Some points in this account aren't factual - simply imagined. I want to go back and see what Mary saw, feel what she felt. Go back with me - use your imagination.
There she was. Barely 14 years old...sweeping the kitchen before using her delicate hands to make another loaf of bread. Her mother was at the creek doing the laundry, so the house was quiet. Her mind thought of Joseph. A man she barely knew. He seemed kind and hardworking. He would be a good husband, although the thought of being married made her heart skip a beat. Sometimes she was eager. Sometimes she was scared. Her mind was drifting, her hands busy, when the angel arrived...
...9 months later those same hands stroked the face of her newborn little boy. The past nine months had been hard. She had feared rejection, faced shame and scorning. Her body had changed so much...and so had her heart. She had fallen in love - with God, with Joseph, and with Jesus. And so many times she had laid in bed, wondering "Why me?". She didn't feel ready. She didn't feel good enough. But she felt at peace. Now she stared up at the night sky, one star shining brighter than the rest. The night was quiet - the sounds of the city in the distance.
She looked down into the face of her Son - memorizing all of his features. She thought her heart would break with joy at every coo, every yawn, every time his little fingers grabbed her thumb. She wrapped his blanket tighter around him - hoping to cut the chill in the air. He had been born in a manger...with all of the animals watching. Would he grow up with a soft spot for animals? Would he love nature? What would his interests be, his talents? She leaned down and brushed her lips against his forehead. Such soft skin. Such a little guy. With his entire life ahead of him.
She looked down into the face of God. She could feel her Father surrounding her, watching her. Was He pleased? Could He see ahead to every time she would fail Him? Her little baby - the helpless fellow who had stolen her heart - was the Son of God. What did that mean? Did Jesus understand, laying in her arms, who He was? Could He remember that He was the one who created her? That He was the one who shaped the world? Did her baby Jesus know what His life would hold?
She glanced over at Joseph. There was no way he could be comfortable, leaning against the wall - his robe acting as his only cushioning. He had been so faithful to her - a true man of God. He had every right to have left her. But he had believed her, stood by her. What a huge responsibility - being the step-father to God's Son. Jesus cooed, and Mary turned her attention back to Him. She took it all in - here in this stable, with a cow eating nearby and her husband's snoring offering comfort, she was terrified and excited, not because she held the Son of God, but because she held her newborn baby Jesus.
...Ten years later, Mary wiped the sweat from her brow. Her worn hands took the bread out of the oven, and she leaned against the counter for a moment. The boys were outside with their dad. They loved helping him build things, and he was so good with them. Today's project was a table for an elderly neighbor. And what a talented carpenter Joseph was! A fine husband too. Just thinking about him brought a slight smile to her lips. She watched out the door. All of her boys were good helpers - but Jesus, her oldest, had a natural gift.
Her mind played back all of the times that her other children had complained that she was playing favorites. Jesus never got in trouble. Jesus never did anything wrong. Every day she wondered why God chose her of all people. And if she was disappointing Him. Even though he was only ten, just a few years away from being a man, Mary could tell Jesus was growing into His earthly mission as the Son of God. So different than the baby that seemed to be too small to be the Messiah. She knew that the years would fly by - but she had no idea what that would mean. Raising a perfect Son wasn't as easy as one would think...and losing a perfect Son wouldn't be easy either...
Time passed quickly. Mary's wrinkled hands shielded her face, wiping the tears from her eyes. The sound of the whip made her wince in pain. He had done nothing wrong. How could they beat her little boy? She would have taken His place - but she knew He was taking hers. And the place of all of humanity. That's what He was sent for. That's why she had held him in her arms over 30 years ago. He had been born to die. But she couldn't bare to watch Him killed; she turned her face away again - her body shaking as she wept.
Once again she pondered it all. His birth. His life. His mission. She hadn't been good enough, yet God had chosen her. She looked up at the cross, at her beautiful Son. The Son who had cooed under the stars. The Son who had worked so hard to help his dad. Her Son who had been so patient with His siblings. This was the same Son that had helped her bake fish and knead bread.
She wouldn't question God, but she wanted too. Why put her through this? Why allow their Son, her Jesus, to die? She knew it had to be, but she didn't understand it.
Her heart broke over the next three days. Her perfect Son was gone. But, in His last moments, He had thought of her. It was just like Jesus to make sure she was taken care of. And John was a good man. A good friend of Jesus. Someone she loved like a son. And now he would help take care of her.
...The noise confused her. Jesus' friends - the ones she had cooked for so many times - sounded happy. Her mind flashed back to three days before, and she tried to grasp what they could possibly be happy about. Wait. Three days. Didn't the scriptures say...? No, it couldn't be.
She looked up from her basket of laundry and saw Him. Tall. Strong. Her beautiful little boy. The Son of God. Her Savior and Redeemer.
"Jesus, is that you?" She rushed into the arms of her Son. She rushed into the arms of her Savior.
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