"We're doing the same as normal." "That bad, huh?"

Han was awake and recovering from being frozen in carbon. The hibernation sickness cost him his sight, at least for now.

"How are we doing?" he said.

"Same as normal," Luke said.

"That bad, huh?"

-----

When Jesus came, he came to a teenaged woman, a girl really. She had ridden all night on a donkey to a strange place. She was within days of giving birth and the ride was brutal and uncomfortable. It was sometimes hard to breath normally, sitting up on the donkey, and she had to pee too often, with the weight of the child on her bladder.

Joseph hadn't sent her away, in spite of the fact that the child she carried was not his. But there had been moments when she'd seen doubts in his eyes. Today, she hadn't seen doubts. He'd been kind and patient, mostly. But walking all that way and taking care of her hadn't been easy. He was tired, too.

When they'd arrived, all she wanted to do was to lie down. The days of travel had really done a number on her. But because of the stupid census, all the beds were taken and there was no place for them to sleep.

"Can't you find anyplace?" she demanded, though she knew Joseph couldn't. He looked at her with sadness and compassion and a some fair irritation.

"I'm looking."

They wound up in a barn. It was relatively warm, and if you got past the itchiness of the hay, it wasn't bad. Except for the fact that she was carrying around 25 extra pounds. And sleeping on the floor, and it took her about three and a half minutes to get down there and even longer to get up. And once she got there, she had to pee again.

Finally, she slept.

It wasn't fun being the mother of God. It was not smooth or scripted or easy. It was a page straight out of the Indiana Jones school of project management: "I don't know, I'm making it up as I go."

How much is that like every day life? If only this or that, things would be smoother and it wouldn't be so irritating. But that's the life that God chose to come down and be part of. He could have been born in a palace. He could have waited until now, so He could have heat and indoor plumbing and Pedialyte and ointments for diaper rash.

Instead, He chose then and came to a barn. And struggled. And when he was doing as well as normal, He could probably say "That bad, huh?"

There are as many messages in the Christmas story as there are people who have though about it. But maybe there is room for one more.

If you are struggling at a noble cause... If you wish that--just this once--it would be easy for just a little while... If finding the spit and bailing twine and duct tape required to keep things together one more day takes much energy as doing the work of the day... If you lie down at night exhausted and daunted at the prospect of another day of this tomorrow...

...then you have good company. And though you can't see it, your humble efforts to keep things together just one more day could have profound impact beyond your imagination. Imagine that teenager lying uncomfortably on the barn floor, having to struggle to her feet to pee--again. She couldn't have known.

She couldn't have known the extent to which the object of her discomfort would change the world.

Your efforts are not meaningless, either.