At the appointed time, God blessed a young couple with their first child. This child would lead them in their faith if their hearts grew hard. This child would eventually carry His Son.
As His holy fingers knit Mary in her mother’s womb, He surrounded them both with protection. In the world where many rebelled against Him still, the women and children He created were simply not counted in the census, leaving only heaven to record their births and deaths.
Unseen angels crowded around her mother’s head, lifting it upon each contraction. Baby Mary seemed eager to peek into the sinful world. When placed in her mother’s arms, covered with His blood, she only whimpered. A foretelling of the statement her life would make in Godly humility.
Mary was a docile child.
At five years old, she nestled next to her baby sister, just staring at the miracle of life. Mary’s mother stood in the doorway. For a single moment, she wondered how young Mary could love so beautifully. There, Mary began running her soft hands over her sister’s bald head. Without a second of hesitation, as if it was as natural as breath, Mary leaned into the babe, inhaling with her nose.
Her mother interrupted with a frustrated sigh, “What are you doing, child? Did you check her diaper?”
Mary opened her compassionate brown eyes to meet her mother’s.
“No, not her diaper, mama. Her soul. It smells sweet. Our God of Abraham has plans for my sister.”
Her mother knew not what to think and returned to kneading the bread for the day’s supper. Her husband was gone most days at the docks. Oh she wished he would learn fishing. Perhaps they would have more food to put on the table. No, her husband groveled at the feet of fishermen to please give him work of fixing things. Many weeks, he had not a denarius to show.
Listening, God grieved. For the scant provision was to help Mary’s parents depend upon Him, turn to Him in prayer and praise. Instead, God watched His daughter rely on her own strength, furiously making bread to feed the family in the case of her husband’s empty hands.
Young Mary remained a quiet spirit. In a home where she absorbed tension in her spiritually sensitive bones, Mary focused often on caring for her younger sister.
At Mary’s tender of age of ten, she found her sister dead in her bed. A grief beyond her years, Mary climbed next to her beloved sister, her world, and wrapped her thin arms around her blue body. A wail erupted out of her young lungs. Mary could not stop it, nor did she want to.
When her mother heard this animalistic sound, she rushed to the girls’ room.
Seeing is not always believing.
Without faith, believing is impossible.
“Get up, Mary. Helena is gone. For what God takes his children? We need to prepare immediately for burial. Your father won’t be home until dark.”
Mary obeyed her mother. Broken but not shaken, Mary prayed. Not a religious show like some priests, but a private, unspoken prayer of a child heart:
Oh, Father in heaven, this is Mary. I love Helena so much. It hurts that she is gone, but she is with You. Please hug her for me. Please hug my mama too.
Welcome to the fictional story of Mary, mother of Jesus, based upon His God-breathed truth.
This story will span for the next 3 Saturday’s, culminating with the birth of Our Savior … a bit early on December 19th.
Through this creative endeavor, I pray God speaks to you. He is already speaking to me as I compose and imagine.
A couple of questions to ponder and pray on between Part 1 and Part 2:
In the natural world, how is God’s glory revealed in every birth? in every death?
Do we trust God to bring us through seasons of loss, seasons of struggle?
How often does our unbelief keep us away from knowing the miracles of God, the wonders He still performs today?
“Yet I could never forget all Your miracles, my God, as I remember all Your wonders of old. I ponder all You have done, Lord, musing on all of Your miracles. It’s here in Your presence, in Your sanctuary, where I learn more of Your ways. For holiness is revealed in everything You do. Lord, You’re the One and Only, the great and glorious God!” (Psalm 77:11-13 The Passion Translation).
All photos in this post are from Pixabay.com.
Feel free to being a conversation in the comments or email me thoughts privately at email@example.com.
Live expectantly with hearts who believe,