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  • Writer's pictureAimee Williams

Mary’s Son

Easter is fast approaching. At church we are reading passages about the days and hours leading up to Christ’s death and resurrection. This Sunday I was sitting in church with my son in my arms, holding him or nursing him. The pastor mentioned Mary at the cross watching her son‘s unwarranted execution. in his moments before dying, Jesus entrusted His mother to a dear friend for her safekeeping.

I thought about the nativity of Christ— Mary, a very young mother, tentatively nursing her baby for the first time. I thought about her teaching Him to talk, being there as He began to toddle about, later trying to keep up with his appetite when He was a teen. She was a mother and though Christ came with supernatural purpose and was, in fact, God, He was also “just” her son.

I looked at the baby in my arms, my son. He’s the joy I never believed could be yet here he was in the flesh. I thought how much my heart would shatter if I had to bury him, like poor Mary had to do for her son. I thought about my mother-in-law whose oldest son Chris died at 28, in the prime of life. I thought about the parents of stillborn babies who only had their children for the briefest of time before giving them back to the Lord. I thought of the mother’s who’ve watched a child brave cancer treatments only to see them fail to save their lives.

My eyes welled up. It was probably partly hormones but also simply my heart, aching for these mothers. I felt deep grief for them but also an immeasurable gratitude for my little boy. I prayed for his safety and health; for a long and happy life. I prayed for Samuel to know the God who would lay down His life for him. I’m so thankful for Mary’s little boy and her hard work in raising him. May I be willing to serve the Lord however He asks… and in this season, it is being wife and mama.

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