I will never
forget our first night in the hospital after my son, Shepherd, was born. The
room was quiet and dark, everyone else had come and gone, and only his father
remained sleeping soundly next to me. My body was flushed with adrenaline, and
for the life of me, I couldn’t have drifted to sleep if I tried. It was
magical. I could not stop looking at him, holding him, feeding him, adoring
him, and holding my breath in sheer amazement that he was alive, and well, and
here. He was ours. He was my very own, real live, baby.
Shepherd’s birth
was preceded by three unexplained miscarriages. His birth was followed by two
more unexplained miscarriages, and then we received the gift of another live
birth: our son, Stone. Stone’s birth has been followed by two additional and
also unexplained miscarriages.
Life is strange
this way. I have noticed, the older I become, the more aware I am of so many
agonizingly difficult struggles we encounter: many things seem to happen with
no rhythm or reason, and are often accompanied by great pain and loss.
Our most recent
miscarriage occurred this week, the week before Easter. I have to admit, my
first thoughts were: I cannot believe this is happening right before Easter!
This is going to ruin everything. No more cute family picture, because now I am
overweight, and with no good reason to be overweight! No more happy, sunny, fun
holiday plans, because nothing feels happy, sunny, or fun anymore. And finally,
how I am going to pull it together for the children I have, today, in my home?
Which I suppose
is why I find myself thinking of Mary, the mother of Jesus, who walked through
this week, just like me, over 2,000 years ago. I find myself thinking of the
stories woven throughout scripture that reveal the scared moments between a
mother, her child, and her loss. I find myself envisioning the mother’s journey
in this grand Easter story. How she journeyed with her child as he suffered
relational rejection from those nearest him, endured physical torture from
those in earthly power, and died in seemingly hopeless defeat. How did she
survive? How can I?
Mary’s Story:
Although Mary’s
pregnancy did not begin within the cultural norms (Matt. 1:18-25), I imagine
the beginning for her, much like any mother, was magical and frozen forever in
her memory (Luke 2:19). Angels appearing and foretelling a great and wonderful destiny
(Luke 1:26-38), family confirming and exclaiming with joy (Luke 1:39-45),
strangers appearing miraculously and speaking aloud what had only been known to
her privately (Luke 2:8-20, 25-33).
But as her son
grew, I am also certain Mary experienced the typical, but certain realizations
of motherhood…
v
Her child’s purpose would force her to move into
foreign and unknown destinations (Matt. 2:13-15).
v
Her child’s purpose would push her past the
known limits of comfortable and comprehendible (Luke 2:43-50).
v
Her child’s purpose was apart of a greater story,
as was her own (Matt. 1:22-23).
v
Her child’s purpose would require Him to prioritize
His purpose over her and her desires (Luke 8:19-21).
v
Her child’s purpose would cause Him to suffer
and her to suffer as well (Luke 2:34-35).
v
Her child’s purpose was NOT her own (Luke 1:31-38).
No matter how
the story unfolded, the word given to Mary, was as true on her best day as on her
worst: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb
(Luke 1:42). The Lord is with you… Do not be afraid, for you have found favor
with God (Luke 1:28-30).”
I can only
imagine, as Jesus hung to the cross, naked and dying, that something must have
crossed Mary’s mind concerning the first words her mother’s heart had received from
God. I wonder if she questioned herself: did I really hear from God? Maybe I
did something wrong? Maybe I made this whole thing up? And yet, she must have
also remembered clearly the words, “He will be great and will be called the Son
of the Most High. And the Lord God will give to him the throne of his father
David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and his kingdom will
have no end (Luke 1:32).”
“No end…” And
yet he hung, dying! How could this agony and disgrace be the fulfillment of
what she had been promised?
As a mother, I
am not in the least bit surprised that one of the last remaining faces present throughout
Jesus’s suffering was hers (John 19:25). Where else would she have been? But
also, how did she remain? I wonder if the same power that produced His human
form within her own was also the same force that enabled her to walk with Him and
remain present throughout his unthinkable suffering. “The Holy Spirit will come
upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the
child to be born will be called holy – the Son of God (Luke 1:35).”
When her son
looked into her eyes one last time, before taking his final breath, and said,
“Woman, behold your son (referring to John).” And to John, “Behold your mother
(John 19:25-27).” Was she able to comprehend, in her shock and grief, what He
was saying? Did she resent the offering of another, as a pitiful replacement to
her beloved son, or did she receive him as provision, a gift, in the midst of
her pain and loss?
And when the
tomb was found empty, did she grieve, as a mother would, that her son was gone from
this life and the grave, leaving a void as empty as the grave itself? Or did she
lift her eyes automatically, with a renewed sense of light and hope, as she
remembered the treasured promises she had stored in her heart long ago (Luke
2:19)? Somehow, I imagine, it was a mixture of both. Her human heart aching
with the loss only a mother can know, but her spiritual faith knowing, just
like the emptied wine glasses of years gone by (John 2:1-11), empty is never
really empty with Jesus.
What I am learning from Mary’s journey as I move toward Easter.
1.
How my story
or my children’s stories begin, continue, or end does not dictate my standing
with God or His approval of me.
2.
I am just as
“blessed” in human abundance and joy, as I am in heart-breaking defeat and life-shattering
loss.
3.
My
children’s purposes are not my own.
4.
I can
receive provision from God, in the midst of suffering and loss, IF I remain
present in pain and am willing to accept something different and new.
5.
My
womb is empty, but so is the tomb. With Jesus as the Son of God, empty is NEVER
final.
What I am listening to as I journey.
