The Thirty Years Quietly Kept

 

Today is Christmas.

Last Sunday, our pastor preached about the birth and growth of Jesus. It was a familiar message, yet it touched my heart deeply.

 

In the Bible, there is very little written about Jesus’ childhood and youth.

Apart from His birth and one brief account of Him in the temple as a boy, Scripture becomes almost silent—until He begins His ministry around the age of thirty.

 

These nearly thirty “unrecorded” years suddenly felt incredibly precious to me.

They were not ignored years, but years intentionally kept—quietly protected by God.

 

It feels as though God was gently saying to Mary:

“This child is My gift to you. You may live with Him, love Him, and walk with Him in ordinary days for these thirty years—without interruption, without attention, without the world watching.”

 

Not every life needs to be seen immediately.

Not every value needs to be documented.

Some seasons are meant only for parents and children.

 

In that moment, I understood more deeply:

Every child is a precious gift entrusted to us by God.

 

They are not extensions of ourselves,

not tools to measure our success or failure,

but treasures placed in our care for a season.

 

When children are young, they belong fully to the warmth of home.

As parents, our calling is to cherish them—to enjoy the ordinary days, the shared meals, the quiet companionship.

 

One day, our children will grow.

They will step into their own calling and a wider sky.

At that time, parents must learn to let go—not of love, but of control.

 

We release them into God’s hands,

while remaining a place of support, prayer, and unconditional welcome.

A harbor they can always return to.

 

God Himself once lived a truly ordinary human life.

Jesus ate, drank, worked, rested, and lived within family relationships.

He did not observe humanity from a distance—He entered fully into it.

 

Because of this, He understands our struggles, our loves, and our pain.

He did not merely tell us how to live—He showed us with His life.

 

This Christmas, my heart holds a deeper and quieter meaning.

Christmas is not only about birth,

but about God’s love for growth, for ordinary days, and for faithful presence.

 

May we learn to see our children, our families, and our lives

through this same gentle and sacred lens.