She snuck through the chilly night air unable to find rest for her tired weary body. They had been on the move for days, moving from town to town and finally, they were nearing their destination. It was a small village nestled in the middle of nowhere.
She had dreamed of having a child. Every little girl did. But the fanciful dreaming that had been a constant companion of her youth had been replaced with the constant tension and stress of running, moving and eluding those who now sought her life and the life of her child. She was soon to be a mother. Her day was coming. Soon.
They pulled into the small cold little town with all of their possessions packed in a small bag. She was exhausted and ready for a quite night of rest. She was due any time. They checked all the local hotels, hostels, guesthouses, and B&B’s with no luck. Finally, desperate for anything they could find, they were approached by a poor farmer who, after hearing that there were guests in town late at night, offered them a soft place in his barn where it was warm and dry amongst his animals. There was nothing else and so, grateful for at least a roof over her head and a warm place to lay down, she accepted his generosity and walked towards the barn.
During the night, her water broke and she went into labor. Her day of motherhood had arrived. That night, the unwed mother gave birth to a healthy baby boy and as his cries pierced the night, she realized, He was perfect.
She raised Him with the perfect mothers love and was amazed as He grew and matured right before her eyes. He was so special and He stood out from the crowd. He was sharp as a tack, quick as a whip and as potent as a bolt of lightning. She love Him so.
But thirty-some years later, she watched as her son was put on trial, beaten and executed. She had watched as the crowds first cried out to him, proclaiming Him as a hero, and within a week, they almost all turned on Him and cried out for the judge to execute Him. The judge granted the crowds request and He was scheduled for execution. He was dragged by soldiers out into the streets where he was beaten repeatedly. His back became a bloody canvas of deep slashes, jagged cuts and horrific wounds that defied belief even when seen. He was dragged to His waiting implement of death and was forced to hoist its massive weight onto His bleeding shoulders and shuffle along as the crowds spat on Him, threw debris at Him cursed Him and the mother who bore Him so many years ago.
She frantically moved along the route, tears streaming down her face as she tried to catch a glimpse of Him through the crowd. She tried jumping to see over them but it was nearly impossible. Every now and then she could see the thick beam He was carrying and His head pushed down and to the side by it’s sheer weight. The thorns from the crown they had made for him was now so deeply embedded in His scull that it’s points had deep grooves punctured and torn through His scalp and pieces of His flesh hung loosely. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Her Son.
Finally, He was nailed to the cross and hoisted high so all could see. She knelt and wept alone before her dying son. She knew that this day would come. This was the life He was given to live. It was the death He was given to die. But the pain was so real, so vivid, so electric, so brutal. She didn’t understand. Why did He have to die? Why was she so helpless? She was a mother without hope. She believed in Her Son but had nothing left but faith. She loved Him more than anyone who has ever lived. And here He was,…dying.
“It Is Finished.” And so,…….. it ended.
He was dead.
A mothers Love. It was a love for her Son that was given to her with a promise. He is the Hope that has been given to the world but it was her Son. Surely she loved Him more than all of us. But in order that we might be reunited with our Heavenly Father, her pain at seeing her Son die, would be our hope; our joy; our life. You see, if the story ended there, there would be no hope, no joy and no life. What He was sent to do was done. His death paid the price we couldn’t pay. But He proved what He had done by continuing the story for us, three days later.
Imagine her joy when after those three days, she learns that her Son is ALIVE! Death had no hold on Him.
We have victory over death because of Him. And so, on this Mothers Day, take a few minutes to imagine the happiness of a new mother giving birth, the mind numbing terror the mother of our Savior must have went through watching His execution, and then try to imagine how joyful she must have been knowing that He is Risen. He is Risen Indeed!
To all our Mothers, Happy Mothers Day. You have given us life and we are so thankful.
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