Jochebed, Hannah, and Mary

His cries and his babbles were just too frequent and too loud. She had hidden him for as long as she could. The labor had been so lonely, the delivery so hard, but it had been worth every second of the last three months. When this mother had first looked at the little face of the tiny boy, to doubt he was created to be great was impossible.

Her hands were sticky and rough from working with the papyrus and the tar. She was tired from the demands of motherhood. Her eyes filled with tears as she swaddled him tight and whispered a prayer of protection and eternal love. She placed him in the basket and soon found herself standing on the banks of the murky river.

With every hint of faith she could muster, she pushed aside the reeds and sat him sail, turning and walking away quickly before she changed her mind.

***

There wasn't a day that passed that she didn't remember the vow she had made. It was her first thought most mornings and her last most nights. She thought of it when he was nestled close to her breast for nourishment. His giggles were reminders of the commitment she had had made for him. As the little boy began to ask questions about the Creator, she was given assurance and confidence that he was equipped by a Higher Power for a greater purpose.

She had prayed for strength as she packed the food and gathered supplies for the trip. A few more days to Shiloh, and then the inevitable. Those last few days had seemed like seconds in time.

With their burnt offering complete, their greatest sacrifice was impending. She asked for some miraculous deliverance as she walked toward the priest. He remembered her and smiled with assurance and gratitude. She knelt beside her son, once again explaining his calling. Her lips brushed his cheek as she rose to her feet and raised her hands in worship to the One to whom her son had always belonged.

***

"It is as you have said."

She wondered why she had ever said the words. Why had she just not screamed with refusal? Would it have been possible to say no?

This was more than the mother of the thirty year old could stand. The hatred that spewed from their mouths. The sound of the whips.  The betrayal of his friends. The cheers from the mob. The look in His eyes. As she watched his hands weakly grip the wooden beam, her memories took her back to the little hands that held to her tightly as they walked the streets of Nazareth. She then knew it would have been impossible to have dismissed her duty allowing someone else to fill her role.

She had been present when this man had entered into this hard human world. She would be present when His soul left it. She had cheered him on in his first steps. She had cherished watching him work alongside his earthly father. She had encouraged his miraculous ways and watched in amazement as he had done the impossible. All of this was stored securely in her heart. She hadn't missed a moment; she would not miss the last.

So as his mother she would sit vigil on the hillside at the foot of this cross and watch her son become her Savior.

***

In the chaos of mothering my three, I wonder...

Could I have been as brave?

Could I have been as faithful?

Could I have been as willing?

I hurt. When they fall down and scrape their knee. When they slide into base and break their collar bone. When they fall onto the hard ground from atop the monkey bars. When their inquisitive nature has them stick their hand in a snow cone machine. I hurt.

I teach. First words, eating from a spoon, and potty training. ABCs and 123s. Bible verses and nursery rhymes. Homework and manners. How to clean and cook. How to drive. I teach.

I laugh. When I realize there is much more to the job than I realized. When they say the craziest things at the most inopportune time. Even when the joke isn't funny. When I realize I have no clue what is going on. When they laugh. I laugh.

I am proud. First steps and purple ribbons. Report cards full of As and Bs...or maybe even Cs. Ropes climbed, speeches given, and games won. Good decisions and kind words. Just to call them mine. I am proud.

I hurt more. When they are intentionally left out. When someone's words cut sharper than a knife. When they fail at something they love. When their innocence is taken from the cruelty of the world. I hurt so much more.

I pray. Safety and health. For forgiveness of the failures I am sure will lead them to years of therapy. Success and happiness. Wisdom and discernment. For their spouses and marriages. Spiritual growth. Freedom found in only Christ. Sweet dreams and love deeper still. I pray.

I am ashamed. When I lose my temper. When I am selfish with my time. When I miss a moment due to a preoccupation with my own agenda. When they are witness to my sinful nature. I am ashamed.

I love. To a fault. Unconditionally. Constantly and relentlessly. I love.

But am I as brave as Jochebed? Am I as faithful as Hannah? Is there anyway I could be as willing as Mary?

Maybe the waters of the Nile were just as murky as the hallways of today's high schools, or a city's busy streets, or the day to day routines in our grocery stores and peaceful neighborhoods. We have no idea what is lurking beneath the "waters". Will I let them go?

I must be brave.

Maybe today the smell of a coffee shop or a neighbor's house or even a locker room can have the same impact as the scent of the sacrifices on an alter in Samuel's day. It was about Eli bringing him to the feet of God. A friend, a mentor, or a coach can do those things, too. Will I share them?

I must trust and be faithful.

Maybe laying down one's life today looks like speaking up and out when others don't. Maybe it looks like sitting with the kid that is a little different and then being made fun of for doing so. Maybe it looks like an answer to a call that separates the physical presence of loved ones. Will I sit by them while they accept where the Spirit is leading them? Maybe it looks different from anything in my rearing and in my wheelhouse and as what I have always seen as the only way. Will I be open to what is different, but still just as true?

I must be willing.

But...

I am selfish and prideful. They are mine I want to keep them from the unknown. It is my job to keep them safe. It should be me that teaches them to be image bearers. I want to be the one that they come to and learn from. I want to show them the way to the Father. I want their mission to look like my own. I want to keep them where I can tangibly reach them and see them and be with them. They are mine. I am selfish. I am prideful.

I need forgiveness.

Father God, Forgive me. Make me selfless. Grace me with humility. Make me brave and help me push them out into the waters trusting Your plans for my children. Bring people into their lives to partner with me to guide them and teach them and bring them closer to resembling Your Son. Help me encourage them to sit at different feet than mine. Increase my faith in Your development of their faith. And make me willing to stand by their sides as they answer Your call, no matter what it may be or look like or even how hard it may be.

Make me brave. Increase my faith. Open my heart and make me willing.