Mary’s Yes

This season, my thoughts have been lingering on Mary.

Not the serene, halo-lit Mary we often picture in nativity scenes—but a real, young girl. Engaged. Dreaming of her wedding day. Looking ahead to her future with anticipation and excitement.

I think of the days leading up to my own wedding—the joy, the excitement, the planning, the shopping, the conversations about what life would look like once we were married. There’s something so hopeful about that season! Mary would have been in that place, too.

And then—one visit.

One sentence.

“You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus.”

Just like that, her entire life changed.

Mary was favored among women, but she was human, just like you and me. We sometimes rush past that. She wasn’t a distant, untouchable figure. She was flesh and blood, with fears, questions, and emotions she likely couldn’t even put into words. The angel’s message didn’t come with a full explanation or a detailed roadmap. God didn’t lay out every step of what would follow. He only invited her into His plan.

And Mary said yes.

Mary trusted not because the road ahead was clear, but because the One who called her was faithful to make the impossible possible. She anchored herself in a promise: “For nothing is impossible with God” (Luke 1:37, NLT).

In a close-knit Jewish community in the first century, the angel’s news would not have been welcomed with celebration. According to the law, a betrothed woman found to be pregnant was considered an adulteress—subject to public shame and even death by stoning. I often wonder about the days that came after. The whispers. The looks. Conversations stopped when she entered a room. A young, unmarried girl—pregnant. Can we even begin to imagine the ridicule, the shame, the assumptions made about her character? The angel had called her “favoured,” but in the eyes of the world, she would soon be seen as anything but. Favoured by God, yet shamed by people.

I think about how sensitive my own heart is to misunderstanding. When someone wrongly accuses me—even casually, even as a joke—it pricks my heart. I replay it. I feel misunderstood. And that’s over something small. Mary carried this far heavier burden for nine long months. No explanations people would accept. No defense she could offer. Only obedience.

“May it be done to me according to your word.”

Those words feel so gentle, yet they carry immense strength. Mary surrendered—not because she fully understood, but because she trusted the One who spoke.

What stands out to me most about Mary is her obedience. We see obedience in Jesus, who came into this world humbly so that He could one day die for our sins. But we also see obedience in His mother. How terrifying it must have been for a young teenage girl to go into labor far from home—no mother, no midwives, no familiar faces—only Joseph. To give birth in an animal shelter, in a time when childbirth was still dangerous. I can’t imagine how alone or frightened she must have felt.

And yet, Mary was obedient from the very beginning. Theologians often say that any service done for God has two sides: great joy and great difficulty. Mary embraced both. She knew her culture. She knew the risks and the repercussions of what the angel was telling her. She listened. She pondered. And then she said, “I am the Lord’s servant. May it be done to me according to your word.” (Luke 1:38).

In other words, “I’ll do it.”

Mary was the first person to accept Jesus on His terms—regardless of the personal cost. Amid cultural pressure, spiritual opposition, and enormous personal risk, God entrusted the Savior of the world to a young teenage girl who bravely stepped into the gap and essentially said, “Yes.”

That thought humbles me.

So often, God’s work in my life hasn’t come with clarity. I want answers. I want timelines. I want reassurance that what I’m doing will make sense to others. But the gospel doesn’t always work that way. Jesus Himself came quietly, vulnerably, misunderstood from the very beginning. Mary’s obedience ushered the Savior into the world—but it also invited suffering, confusion, and shame.

Christmas, when seen through Mary’s eyes, isn’t just about joy and celebration. It’s about surrender. It’s about trusting God when obedience costs us comfort, reputation, and understanding. It’s about believing that God’s favor doesn’t always look like ease—but it always leads to redemption.

So I’m left with a question for my own heart—and maybe for yours too: What does obedience look like this season?

Maybe obedience looks like reaching out—yet again—to that estranged family member.

Maybe it’s apologizing to someone you know you’ve hurt.

Maybe it’s saying yes to something God has laid on your heart.

Mary’s story reminds me that God often writes His most excellent plans into ordinary lives, and He asks us to trust Him with the parts we don’t understand yet. It reminds us that obedience doesn’t require complete understanding—only trust. And through Mary’s simple, costly yes, God brought redemption into the world.

Perhaps that’s the quiet invitation of Christmas for us, too:

To trust God with the unknown.

To say yes, even when we don’t fully grasp what that yes will cost— believing that God is faithful and that He can do great things through our surrender.