married. Many nights, when Mary looked at the hard, sorrowful face of her husband, and she knew he was worried endlessly, she would say, “Hasn't the Lord been so good to us, blessing us with this child?” John would smile weakly at her, take a deep breath, and say, “Yes, the Lord has been very good to us.” She knew he meant it, but the worried look seemed fixed on his face. 

As it was Christmas Eve, the O’Connors prepared to attend midnight Mass. Every year, Mary looked forward to this Mass with great longing and excitement about greeting the newborn King. This year, she thought a good deal about the pregnancy of the Blessed Mother and wondered what her delivery was like. She also wondered when her little one would make her overdue appearance into the world.

Throughout the day, it had been raining fiercely and with a vengeance atypical for Bethel. It was still raining when Mary’s mother hurried to wait in the car and when John helped his wife down the muddy driveway. John drove carefully to the church, mindful of the conditions and of how the constant rain filled the roads with mudholes. Mary looked out the window at the rainy town and thought about the poverty of the Holy Family — rejected by the innkeepers of the world and forced to find a cave — and the joy of the Blessed Mother the night that the Eternal Word took on a lowly babe’s flesh to save humanity from sin.

The nave was lit with candles and decorated handsomely in preparation for the solemn Mass. The warmth of the nave was a very welcome change to the rainy cold outside. The O’Connors sat in a pew to the side of the altar that faced a statue depicting The Nativity. Mary knelt down and prayed. “Blessed Mother, what was it like for you? And when will it happen for me?”

Mary was so deep in prayer with the Blessed Mother that she was startled by the loud greeting of Father Mark. She finished her prayer and sat back into the pew. Her abdomen felt a little sore but she ignored it.

It was some time during the first reading — Isaiah’s prophecy of the Child born to the people — that the initial pain Mary felt began to intensify. It suddenly occurred to her that she was beginning to feel contractions.

“John,” she whispered to her husband.

“What is it?” he said back, not taking his eyes off the missal.

“I think I’m having contractions.”

“What?!” he said, looking intently at her.

“Lower your voice. I said, I think I’m having contractions.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

The first reading ended. There was a silence in the nave save for the heels of the Psalmist walking up to the ambo and a soft groaning from Mary.

There was no doubt in Mary’s mind these were contractions. Not only had the pain become more intense, but their rhythm was becoming more and more frequent. During the second reading, John had put his hand on her stomach and tried to comfort her. After the second reading, she remained seated because of the pain.

It was midway through the Gospel when the pain became intolerable and Mary was sure her water had broken. With great effort, she stood up slightly and touched the pew where she had been sitting. As she expected, it was damp. She sat back down and tried to get her husband’s attention.

“John,” she said weakly.

John did not give any indication that he heard her.

“John,” she said again, tugging at his sleeve.

John bent down to her. “What is it, Mary?”

“We need to go. My water has broken.”

“Right now?” John’s eyes widened like Mary had never seen before. He was simultaneously terrified and exuberant.

“Yes,” Mary said. “The baby is coming.”

Mary watched John whisper into her mother’s ear. Then John took her hand and led them out of the pew as quietly and gracefully as he could. Mary walked slowly and held the bottom of her dress with her free hand.

The rain had not relented during the time the O’Connors were at Mass. Once again, John helped his wife into the car but found his own hands shaking as he did so. He looked ahead. The rain had raised the river level and it was spilling over the softened mud banks.

John drove towards the hospital, struggling against the ceaseless rain. In the backseat, Mary groaned with increasing desperation. Her mother sat beside her, holding her hand and caressing her hair.

The gravel roads of Bethel had become porous from the rain and deceptive with mud. On every turn, John wrestled with the steering wheel to little avail. Each pothole that the car smashed into made Mary wince.

When they were halfway to the hospital, the car stopped altogether, stuck in a field of mud. John got out in the pouring rain and pushed while his mother-in-law pressed the gas, but the car only spit mud on John’s dripping suit. The car would not move.

“We’ll have to walk the rest of the way there,” John said.

Mary groaned.

“Come, Mary, it will be okay,” her mother said.

Once more, John took his wife’s hand and led her out of the car into the rain. The road they walked along was lined with tall, naked trees. There were no houses nearby where they could ask for help. 

No one spoke as they continued slowly along the road splattered in mud. Mary groaned louder and louder as they went along. After some time, she cried out:

“I can’t go on any further! I feel the child coming out of me!”

John stopped to look at his wife. She was bent over in agony and her face was maroon in consternation. John looked at his mother-in-law.

“What do we do?” he said.

“Find the most comfortable place to welcome this child.”

John looked up. About a half mile ahead he could see an abandoned shack on the side of the road.

“We’ll go there,” he said, pointing to it.

By the time they arrived it was evident that Mary could not walk any further. The shack was bare and had been unoccupied for many years, but it was dry.

Mary laid down on the cement floor and her mother guided her through the appropriate exercises to give birth. John, consumed with worry and anticipation, was pacing around the shack. Suddenly he noticed, in a dark corner, a statue of the Virgin Mary. She was covered in cobwebs and her face had been slightly discolored with time. He brought the statue out to show his weary wife.

Before he could turn around, John heard the sound of a baby’s cry. Mary was holding the infant in her arms and smiling at the fulfillment of all her longing. John put the statue of the Virgin Mary down where he stood, and ran to his wife and daughter.

After some time, Mary finally looked up. She saw the statue of the Virgin Mary where John had placed her. It appeared to Mary that the Virgin was smiling at her.

“Thank you, mother,” Mary whispered.