She wasn’t expecting a visitor.
Not tonight.

The house was quiet — just her and her thoughts.

Then, the room shifted.
She didn’t hear a door open or footsteps fall.
But she wasn’t alone.

The light came first.
Bright — almost blinding — but not harsh.
It radiated with unearthly softness, like warmth breaking through the veil between worlds.
It seemed to pass straight through her, down to her bones.

“Greetings, favored one. The Lord is with you.”
The words came from the glowing column before her.

She didn’t speak
Couldn’t.
Her heart thundered in her chest.
The moment was terrifying and sacred,
like standing on the edge of a cliff and knowing you’re meant to jump.

The angel smiled.

“Don’t be afraid, Mary. You have found favor with God.
You will conceive and give birth to a son.
You are to call Him Jesus.”

The words crashed over her like a waterfall.

The angel went on —
The child would be great.
Son of the Most High.
His kingdom would never end.

She could barely breathe.

“How can this be?” she asked quietly.
“I’m a virgin.”

“The Holy Spirit will come upon you,” he said.
“The power of the Most High will overshadow you.
So the child to be born will be holy — the Son of God.”

It felt like a dream.
But somehow, she knew it was real.

She said yes.
And received the Son of God.

Mary said yes.
And the world was never the same.

That moment of quiet surrender wasn’t just the beginning of a miracle.
It was a model.
Because what Mary carried in her womb,
we now carry in our spirit.

The same Holy Spirit who overshadowed her now lives in us.
And His mission hasn’t changed.

Galatians 4:19 says it plainly:
“I am again in the pains of childbirth until Christ is formed in you.”

This isn’t poetry.
It’s process.
God didn’t come to improve your behavior.
As the bridegroom, Christ came to plant His nature in you.

Somewhere along the way, we were told a lie:
That acting like Jesus is what proves we belong to Him.
That imitation is the goal.
That transformation is something we earn.

It’s like a pregnant wife thinking that carrying a child makes her more married.
The union came first.
The pregnancy doesn’t prove the relationship — it testifies to it.

Mary didn’t strive her way into bearing Christ.
She didn’t conceive by good behavior or hard work.
She simply received it.
The same is true for us.

This is the miracle of salvation:
Jesus didn’t just save you.
He implanted Himself in you.
And now He’s growing.

Not because you’re performing.
But because you said yes.
And that yes still changes everything.

Spiritual pregnancy is slow.

We want sudden breakthrough. Instant transformation.
Just like physical pregnancy, the outward signs of the inner transformation don’t show all at once.
They begin quietly.
Invisibly.

As we grow, it can mean feeling stretched.
Exhausted.
Thrown off our rhythms.
Tested at every corner as we struggle to adjust to our new life.

But eventually… it shows.

This is what it means to carry Christ:
Not striving to earn His image, but stewarding what’s already inside us.
Not performing to become more holy, but letting His holiness make us more whole.

Pregnancy doesn’t demand perfection.
It demands trust.
And trust is never carried alone.

You’re not just saved.
You’re not just waiting to meet God someday.
You’re carrying Him now.

And one day — maybe today, maybe tomorrow —
He’s going to come out.
In a conversation.
In an act of mercy.
In a moment of forgiveness.
In the grace you extend, the courage you find, and the love you give when it costs you something.

That’s when the world gets to meet Him.
Not because you wore a specific Christian label.
But because you said “yes” to carrying His glory.

Until next time,
Addison