A Mother's Broken Heart...

Kate and I have been talking about Easter and the meaning of our celebration as Christians. It's so hard to know how to explain such an awful death and the reason for it to a 3 year old. We're keeping it pretty simple and she seems to get it to a certain extent. Today we read, from her Bible story book, the story of the crucifixion and resurrection. She does not like how "rude those guys were to Jesus". =) She also has a book called Little Girls Bible Storybook for Mothers & Daughters by Carolyn Larsen that has stories and life lessons based on scripture. I opened the one called "A Mother's Broken Heart" based on John 19:1-30 and could barely get through it. As a mother, I can't help but feel emotion and empathy toward Jesus' mother. And anytime I read the story of His death and the sacrifice He made for us I am so humbled and grateful. While it is obviously fiction based on real life and I'm not sure how accurate this assumption of what it must have been like for Mary on the day Jesus died is, I thought I'd share this story. If nothing else, this is a reminder of the pain and true sacrifice our Lord made when He sent His son to die such an agonizing death. We will never fathom the depth God's love for us as His children. Since I've had children of my own am I much more able to truly appreciate His love for me and I am overwhelmingly thankful.

"A Mother's Broken Heart"

Sometimes late at night Mary would look at the twinkling stars and recall when the shepherds and wise men had come to worship her child. She remembered old Simeon and Anna in the temple saying her baby was the Savior of the world...the Messiah. Mary knew the teachings about the Messiah. But when people said those things about Jesus, she tucked them away deep in her heart, and wondered what they all meant.
Today, she knew what they meant...and her heart was breaking. With every ounce of her being, Mary wanted to run through the streets of Jerusalem shouting, "Don't hurt him. He's my son. God, do something- STOP THEM!" Yet deep in her heart, she knew that the events of this day could not be stopped. Mary stood in the crowd as Jesus struggled to carry the heavy wooden cross. The cross on which he would die.
Mary was swept along with the crowd to the hill called Golgotha. She slid to the back of the crowd when the soldiers threw Jesus to the ground and began pounding the heavy spikes through His hands and feet and into the wooden cross. With every clank of the hammer, Mary wanted to turn and run as far away from this horrible scene as possible, but she couldn't. He was her son, and she had to stay with Him.

When the cross was dropped into the ground, Mary looked up at Jesus. Blood was running down His face, mixed with the sweat of agonizing pain. She looked into his eyes, the same eyes she had played hide and seek with when He was a toddler, eyes that had laughingly teased her when He was a child, gentle eyes that even on this most horrible of days were filled with love for the sinful people who had come to watch Him die.
Mary's eyes were locked on Jesus, wishing she could send strength from her body to His. She knew the end was near when Jesus asked one of His friends to take care of her and she felt an arm slip around her shoulder.
When Jesus died, Mary fell to her knees, sobbing in agony. "My arms feel so empty, I ache to hold my son, to tell him that everything will be alright." Simeon's long ago words made sense now. Her soul was pierced by the pain of this moment.