I know it isn’t Christmas, Easter, nor any other “religious” holiday per se’, but around Easter there was a picture of Mary holding Jesus as a baby and then her holding him after his crucification. (I “For the love of Mary” ?cannot find that pic.?♀️) During that time, I just stared at that picture. It took me back to the moment that I held our babies for the first time in my arms. The way my heart filled with pure joy and happiness. The way my life changed. The overwhelming amount of love that I felt for this little baby that I had just met was amazing.
After reminiscing about becoming a mother, my eyes would slide over the right side of the picture and see a mother holding her grown child. Mary holding a crucified Jesus- ? a wounded Jesus- wearing a thron crown. But more than that, she was holding her son. Her son who was broken. Her son who had chunks of hide missing from his body. Her son who was drenched by his own blood. A dead son- her dead son she held in her hands.
I shuttered at the thought of what Mary must’ve been feeling at that very moment.
As a mother, from the very moment that I knew there was life in my womb, my job has been to protect them. I believe most mothers feel this way. Although, I do joke that most women are born with a certain amount of a “mommy gene”. Some are stronger than others. And some are lacking their “mommy gene!?♀️” But to me that meant, if I had to give my life for theirs, then that was and is the cost I am willing to pay. To see my girls hurt physically, mentally, or emotionally is pure torture to me. I’d rather lay in the middle of the street and be ran over by a Mack truck than to watch them ever have to hurt.
But then here’s Mary- having to endure such torture that I know hurt her more than it could ever have hurt Jesus. We all know the saying that our parents told us as after they spanked us, “I know you don’t understand, but this hurts me more than it does you.” And we thought “What?!?” But then we became parents ourselves. We have been pushed to punishing/spanking our own kids and there we are in the bathroom or somewhere else secluded crying for much longer than our children ever did/does.
As a mother, there are many times that I say, either to myself or out loud to my girls, “Thank you, Jesus for my babies!” I know that “my” babies aren’t actually mine. They are God’s and He has lent them to me to raise, love, teach, cherish, and demonstrate how to follow Christ.
If it wasn’t for His love and dying on the cross for me, I may never have been blessed enough to be privileged to carry the title of “mother”. Such a precious title. Such a protective title. Such an amazing title.
As it is Mother’s Day weekend, I think we should all think of Mary. Praise her for what she endured at the cross that day. And as this time and age, when we start to forget as to how desperately we need Jesus and His love, remember what He did for us all those many years ago. But instead of putting yourself in His place. Put your child’s name in his place.
_________ was nailed to a cross.
_________ was mocked and ridiculed.
_________ was beaten, and I watched the flesh rip from his/her small frame.
_________ was dripping blood and there was nothing I could do.
__________ was dead, and I held them in arms after they were finished torturing them.
If your “mommy gene” is anywhere as strong as mine, that killed you just to read those sentences. You’re actually a little nauseated to your stomach too. Yep, I’m right there with you. ?
So for the love of Mary, love your babies. Protect your babies. Teach them to follow Christ before the world swallows them up. Cherish them.
Happy Mother’s Day to all of you Mother’s out there, but an extra special Happy Mother’s Day to the one who endured unimaginable pain- far worse than labor- so that the rest of us could have a Mother’s Day to enjoy.
