Mary. She has always intrigued me for some reason. I think of her as a young girl to whom Gabriel appeared, disconcerted, but not cowering. I see her riding a donkey, her belly bulging, but her body also aching, with all the inevitable changes of pregnancy and impending birth. Resilient. Determined. Confident and calm. I take issue with the words ascribed her in a negative light. Meek, yes, but not afraid. Always crying it seems. Though she was mild I cannot fathom her caving to fear. She walked upright in her faith in Holy God. The world saw sorrow, but within her was a fierce courage born of faith and love. She did not collapse; she endured.

So why do they depict her always at the cross with folks holding her up and helping her along? God knew who He was choosing when He made her the mother of our Savior. So I wrote this as I processed this week and wanted to share it with you.

I am struggling with every ounce of my being. I see you there in agony, suffering – my innocent child.

How can people be so cruel? Haven’t they realized you’re not some random guy who appeared on the scene to stir trouble? You’ve done nothing but great things for them. Even now I only see the purest love for them through the pain. You feel sorry for them, while I wish the ground would swallow them whole!

Many of them know me. They know our family – your brothers and sisters. Yet they’re joining in the cry of the masses, demanding you save yourself – prove to them you’re who I believe they know you are.

I remember waiting for that first sign of life what seems like an eternity ago in Bethlehem. I was so young. You were born and we watched expectantly, only for an instant, for that first gasp and piercing cry. Now I hold my breath with you, struggling with each ragged draw of oxygen you take. Why is death taking so long?

Is it wrong to wish it along? I want you released from this torture, but I know as surely as I knew you had to face the cross that there’s much more once your body has grown cold. This is about so much more than a pretend trial with false accusations and fabricated witnesses. Than brutal beatings and a sickening crucifixion.

As you draw your last, the fight will only just begin. Many may identify with physical pain, with the blood dripping from your side. But none of us can fathom descending into purgatory. It will not be a struggle for you. You’ll simply take the keys to Satan’s so-called kingdom and you’ll be back. No one else understands it, and I can’t say I understand, but I believe. You’ll be back. But because of what You’ve done those of us who hold you dear won’t ever even glimpse into hell. Ever. Because you are there on the cross.

For thirty-three years I’ve had Gabriel’s words echoing in my head, “Greetings, favored woman!” Favored. The years have flown and I have felt such pride and joy, time and time again. At that beautiful wedding in Canna. When you fed us all with that sweet young man’s lunch. Every time someone said, “You must be so proud,” I admit, I was!

But this. This does not feel like favor. I am selfish and I want it all to end. I want you to do the Father’s work, but should I have to watch my son, my boy, be sacrificed for them? I don’t recognize myself. I am not an angry person. I’ve learned to wait patiently for you and have faith in the process.

That’s it, isn’t’ it? This is part of the process. There cannot be reconciliation without this exorbitant offering of the perfect Lamb of God.

I will miss You, you know. Oh I know You’ll always be the quiet voice inside reminding me not to be fearful. I sense it even now. Even as you say, “It is finished,” I know the worst is behind You. Again, I don’t understand it all, especially the timing, but I will continue to have faith in the process. And even as I raise my eyes to look at You there, I know You are gone. My brave, kind, fearless boy. You will always be my baby, even as I know You will forever belong to everyone who claims You as Savior and LORD.

Highly favored. Father, it has been my delightful surprise, every single morning, to wake knowing this beautiful man called me Mother. It’s honestly too much. Let me be strong now for Him. Let me lead by example even as I hear the murmurings from the others, plotting and planning how to proceed because “You’re gone.” I will be quiet and know that You are God. You are His Father. And Your love designed this plan in the first place. You’ve never been unfaithful to me and You’re not about to begin. Thanks be to God for this most excellent gift. I know You can’t wait to say, “Welcome home, Son. Welcome home.”