Never Really Mine
by Deborah Rampona Oliver He was never really mine, this child whose birth angels foretold. Though I cradled him in my womb for many months, labored, gritted, bore down until he was expelled, this child, my achievement, was someone else's from the start. There was never a burden so wonderful as the weight of him in my arms. The heaviness of that little body kept all of the loose ends in my soul from flapping about. My heart was happily tethered to him. His scent was a hint of heaven, like a breeze suggesting things to come. He smelled of sweet innocence and wood shavings, bright and clean. I would breathe in all that was good and true and real as I held his silken head beneath my chin. Joy would ignite in my chest expanding so that I thought my heart might burst from happiness. As I watched him grow from a boy into an awkward young man, I was reminded of who he really was. I tried SO HARD to forget. After all of those years, I thought that maybe God would let me keep him, my firstborn. Many times he would be missing and each time, after hours of frantic searching, we would find him in the temple. Although I wanted to warn him away, I knew that I could not. Though my heart denied it, some small piece of me knew that was his home. Scholars and priests were astounded and pleased at his understanding. I saw in them the gleam of greed as they angled to make him their protg. If he wasn't really mine, he certainly wasn't theirs either. That realization assuaged some small part of my feelings of loss. I even had to smile at these men, so unaware that they were unaware. And I, a poor woman of an obscure tribe could see what they could not. A young man grew into a man of no small influence. He began to wander, speak, heal. I felt him slipping from my grasp. My heart cried, "Not Yet! I need more time!" It took scrabbling through crowds of sweaty, dusty men just to catch a glimpse of him. I had to elbow my way to the front so I could hear the low, clear timbre of his voice. His voice was the song of my soul. Oh how the people loved him! Fickle, Fickle fools! He was no threat to you! He desired no wealth, no fame, no acclaim. Your robes may be white, but there is blood on your hands! As I stand here beneath him at the foot of this barbaric cross, I can see that he is very nearly gone. My entire life's purpose has been caring for him and here I am helpless. As his mother, I can offer no comfort, ease no pain. The flies surrounding him have greater power than I.. At least they can touch his beautiful face, the cheeks that I've kissed many thousands of times. I would give my very life to kiss him one last time, but I can't reach even the soles of his feet. As he breathes his last breath, It takes every last bit of my reserve to draw one more. It would be far easier to stop breathing with him. This is not how I thought it would end! My soul is torn; my heart is crushed! Where is God in all this? Why send an angel to herald his birth and then let my son, HIS son be murdered at the hands of greedy cowards? How can my greatest gift become my greatest source of grief? My heart, the heart of a mother, will forever expect him to stride through the door. I will forever see him in my dreams and long never to wake. As I stroll the market, I will remind myself to breath when I remember he isn't here to enjoy his favorite meals. I will strive to remember every contour of his face. I will search my memory straining to recall the sound of his voice. Others will whisper, there is Jesus' mother. Maybe they will believe that he was a traitor, but I will know the truth. I will hold my head high. My precious little boy was God's own son. By a miracle I conceived, by a miracle I was chosen to carry the Christ. Though I may grieve all the days of my life, I will find beauty in the sorrow. My son was never really mine alone. But I will see him again on the other side of eternity, and he will be the king in Heaven that I thought he would be here on earth. Deborah is a military wife and mother of two children. It is her goal to approach moral ambivalence armed with strong opinions rooted in scripture (lively debate encouraged) and with an open, kind heart. She desires to engage both seekers and believers alike that Christ may be glorified. Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com |
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