She stands at a distance. The sight before her pierces her heart as if thrust in by a javelin.
Her puffy eyes sting with tears, blurring her vision.
Deep sobs heave her chest as her heart pounds in agony.
The crowd jostles her, oblivious to her obvious pain, a pain so deep that no mother on earth will ever feel again.
What brings her to this gruesome sight? A mother’s love.
My son, she cries. Her name is Mary and her son is being crucified. Naked, exposed. Blood trickles down His face from the open wounds in His head when soldiers twisted a crown of thorns upon Him and out of every flesh-exposing lash He received earlier.
Each clang of the soldier’s hammer upon the metal spikes driven into her son’s body jars her whole being. She shakes with empathetic pain as they raise Him up and hang Him in place on the upright beam.
Memories rush through her mind of the child she once carried, of the One Who sat upon her lap and nestled against her. But another memory crowds those out; one she tried to lock away in a secret corner of her heart. Those prophetic words spoken to her after His birth, which now come back to haunt her, “And a sword will pierce your own soul, too.” (Luke 2:35 NIV)
And that moment finally arrived.
Now, greedy soldiers toss out dice to see who gets the bragging rights of owning the traditional garment she lovingly created for her son when he left home. The garment saturated with the perfumed oil of spikenard from the broken alabaster passion box.
She is exhausted from all that has happened to her precious Baby Jesus, the Son of God. Her body reacts to the dreadful stress causing her knees to buckle. But John, the disciple who had leaned upon this Divine Man so many times, stands close to Mary and shores her up.
Seeing His mother beside John, Jesus speaks in a weak whisper to her, “Dear woman, here is your son,” (John 19:26b NLT) as He nods to John. And to John, He says, “Here is your mother.” (John 19:27a NLT)
Moments later, all is over. It is finished, He sighs and gives up His last breath.
Mary wonders: what will it be like without Him, never again to embrace Him, to hear His infectious laugh, to see His ready smile?
Oh, what agony must have filled Mary’s mother-heart that day, probably never realizing the impact of that scene for the thousands of generations yet to come.
A mother’s heart…of love…broken. The greatest pain a mother will ever know, losing her child.
And the rest of the story?
Up from the grave He arose,
With a mighty triumph o’er His foes,
He arose a Victor from the dark domain,
And He lives forever, with His saints to reign.
He arose! He arose!
Hallelujah! Christ arose!
“Amazing LOVE how can it be, that You, my King, would die for me!”
May your heart live daily within the rest of the story.
By Lynn Mosher
Oftentimes, on a day when love is in the air, moms sometimes are so busy loving on others that they don’t necessarily ‘feel’ as loved as they are. So, here’s a reminder of just how much you are loved and a sweet little poem to reflect on all you do!
Do you remember what Valentine’s Day was like when you were a child? Handmade heart-shaped cards, Sweathearts conversation candies with phrases like, “Be Mine” and “LOVE” impressed on the front, and a hollow chocolate heart Momma placed on the dining room table that day.
