A Cry of Forsakenness…

I watched in terror as they bound his hands and led him like a lamb to the slaughter

Down the street, he turned and looked at me, I hit my knees and cried to God, “NO, FATHER!!!”

In that moment while time stood still, my mind rushed back to when he was a boy…

The sunshine kissing his soft brown curls as he bent over his hand carved toy.

Oh the memories that flooded in, racing down the paths of my soul.

Weaving and winding, finding each detail, making each story whole.

I can hear his silver laugh as he splashed through the brook and climbed his favorite tree

Reaching the top then waving excitedly yelling, “Mama, mama, look at me!!”

I can see his bright eyes looking into mine as he held up a flower in his tiny hand

Happy little feet tripping through the grass waiting for a butterfly to land.

I can feel his little arms around my neck as he wrapped them tighter and tighter

His cheek on mine, together we’d sing and watch the bread baking on the fire

Closing my eyes I can smell his brown hair, the scent of fresh air and cedar wood.

Oh to take him back, back to the time and relive those precious days of his childhood!

Can I kiss him one more time, can I hold him for just a moment? My heart is breaking in two!

“Don’t take him, please, I love him so much! I don’t want to let him die for you!”

They took him, they tried him, they whipped him, a crown of thorns they placed on his head.

The curls I had wrapped round my finger when he was a child were matted, tangled and red.

Blood poured from his body, my arms reached to hold him, my hand touched his face.

As I whispered “I love you” I felt a soldier grab my arm and scream, “You, get back in your place!”

I followed the throng to Golgotha, I shuddered in horror knowing what was to come.

Sobbing from a distance I watched them, hammer in hand, drive nails deep into my son.

Each fall of the hammer stabbed my heart, I couldn’t bear to see the pain in his eyes.

He was silent as they yelled and they mocked, spewing out hatred and lies.

After hours of agony and a cry of forsakenness, my child gave up the ghost.

Only then was the truth and magnificence of God’s Son realized by all the host.

Through the darkness, the earthquake, the tearing of the veil, among the multitude yet I felt so alone.

I wept and mourned the death of my son, I wanted to get him down, I wanted to take him home.

My tears mixed with his precious blood as I kissed his nail wounded feet.

As darkness fell, though it shattered me to leave, I slowly made my retreat.

The days following found me by my window staring at the brook, the hills, his tree.

His laugh echoed in the silence, everywhere I looked he was looking back at me.

I was brought to my senses by voices in the distance, coming closer, closer to me.

Hope stirred in my heart as I caught “Jesus is alive” Oh, my God, can it be???

My legs couldn’t carry me fast enough, I fled down the road to his tomb.

All that was left were his blood stained garments, the rest was an empty room!

Joy filled laughter escaped my lips as tears of relief spilled from my eyes,

My son was alive, the grave could not hold him! Hosanna, HOSANNA ON HIGH!!!

Hosanna, my son is alive!!!

Matthew chapters 27 and 28.