The moment He took His first breath I became His mother. My life forever altered.
Overjoyed. This is my child. My baby boy.
Swaddled by cloths, though adorned with royal titles.
Wonderful. Counselor. Prince of Peace. Holy King. Emmanuel (God with us). The Ancient of Days.
Barely minutes old and seemingly fragile. But this baby embodied the fullness of the Godhead. Power demonstrated years later when He cast out evil spirits and raised the dead.
A newborn placed in my arms. As I gazed intently at Him, the goodness and greatness of God spilled out.
The God-bearer, Chosen as His Mother
I studied every feature.
His eyes. They would see into the hearts of men. I watched His mouth as He yawned and cried. Life-giving words would be spoken by Him. Words commanding even the winds and waves to obey.
I laid my hand on His chest. The rise and fall of breaths ladened with grace. A strong heartbeat surfaced. But the day came when His heart—broken and betrayed—offered forgiveness.
I wrapped my fingers around His tiny hands. The same hands grew in size. They caressed, comforted, extended healing, and restored sight. His hands stretched out to give hope, peace, and life—pierced on a wooden cross.
A mother always inspects feet. (Yes, five toes on each one.) His were beautiful. I’d felt them kicking inside me. His feet carried Him to speak to the masses. Walked on water. Perfume washed and anointed them.
A baby’s feet are precious. Stare-worthy. These feet will be pierced by nails.
I drew the Christ-child to my chest in a snuggled embrace. Yet, His embrace offers more warmth and security than any earthly mother could ever bestow.
How ironic I nursed Him to sustain physical life, whereas He is the bread of life.
The Mother of Jesus
I delighted in watching Him grow from childhood to an adult. There was no one like Him. His smile. His voice. His presence. His spirit. He possessed great compassion, humility, love, and tenderness.
It wasn’t always easy being His mother. I couldn’t fully understand His life—a mother who longed to grasp her son’s love and mission. It was out of my emotional reach.
My heart and soul mangled, I sobbed at the foot of the cross. “Why, son? What greater purpose could mend this mother’s broken heart?”
“. . . though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” Philippians 2:6-11 ESV
A baby placed in my arms at birth, then laid in a manger (a mere feeding trough for animals). A God-man placed on a cross for death (nothing mere about the cross).
Raised to life, He became the High Priest and took His place seated at the right hand of the heavenly Father.
There’s a place in your heart for the Savior.
A place for His first breath of grace. Your life forever altered.
© 2016 by Karen Friday, All rights reserved
*Featured Image is my daughter and grandson, photography by Kristy Vest. kristyvestphotography.com
*Other images courtesy of Pixabay.com
May 5, 2016 at 9:42 am | Uncategorized