islandboy
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« Reply #1 on: December 11, 2009, 11:38:36 AM » |
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My baby son. How happy Joseph and I were when you were born that star-filled night in Bethlehem. You were such a tiny bundle of joy for both of us. As the angels heralded your birth, we knew that you were someone special. My pain is almost unbearable, watching the soldiers mock you, as they dress you in a scarlet robe and press a crown of thorns upon your brow. Where now, my son, are your faithful followers--even Peter? Oh, I have been pushed down by the rushing mob and cannot even get a glimpse of him. As I lie here, unable to rise, I cannot help thinking back to his twelfth year, when Joseph and I brought him to Jerusalem for the Passover. How different it was from this day. Little did we realize that that year was the turning point in his life--until we discovered that he had not followed us as we left. When we returned to find him, we were amazed to hear him speaking with such wisdom and authority in the midst of learned men. Suddenly, I realized that my son surely was no ordinary boy. It was from that day that I began to know that he belonged more to God than to me. At last, I can rise to my feet and see Jesus again. They have now clothed him in his own garments. Be strong, Son. Stop there and rest. He is on his way up the Hill of Golgotha, laboring under the weight of the cumbrous cross. Splinters from the roughhewn wood have pierced his hands and streams of blood pour forth from the swollen purple bruises. Oh, God, I cannot bear it any longer!! There are more tears. I thought there were none left. But God, in His Mercy, has granted me once more a sweet release, as hot, relentless tears rush down my burning cheeks and muffled shrieks cut into my throat. I can only watch in dismay and disbelief as the Roman soldiers raise the crude wooden cross on which his body hangs. I want to beat upon them with my fists, but I am too weak from grief to stir. I hear his barely audible whisper, "I thirst.' Dear God, have mercy on my son!! Continued....
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