she was called to walk with Him
to walk beside the suffering and torture
one heavy foot in front of the other
crawling at times, i imagine,
trudging with the weight of impending death
was it rage or sorrow
or a piece of hope, like dust,
clung to her robe that kept her body moving?
and finally, falling at her dead child’s feet, submission
submission to grief and to the Word
she was not called to understand but to trust
whatever she felt or thought,
she walked —
she walked along the agony
until the agony was hers alone
and her walk towards Friday’s cross
was the walk towards Sunday’s freedom
but what mother could find complete comfort in that?
because no matter how empty the tomb
or how great the sunrise,
her son was still taken from her too soon
and it is to that earthly pain
to that humanness and doubt
i pray and bow my head tonight
