April 16, 2014

Today, I've asked Lynn Mosher to guest write for me. She never ceases to stir my heart, prick my conscience and look to the Master.

May her words help you see Him better today.


An Intimate Moment with Mary

 She stands at a distance. The sight before her pierces her heart as if thrust in by a javelin.

 Her puffy eyes sting with tears, blurring her vision.

 Deep sobs heave her chest as her heart pounds in agony.

The crowd jostles her, oblivious to her obvious pain, a pain so deep that no mother on earth will ever feel again.

 What brings her to this gruesome sight? A mother’s love.

Her name is Mary and her son is being crucified. My son, she cries. She sees Him naked, exposed. She sees the blood trickling down His face from a crown of thorns soldiers twisted upon His head. She sees the bones protruding from His open flesh wounds received from the scourging lashes.

 Each clang of the soldier’s hammer upon the metal spikes driven into her son’s body jars her whole being. She shakes with empathetic pain as they raise Him up and hang Him in place on the upright beam.

Memories rush through her mind of the child she once carried, of the One Who sat upon her lap and nestled against her. But another memory crowds those out; one she tried to lock away in a secret corner of her heart. Those prophetic words spoken to her after His birth, which now come back to haunt her, “And a sword will pierce your own soul, too.” (Luke 2:35 NIV)

 And that moment finally arrived.

 Now, greedy soldiers toss out dice to see who gets the bragging rights of owning the traditional garment she lovingly created for her son when he left home. The garment saturated with the perfumed oil of spikenard from the broken alabaster passion box.

 Momma Mary is exhausted from all that has happened to her precious Baby Jesus, the Son of God. Her body reacts to the dreadful stress causing her knees to buckle. But John, the disciple who had leaned upon this Divine Man so many times, stands close to Mary and shores her up.

 Seeing His mother beside John, Jesus speaks in a weak whisper to her, “Dear woman, here is your son,” (John 19:26b NLT) as He nods to John. And to John, He says, “Here is your mother.” (John 19:27a NLT)

 Moments later, all is over. It is finished, He sighs and gives up His last breath.

Mary wonders: what will it be like without Him, never again to embrace Him, to hear His infectious laugh, to see His ready smile?

Oh, what agony must have filled Mary’s mother-heart that day, probably never realizing the impact of that scene for the thousands of generations yet to come.

 A mother’s heart...of love...broken. The greatest pain a mother will ever know, losing her child.

 And the rest of the story?

Up from the grave He arose,

With a mighty triumph o’er His foes,

He arose a Victor from the dark domain,

And He lives forever, with His saints to reign.

He arose! He arose!

Hallelujah! Christ arose!

“Amazing LOVE how can it be, that You, my King, would die for me!” 

May your heart live daily within the rest of the story.

From His feet,

"Did I not tell you and promise you that if you would believe and rely on Me, you would see the glory of God?" John 11:40 Amp 
Current blog post: Along the Way

Lynn Mosher lives with her hubby (since 1966) in their Kentucky nest, emptied now of three chicklets and embracing three giggly grand-chicklets, and an inherited dog. Through many hardships, trials, and health issues, Lynn learned to depend entirely on the Lord for everything. After being diagnosed with fibromyalgia in 2000, the Lord whispered to her heart to write for Him. Now, her greatest passion is to fulfill God’s call on her life to encourage others and glorify the Lord with her writing. Stop by for a refill at her website, Heading Home 


I'd love to hear your thoughts on this article. Please share in the comments below!

I'm way behind on my emails because my computer is down, but wanted you to know this is really special, a new way of looking at Good Friday. Thanks.

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Author of Biblical fiction, married to my best friend, and challenged by eight sons’ growing pains as I write about what matters.

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Tell of My Kingdom's Glory
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