In a social media, capture-everything-for-Instagram, stage-your-life culture, a boy cannot simply ask girl to prom. He must make a spectacular “promposal." That means that a marriage proposal can no longer simply be a man with a ring on bended knee. No. Engagements must be strategically styled, planned and coordinated with a professional photographer. Then, if every creative way to pop a surprise hasn’t been exhausted, there remains the pregnancy announcement. It’s a creatively-taxing time to be alive. I’d be lying, though, if I said I don’t watch all of your engagement and baby announcement videos. In spite of myself, I love them because they are such happy things to celebrate, and celebration is a good thing.

Of all the types of announcements, pregnancy announcements are my favorite. I think it’s because, more than any tangible thing or human experience, pregnancy is the best illustration of hope. When my husband and I learned we were expecting our first child, we were in shock. That’s not unusual, but having been married only four months, we were babies having a baby, so we were a special kind of shocked. Other than being unusually tired and craving Mrs. Baird’s cherry pies, I couldn’t discern any outward signal that something wonderful was coming. Knowing I was pregnant and feeling the pregnancy were two different things. In the same way, it can sometimes feel like hope requires us to confidently expect future glory but offers little evidence to support its claims.

Evidence does not remain absent for long, though.

As with hope, an infant in his mother’s womb grows. In time, she feels his faint flutters. Initially, those flutters are hard to discern. Was it a muscle twitch? Was it gas? Was it just my imagination tricking me to think I felt what I want to feel? Finally, though, the sensation is unmistakable. A mother who experiences the elation of feeling her baby squirm will spend hours lying flat, pressing her husband’s hand to her stomach asking, “Did you feel that? That one? What about that one??” One who is fully convinced of hope wants others to experience it as well. And when he finally feels it, his hope is solidified, too.

Like a pregnancy, hope has a due date.
Have you ever thought about that? Hope won’t last forever because hope is pinned on an outcome, and once that good thing is birthed, hope is no longer necessary. We aren’t hoping for the incarnation of the Messiah anymore. That has happened. That hope has been fulfilled. As Paul says, “Who hopes for what he sees?” We are, however, confidently expecting His return. For His second advent, hope remains.

In another way, pregnancy illustrates this: the announcement of good news is the vehicle for hope. Confirmation of a pregnancy sends everyone scurrying to make ready for the coming joy. Paint some walls, buy a crib, pack a go bag for the hospital, maybe choose a name for the baby, definitely choose names for the grandparents. Think about that. An announcement of a pregnancy initiates expectant preparation— everyone starts to behave as if the infant’s arrival is certain. It’s not madness to behave this way. Madness would be failing to prepare at all. Hope is a pregnancy, and we are wise to make ready.

Hope was conceived at a surprising time. Eve tasted the fruit, gave it to Adam, and he ate it, too. Their eyes were opened to their own shame. They created a debt they couldn’t pay. They became slaves who could not redeem themselves. In their newly realized nakedness, Adam and Eve were ignorant of hope. Their only confident expectation was despair.

Yet, the curse pronounced on the seducing serpent was the gospel preached to mankind.

The news was delivered: A baby was on the way. Hope came alive!

Read: Genesis 3:15; Luke 1:26-38

Pray: God, the gospel you preached to Eve conceived hope in the wombs of Sarah, Leah, Ruth, and Rahab. Expectancy birthed expectancy until the Deliverer was finally delivered. Thank you that the gospel still does the work of imparting hope to hearts that would otherwise be barren.