Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Red (10/01/09)
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TITLE: A Mother's Heart | Previous Challenge Entry
By Teresa Barton
10/06/09 -
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Someone beside me cries out, reflecting my own pain and grief. Yet I know that as long and tortuous as this has been for me, it is significantly worse for my son. He has suffered so and for what must be the millionth time I wonder why it has to be my son.
I raise my eyes to the heavens to try to find solace there and am reminded of the night of my son’s birth and the unusual circumstances surrounding it. All those people who came to see him, the ones that brought him gifts and honored him, where were they now in his greatest hour of need? Mostly I wonder where his friends are. They have scattered like chaff on the wind after the wheat has been grinded on the threshing floor. There are only a few of us here.
Again I hear someone cry out. I realize it’s my son and I yearn to go to him and comfort him, but I know I cannot, and my heart shatters into another million pieces. I never knew it was possible for someone’s heart to hurt so much and still be alive, but here I stand. No mother should ever have to see her son in such a condition. It is more than I can bear, but my son needs me, so I will suffer whatever I must for him because of my love for him.
The sky is darkening now and the wind is picking up, blowing dust high into the air as my son cries out again. His heart wrenching words bring me to my knees and I begin to pray fervently for him. That is all I can do. I cannot ease his pain. I cannot stop the red river flowing from his body. All I can do is stand here helplessly watching and praying.
My son’s voice breaks my reverie, he is giving care of me over to John and I shake my head. I am still praying for a miracle. That God would save my son, our son, from this gruesome, agonizing death. My son cries out one last time, “Abba, Father, into your hands I commence my spirit. It is finished,” breathing his last. Then chaos ensued. It feels as though the ground and sky both are shaking.
The ones that persecuted my son and put him on that cross who only a few hours ago were shouting, “Crucify him!”, were now running and crying out for God to save them.
Frantically the soldiers ran to the prisoners to speed up the process of the crucifixion, but when the soldier came to my son, he realized he was already gone so he took his spear and pierced his side to be certain. My son’s blood, mingled with water, flowed out of his side like a spring bursting forth from the ground.
From the moment the angel came and told me that I was blessed among all women and that I was to have God’s son, I knew my son would be special. He was foretold by prophets. The lamb to be slain for the forgiveness of sins. The one who would be pierced for our transgressions. Well, I saw them pierce his side, watched as they nailed him to the rough wood of the cross. I heard his cries of pain as the nails penetrated his skin.
My son’s body, broken and bruised and stained red with blood, now hung lifelessly on the despicable cross. He offered himself up, the final sacrifice for the forgiveness of sin. I hold onto his words though, words of hope. He told us he would rise again in three days. I have to believe it. Without hope for his resurrection, his death is in vain. But I Mary, mother of Jesus, now anxiously wait for Sunday and the chance to see my son alive again!
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Congratulations on the Highly Commended rating this entry was given.
I echo the sentiments of the others about how well you've portrayed Mary's side of the story. We don't get to hear too much about what it was like for Mary, so this story was a great thought provoker for all of us.
Congrats on being highly commended for this deserving entry.