YHWH, all those years ago, You sent an angel to a little girl – a child not quite woman. You said that among women I was blessed. I had no idea just how blessed – not until you asked me to do the hardest thing. To carry a child before I was married, to ask my family – to ask Joseph – to accept such a Truth. To go on a journey in the final days of pregnancy, to barely make it to a rude cave, to give birth among animals and dirt and darkness. Yet, it was there, in those hard, dark, dirt-filled moments that I fully recognized the light of blessing.
Yes, I was truly blessed.
I was blessed to hold that baby boy in the moon and starlight. To kiss that pink, small face. To smell the sweetest of smells – a newborn baby! I kissed His head, His brow, His sleeping eyes, His little nose, His still mouth, His reaching hands, His chubby feet. And now, now, Lord, I have watched as the pink face has turned a dark crimson…blood coursing down that sweet face! They have pierced His once smooth head and brow with the sharp points of thorns. The mouth that I have kissed and laughed with is now wrenching and drawn tight to bear the pain. Those hands that reached for me and men and women and children are now stretched out and nailed to a wretched piece of wood. Those feet that I watched take first steps and watched get dirty as He served and loved many, are now crossed and nailed through.
Simeon said my very soul would be pierced, but this…this Lord, this is too much! How can I still be called blessed?
They have spat their foul words and their foul saliva in His tattered face. They have stripped Him, beaten Him, and ripped His flesh…how can I bear to see more? God give me strength! How do I look upon that face – the face of the Son I promised to care for; yet am powerless to defend?
I just want to run, like I did as a girl. I want to run and make it all stop! I want to run, run to Him…help Him…make all the pain go away! I want to help…why can’t I help, Father!? You have given me no means to make this right!
Over and over my Yeshi spoke of His last days; spoke of His death, yet I could not foresee. If he were to die, like Lazarus, maybe I could handle it, maybe I could bear the hope of His resurrection on my face, but Lord, how do I wear anything but grief and sorrow now? How can You ask any more of me?
Lord, as I cling to this hope that he will yet live, please give me strength to bear His death.
“1 I lift up my eyes to you,
to you who sit enthroned in heaven.
2 As the eyes of slaves look to the hand of their master,
as the eyes of a female slave look to the hand of her mistress,
so our eyes look to the Lord our God,
till he shows us his mercy.
3 Have mercy on us, Lord, have mercy on us,
for we have endured no end of contempt.
4 We have endured no end
of ridicule from the arrogant,
of contempt from the proud…
5 Those who sow with tears
will reap with songs of joy.
6 Those who go out weeping,
carrying seed to sow,
will return with songs of joy…
1 Out of the depths I cry to you, Lord;
2 Lord, hear my voice.
Let your ears be attentive
to my cry for mercy…
5 I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits,
and in his word I put my hope.
6 I wait for the Lord
more than watchmen wait for the morning,
more than watchmen wait for the morning.
7 Israel, put your hope in the Lord,
for with the Lord is unfailing love
and with him is full redemption.
8 He himself will redeem Israel
from all their sins…
28 You are my God, and I will praise you;
you are my God, and I will exalt you.
29 Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;
his love endures forever.
I must go! I need to be there! Help me to hide this anguish; yes, help me give Him this one last gift from His Mum…a heart and face full of hope!