I plan on spending a lot of quiet time this week. As I approach Easter and all it means, I prepare for the hustle of a hodge podge mix of family and friends to arrive on my doorstep for food, love and laughter. The kids will do their annual egg hunt- regardless of the weather, and we will be cleaning up from it for days.
In building for the busy weekend, I often think of Mary, and all she had to endure. From the first moment the Angel of the Lord presented himself to her, right up until she saw her son, risen from the grave.
That is the part of this incredible true story that I cannot get my head wrapped around. Jesus rising on the third day is a given for me- I have always believed it, always turned to it and always appreciated it. But Mary. She had to endure so much as his mother, so much that not even his human father could bear for her.
As moms, we protect our children from as much as we possibly can. We fight for their rights, we protect them from the elements, other people, and sometimes themselves. We check on them in the night, making sure they are breathing and comfortable and warm. We drive past the school, making sure their car has been parked in its spot, slipping them gas money and fuzzy dice. We hold their hand in grief and sorrow at broken hearts and relationships. We watch them become parents, and grandparents, and we wonder where did the time go?
Mary watched her son perform miracles, always knowing that one day he would leave her. Not understanding how and maybe wrestling with the why, but always knowing. Then to hear the crowd chant "Crucify Him", and watching them take him away. And right before he died, to hear him make sure she was taken care of, whoa.
I cannot imagine being Mary, arriving at the open tomb, knowing he was gone, then seeing him. The trauma of losing your child is more than one can bear, but then seeing him alive afterwards, what a shock. Then realizing who He really was. He was the Son of God. And He was the son of Mary. She had to stand in awe of Him, as he showed the hands and feet, and she knew it was Him. She must have been so joy filled, and yet so grief stricken. I am not sure how she even spoke to anyone. Her heart must have been so full.
This was her baby, whom she nursed, taught to walk, speak and love. He was a human for a short period of time, and He was a gift to her. She was worthy of such a gift, yet she probably did not realize how worthy until his resurrection. Oh to be entrusted with The Child of God. What an honor, and what pressure on her faith. Yet she didn't bend, was not sorrowful. She did not regret any of it, just basked in the light of his life, as she celebrated with the others, that Jesus was whole, and alive, and He was going to return for us all.