Mary, I’ve been wondering.
Before word reached you about Jesus being alive, your Jesus, but never just yours, had you stopped weeping and started expecting good to happen, again? Did shards of words, dug up from ancient prophecies and psalms, dapple your sleep with hope?
Then, when you saw him, you had to have seen him early on, were you on your knees, wiping up some mess when you noticed two sandaled feet? I can imagine you tenderly touching, then kissing those puncture wounds on his feet. Did it seem, as it has for me with my children, only yesterday when you gave birth, cradled and counted tiny toes?
Tough and tender Jesus, your Jesus, but also the world’s Savior and yours, must’ve lifted you quickly and gently to your feet , cupping your face with nail-scarred hands, kissing the top of your head, whispering, “Mama.” Words from lips who’d cried but a few days ago, “It is finished!” And it was but not how most thought.
You, the Mother of Jesus, knew him as only a mother knows her child. You’d kissed his scraped knees as he toddled about, learning to walk. Later you’d heard he’d walked on water. Did you shake you head, smiling as you added another first in his no-longer- baby book.
How’d you feel when Jesus transformed jugs of water into the best wine? Every now and then, we moms love it when we get to show off our kids and what they can do. Was this when you knew he was more than your son or had you never stopped believing since Gabriel’s words came to you, and months later, after a parade of unlikely visitors showed up to see the baby born in Bethlehem’s One Star stable?
Then there was the fact, wherever Jesus went, something out of the ordinary happened: hungry fed, sick healed, blind eyes and deaf ears opened. Best of all, sins forgiven and folks getting another chance at real life.
Mary, what was his first word?
Was it, “Mama?”
Some die peacefully in their sleep. Not so, your Son. Cruel, agonizing, heart wrenching death, sipping just enough breath for a few last words to his Father, for it was into his Papa’s hands he placed his obedient spirit.
So maybe, somehow, you did sleep Friday and Saturday nights, Mary, waking now and then, hope buzzing inside like some sacred alarm clock. Mothers sense things others miss.
And now you know, Mary.
You weren’t crazy to believe, to hope, to sing in the darkest of times.
“My Soul praises the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior…for the Mighty One has done great things for me–holy is his name.” (Luke 1:46-49 NIV)
Happy Mother’s Day.
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