MARY

She stood at the foot of the cross and gazed at the oozing wounds of her baby.

Those who with her saw a man, some a leader, some a prophet, but she saw a child.

She saw a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes. She saw the infant she rocked to bed night after night. She saw a little boys’ first faltering steps. She had loved him.

She had raised him as only a mother can. And now, she stands at Calvary’s hill, giving him up to his Father- the Father she has never seen.

What do you do when you outlive your child and bury the one you thought would bury you? Can you imagine standing by, hearing the clanging of steel against steel, the cheers and jeers of an angry crowd, the dull thud as the heavy timber drops home? Her arms are empty, her heart is aching, her mind is troubled as she watches him writhe in agony, but not make a single cry. He is both her child and Creator. He was the recipient of her milk and the giver of her life. But as she stands at the foot of the Cross, she does not see a king, she sees a child. She gives him back to his Father.

She is MARY, the mother of JESUS CHRIST. She had come to learn the art of losing something she thought she had owned. Her closest companions were her tears as she watched Him give His life away, one breath at a time.

She is any other woman, black, white, young, old, and when her son was crucified, He came to live in her heart — a place she thought would never be His HOME.